ON THE FIRING LINE IN EDUCATION

BY

A. J. LADD

Professor of Education, State University of North Dakota

BOSTON
RICHARD G. BADGER
THE GORHAM PRESS

Copyright, 1919, by Richard G. Badger
All Rights Reserved
Made in the United States of America
The Gorham Press, Boston, U. S. A.

PREFACE

Of the ten studies making up this little volume only one, the last, aside from the Introduction, was designed primarily for publication. Each of the others had a definite personal audience in mind while being prepared. Still, nearly all have later found their way into print, and some have been reprinted in other periodicals and quoted quite extensively in still others. Many letters of appreciation, too, from strangers who have chanced to read this address or that, have come to the writer. These facts, together with expressions of appreciation upon delivery and with definite suggestions from many for publication, have finally led the writer to feel that possibly their gathering together might be worth while. But in fairness to himself, as well as to others, also in the interests of accuracy, he is prompted to give an additional reason for venturing upon the hazardous undertaking of offering "cold meats" to people not overly hungry. Not words of praise alone, no matter how warm, would justify such a decision, for one can never take such expressions at quite their face value—'tis so easy to make pleasant remarks! So the matter was thrown back to where it belonged all the time—upon the writer to decide the case on the merits of the various discussions as dealing with present-day educational problems.

While separate addresses, upon different topics, given at different times, and with no thought of connection, they all do bear upon one great matter of universal interest—that of education. The title, "On the Firing Line in Education," belongs specifically to but the first of the topics discust. Still, it is appropriate to the entire group since the various matters handled are fundamental and the positions taken considerably in advance of common use. But we are clearly moving in the general direction indicated—'twill not be long now before the main army has caught up, and then the firing line will be still further advanced.

I have a very definite conviction that, at any financial cost, we should provide thru the school for the physical as well as for the psychical and the moral development of the child. This is not to take the place of the home—merely to supplement the work of the majority of homes. Only thus can we adequately educate all. I believe, too, that in any scientific view of the educational process the sense organs are paramount in importance, and therefore urge their care and training. That the positions taken in the various addresses upon these and other matters are sound has been pretty well demonstrated during the last two years when the demands of war have faced us. This is made clear in the Introduction that follows.

I am under obligations to the various periodicals in which these studies have appeared for permission to use them again in this form. I also appreciate the courtesy of Mr. Badger, the publisher, in allowing me to use certain simplified forms of spelling, thus departing from the usual over-conservative practise of publishers. Is not this, too, one of the firing-line activities?

A. J. Ladd

Grand Forks, North Dakota,
March, 1919

CONTENTS

INTRODUCTION

HAVE THE SCHOOLS BEEN DISCREDITED BY THE REVELATIONS OF THE WAR?

From School and Society, April 5, 1919

Knowing that I was about to publish a book on education in which the Great War, now happily closed, was not taken as the point of departure, a friend said to me one day, in substance, "Aren't you taking undue risks just now in putting out a book on education that isn't based upon a program of reconstruction? Haven't all our so-called educational principles been dis-credited? Shall you get any readers if you do not admit educational failure thus far, and proceed to discuss a change of front, made imperative by recent revelations?" And the editor of a well known educational journal, in asking me for an article, recently, said, among other things, "I should be glad to have an article upon some phase of reconstruction after the war, educational, social, philosophical, as you may like. Here is the next great battlefield of the future, and if the educational forces do not redeem themselves here, it is my opinion that we shall become a greater laughing stock than we have ever been before."

To both of these statements I desire to take exception. To be sure, the war has taught us many lessons bearing upon education; to be sure, it has revealed shortcomings, limitations, and weaknesses. But it seems to me that it has also made clear that we have been working along right lines. Our fundamental educational principles have not been dis-credited. There is no far-reaching educational failure to admit, nor is there any serious shortcoming from which the educational forces of the country have to redeem themselves. "Laughing stock," does the gentleman say? Oh no! Far from it! Let us not get panicky! Some weaknesses brought to light? Certainly. But in the analysis, later to be made, let us see if, for the most part, they do not but demonstrate the soundness of our educational principles and the far-sightedness of our educational leaders together with the short-sightedness of the present critics, in that had suggested recommendations been followed these weaknesses would not have existed. Let us give here but one illustration, and that briefly. We all admit that the medical examinations for the war found too many physical defects, and too many men thereby incapacitated for efficient military service. But would not the results have been very different if, during the last generation, the suggestions and strong recommendations of educators relative to physical education in our schools been acted upon by the public? Ah! The fault was not with educational principles; they were sound. The educational forces of the country knew what was needed, but a parsimonious public would not follow intelligent leadership. We could say, all along the line, "I told you so," if we felt so inclined. Instead of being the "laughing stock" we could—if the matter were not too serious—throw the laugh upon the other fellow. The purpose of our schools has never been to produce soldiers at the drop of the hat, and so they have never been blighted by military training. (May it never come!) Their task has been to produce men and women of character and purpose and ideals—men and women of initiative who could become anything called for by an emergency. And nobly have they succeeded, as evidenced by the successful prosecution of the war.

In view of all that the United States has done to assist in bringing the war to its successful close, from the adoption of the selective draft down thru the management of the training camps, the operation of the railroads, conservation of food and fuel, to the knitting of a pair of socks and the sale of a thrift stamp, what shall be said of the success or failure of our schools? Every man, woman, and child in this gigantic work, from President Wilson down to the colored bootblack who saved his nickels to buy a stamp, or to the little girl who voluntarily went without her sugar, has been a product of the schools. Thru the instruction, the discipline, and the training given in those schools, they became the men and women who could rise to the emergency and do the things needed. And they did.

No college or university or professional school ever taught Mr. Wilson how to be President of the United States during these troublous days; nor Mr. McAdoo how to manage the railroads; nor Mr. Pershing all about war; nor any local worker how to lead the Red Cross work, any more than the lower schools have taught the boys who went into the trenches how to use the gas mask and how to go without food; how to shoulder arms and how to march. But the schools all along the line did help to give them ideals, did train them in team-play; did instil into them the principles of democracy and the love of country, so that when the need came they arose as one man to repel the foe. And the study of arithmetic, geography, and grammar; of chemistry, physics, and medicine; of Latin, Greek, and history has, in each case, made its contribution to the preparation of home workers, soldiers, scientific experts, financial managers, and statesmen—has helped to make each an individual of initiative.

Under the guidance of our educational leaders, following principles that they had workt out, the schools of the country were moving quietly along, each one of the 750,000 teachers doing faithfully the work at hand day by day. We had never thought of war as a possibility for us, and of course preparation for it had not been made, in the slightest degree, a part of the work of the schools. But when war, with all its horrors, was finally forced upon us and we needed statesmen and scientists and military leaders to guide and direct, they were at hand in the graduates of our colleges and universities—broadly trained men capable of assimilating, or learning, or in other ways gaining quickly, the specific form of efficiency needed in the particular activity assigned. And when we needed soldiers they were at hand in the person of our boys of the schools, both common and high, from every nook and corner of the land—boys and men who merely needed direction and leadership, capable of at once falling into line and quickly taking on the professional phase of their training. Could we have asked our schools to do more? The supreme test had come, and it was being met in a manner gratifying to all. The boys and the girls, the men and the women, on the farm, in the store, in the home, in the workshop, in the schools and colleges, have responded "Here am I. Show me what you want me to do, and I will do it even unto death." It was done, and they did it. The schools had nobly demonstrated their efficiency.

To be sure, all this was not done without making mistakes. Not all the products of all the schools were able to rise to the occasion and to be depended upon in our hour of need. When the great national search-light was trained upon the product of the schools, seeking leaders of infinite variety and number, and likewise hosts of followers to do definite and difficult things, many deficient ones were discovered—some deficient in mental caliber, some weak in moral fiber, some lacking in physical stamina. And right here is to be seen the only serious failure of our schools. Not every boy, not every girl, had been made as efficient as could have been desired. But, happily, in our great numbers enough were found to do even the stupendous work at hand, and to do it well. In spite of moral lapses, not a few, in spite of instances of mental incompetence, far too many, and in spite of physical handicaps, distressingly large—in spite of all this, I say, the United States surprised the world with the quickness with which we pulled ourselves together, and with the marvelous efficiency with which we mobilized all our resources. Many losses of course there were—losses of men, losses of days, losses of dollars. But when all is said and done, the losses were slight when compared with the accomplishments. Credit to whom credit is due! But because of these losses unthinking men immediately began to criticise the schools. They should have been trade schools, or industrial schools or military schools—any kind of schools that they were not. And how clearly it was being demonstrated, we were told, that the time formerly spent on music and drawing, art and literature, algebra and geometry, history and Latin, had all been wasted! How much better it would have been if, instead of these "frills," the children had been given "practical subjects"! (Practical. Save the mark. One is tempted here to go off on a by-path and discuss the topic, "What is Practical?") Thus the criticism of the unthinking—of the laymen who went off at half-cock.

And this criticism was deepened and strengthened and extended and made more vehement, again by the unthinking, when the fine results of the Plattsburgh experiment were revealed, in which, thru the processes of intensive training, men were quickly whipt into shape for new, and difficult, and responsible undertakings. And the equally good results that came from the officers' training schools, in which college boys by a similar program were metamorphosed, almost at over-night, into capable army officers, had the same effect. How signally had the schools failed! And these long years spent in school and college, "dawdling over the frills," had been to no effect, whereas "a few weeks under intelligent educational direction accomplishes marvels."

And the same has further illustration. Ministers of the Gospel selected for chaplains, physicians and surgeons chosen for medical service, nurses for the Red Cross, engineers for various forms of engineering, and many others have all been given this short period of intensive training and, to their credit and ours be it said, all responded quickly. But the conclusion drawn by the unthinking has been, all along the line, that the later efficiency of these men which has gained for us the plaudits and the gratitude of the world was due to this short period of intensive training, "under men who were intelligent enough to know just what was needed and just how to go about to secure it"—men not hampered by any pedagogical nonsense or grown stale over a long attempt to discriminate between the "infinity of nothingness and the nothingness of infinity" (as one might summarize a rather common criticism), rather than to the former years of patient toil, and discipline, and accomplishment which had really laid the foundation so well that all were able thus to respond. The common school, the high school, the college, and the professional school was dis-credited, one and all, in favor of a short-cut method analogous to the so-called "Business College,"—a short-cut method that could result only in disaster if applied without the appropriate preparation.

How long it does take people to realize that real education is a slow process! that it takes years and years and years of varied experiences for the processes of assimilation and development to bring about the fine fruitage of stable character!

And the Government, too (I suppose we can criticize Washington just a little now without serious danger of being sent to jail), must have had the same point of view in regard to the general management of education since, during the war, it did not entrust its educational war program into the hands of the National Bureau of Education. It did have the War Department and the Navy Department and the Treasury Department manage their respective phases of war activities. Why was not the Department of Education called on to direct the educational work? Had it been, the S. A. T. C. fiasco, as well as some other blunders, would doubtless have been avoided. But the thought (or was it the lack of thought?) must have been that most anybody outside of the teaching profession would know better how to get educational results than any one from within. A similar point of view is generally discernible in the election of boards of education in towns and cities thruout the country—any one is satisfactory save those who know definitely what should be going on inside of the school house.

Perhaps all this was to be expected. I rather think so. But I confess to surprise when I find such criticism being echoed from within—from men who should know better, as, for example, the two quoted at the beginning of this article. The explanation, I suppose, is that, timid in nature, they have become panicky and lost their bearings. Perhaps they were suffering from a mild form of brain-storm, and have temporarily slipt back into the ranks of the unthinking.

Let us analyze the situation and see if we can discover just what the war did reveal as to the short-*comings of our educational system. Let us then try to locate the responsibility.

One of the most serious of the educational shortcomings thus revealed is a high percentage of illiteracy—nearly eight per cent, I understand, the country over. The seriousness of such a situation can scarcely be overestimated. It was serious in time of war—the inability of a soldier to read orders, or to follow written directions, or to make written reports, especially when one takes into consideration the myriad forms of war service just recently used, would limit his possibilities of service and cripple himself and all his companions. But illiteracy is even more serious in times of peace, for then such individuals are not immediately under the direction of intelligent officers and thus prevented from the disastrous results of their own ignorant actions. Think for a moment of what it means in a democracy and for a democracy to have one out of every ten (disregarding children) of the possible directing forces of the government unable to read or write!

But when we add to this statement of mere illiteracy the fact that a large percentage of these illiterates are of foreign birth or extraction and have never learned either to speak or understand the language of their adopted country, the situation is seen to be even more serious in potentiality, both in peace and war. Our authorities have been too lax, it seems, in not requiring that all children of foreign extraction, whether foreign or American born, be educated in the English language. In communities thickly settled by alien peoples they have too often allowed the schools to be conducted in the vernaculars of the people—a German school here, an Austrian school there, and an Italian school over yonder, and so on. And it goes without saying that in schools in which children are instructed in alien tongues 'tis not the American spirit that is inculcated nor American ideals that take root. No one would challenge the statement that here is a defect in the execution of our educational program, and one that must be remedied at any cost.

Still another serious weakness as revealed by the merciless hand of war is that of physical shortcoming. A large number of men were rejected for service and a still larger number accepted only for limited service because of physical disability as shown by the medical examinations. I have not the figures at hand, but 'tis common knowledge that the situation is considered grave. Eye defects, ear defects, defective teeth, weak lungs, flat feet, round shoulders, spinal curvature, unsymmetrical development, and many other defects were discovered in great numbers. Perhaps nothing but a rigid medical examination by a military officer would ever have opened our eyes to the real situation. But this did. The revelations came as a surprise to nearly all except the educational leaders of the country. They have known, all the time, what the situation has been and, for a generation, have been trying to combat it.

Again the question is raised as to whether these defects, or weaknesses, of American education, in both fields mentioned, as serious as they have been seen to be for war, are not even a more serious menace when looked upon from the point of view of peace, and therefore, even tho the war has been won, of such commanding importance as to demand our immediate and continued attention.

One might go on and name other shortcomings in the working out of our educational program that have been more clearly brought to the surface during the critical days of our warfare. But this article is not intended to be a catalog. The two mentioned are fundamental and far-reaching. Illiteracy and physical disability! Weakness along these lines strikes at the very roots of national life and of individual well-being. And if, as a nation and as individuals, we are ever going to enter into our inheritance, these defects must be remedied. But before trying to discuss remedies, it will be well to locate responsibility. Are our basic educational principles unsound, or merely our educational practises unsatisfactory? Are the educational leaders of the country all wrong in theory? Have their heads been so high among the clouds that they have not seen the real boy and his homely task? Or have they seen clearly and mapt out wisely, whereas the public, relatively unthinking upon technical matters and always slow to act in new fields, has not been ready to follow? Is it in theory or in practise where the real shortcoming is to be found? The answer to the question is vital. If in theory, then is the situation serious indeed for that would mean that our psychology is wrong—that our whole philosophy of life and of government has been built upon error. Truly, then, after all these years, the "educational forces" would need to "redeem" themselves so as not to be "a greater laughing stock than we have ever been before." But if the weakness lies merely in our practise, not yet having been able to attain to our ideals, then, tho serious, it would be but child's play, comparatively speaking, to put ourselves right. We should need to take courage, redouble our efforts, and all that, but should not need to start all over again.

How shall we account for the illiteracy revealed among both alien and native born? Not by faulty methods of teaching can it be explained, nor by anything else that teachers have done or have not done. Illiterates have not attended the schools. It is due either to insufficient legislation or to non-enforcement of laws, doubtless more the latter save in the case of adult aliens.

From the very beginning of our colonial life, early in the 17th century, universal education has been a part of both our educational and our governmental creeds. A program of compulsory education was early found necessary, early adopted, and never abandoned. Beginning in Massachusetts and going south and west, following considerably behind but then keeping almost even pace with settlement and development after statehood had come, legislation has decreed that every child born into the land or coming into it by immigration shall enjoy the advantages of education, at least to the extent of knowing how to read and write the English language. Every state in the Union has compulsory attendance laws upon its statute books. These laws are not as thorogoing as they should be in many cases but yet, even as they are, if enforced, they should leave almost no illiteracy among people whose childhood has been spent in this country. For the least satisfactory laws—those of some of the Southern states, Georgia, for example, require school attendance for at least four months of each year between the ages of eight and fourteen. But illiteracy, even among our own people, has been revealed—too much of it. The laws have not been enforced. There is the sore spot. Why have they not been enforced? But of that later.

The education of adult aliens is another matter, and a very different one. As a problem it is almost new. That is, it has been only in relatively recent years that it has been recognized as such. True, for several years some of the states most largely affected, such as Massachusetts, New Jersey, New York, Pennsylvania, and others have been wrestling with it, but not very much has yet been attempted toward introducing the compulsory features. And private agencies, philanthropic, industrial, religious, political, and others have also done good work. But all that had thus far been done had accomplisht little more, at the outbreak of the war, than to open our eyes to the existence of a problem. And in our leisurely way we were going about its solution. But war came. The European nations were aflame. We had many Europeans in our midst. Investigations were made. The universal draft was adopted. The revelations were startling. It was discovered that in 1910 there were in the United States 2,953,011 white persons of foreign birth, 10 years of age and over, unable to speak the English language. Of these 56,805 were from ten to fifteen years of age, 330,994 between fifteen and twenty-one, and 2,565,212 twenty-one and over. Note the number, more than two and a half millions, twenty-one years of age and over—men grown, fathers of families, many of them—unable to speak the language of their adopted country! And of these 788,631 were illiterate—unable to read or write in any language!

Nothing short of legal requirements on a large scale, and rigidly enforced, absolutely free of cost to the immigrant, can ever remove the menace. The law-making bodies of the country, both State and Federal, must act and act quickly or this growing menace will get beyond our control.

And the long catalog of physical defects—what shall be said of them? Shall they be charged against the "educational forces" of the country? Are they a disgrace from which we must "redeem" ourselves so that we shall not become the "greater laughing stock"? It is perfectly evident that somebody has blundered because the whole sad list of defects is, speaking broadly, preventive and, for the most part, also remediable. But where lies the responsibility—upon the home, the school, or society? Of course, primarily, upon the home; the child comes from the home, goes to the home, is a part of the home, is under the immediate control of the home. But yet, many homes, especially homes of alien peoples, are not sufficiently intelligent to have entrusted to them matters of such far-reaching importance. And many others are not financially able to have proper attention given.

But the school does know. And it, or what it represents, is abundantly able financially to handle the matter. It knows clearly how the child with physical defects is hampered in trying to perform its school work; it knows, too, how seriously the entire work of the school is interfered with when there are many such in the room; and it also knows the handicap under which such unfortunate children face life when school days are over. And the school knows, too, the preventive and remediable natures of these defects. Possessing all this knowledge, why has it not acted? To make a long story short, it has acted. To the extent of its authority and with all the influence and power at its command it has acted, has been acting for many years, and is still acting. For more than a generation the educational forces of the country have been engaged in a nation-wide educational campaign designed to make clear to the homes of the country and to the voters of the country the growing seriousness of the situation. On the lecture platform and from the Gospel pulpit, in the educational press and in the popular magazine, aye, in the daily newspaper, in private conversation and in public discussion, in season and out of season, they have labored unceasingly to acquaint the public with the facts and to urge preventive and remedial action. To the unselfish work of these leaders of educational thought and action, supplemented by the generous assistance of the medical profession, is due the fact of our present-day intelligence in regard to the matter. Educators have been deeply interested, thoroly alive, and intelligently at work. How they have agitated the matter of better ventilation and better lighting of schoolhouses! How they have pleaded for medical inspection and appropriate medical treatment of school children! How they have urged the employment of the school nurse! How they have workt for the playground and the gymnasium and for sane methods of handling the same!

But they do not form the court of last appeal. They have no authority. They all stand in about the same anomalous position as does the man nominally at the head of the educational activities of the country—the United States Commissioner of Education. They may gather statistics, make reports, and suggest action. But that is all. Tho possessing full knowledge of the situation, tho knowing just how to proceed to usher in a better day, they are not permitted to take any action. Responsible? Of course they are not responsible. "Redeem" themselves? From what, pray? "Laughing stock"? How long, oh! how long, will our great army of teachers, three-fourths of a million strong, be unappreciated, belittled, and maligned!

Who, then, is responsible? In the last analysis there is but one answer—the public itself. Since the community at large as well as the individual afflicted is, in the final outcome, a sufferer in every case of physical disability, as also in that of illiteracy, it is its duty, as a mesure of self-protection, at least, to assume direction. Adequate information is at hand as to desirable methods of procedure. Demonstrations a-plenty have been given to prove that the program suggested is feasible, inexpensive, and beneficial. This has been brought about thru the action of a few small groups who have thus presented clear and convincing object lessons. But why must we say "a few"? Why is not such work nation-wide? That is a longer story. It follows.

The United States of America is a Republic—a representative democracy—a government in which all the people participate. And the government of the United States is a Federal government. It is made up of a group of States, each one exercising supervision and control over its local matters. And education has thus far been considered a local matter. And in many ways that soverenty has been still further divided. We have as a smaller unit of school organization the county, and a smaller one yet, the township, and, in many states, a still smaller one, the school district, containing, in many instances, only a few square miles of territory and, of course, a very limited population. But in some respects, within certain limits, each of these small units is a law unto itself, having much to say as to the length of the school term, the character of the teaching, and many other phases including such as the one under consideration.

For these reasons it frequently happens that side by side are school districts, or townships, or counties, with widely differing educational programs. Here is one with attractive buildings, well ventilated and well lighted, well equipt in every way, in the hands of competent teachers, with physician and nurses subject to call. But just over the imaginary line is another with nothing quite satisfactory. They are just living up to the strict letter of the State's requirement and that is all. Not one dollar is being spent that represents the community's voluntary contribution to the welfare of its child life or to the future well-being of humanity.

And why? Just because we are a Democracy. Just because our action must be the united action of many, representing the average intelligence of the entire governmental unit and not that of its most intelligent members. For this reason a democracy is always slow to act along new lines. The majority of the people have to be convinced of the wisdom of the new mesure. And education is itself always a slow process. People change their minds slowly. Slowness of action is one of the prices we have to pay for our democracy. On the other hand, an absolute monarchy can act quickly, for there may be but one individual to assimilate the new idea or to be convinced of the wisdom of the proposed change.

These facts are easily made clear by historical references, and, happily, in the very matter under discussion—educational procedure. In the eighteenth century Prussia, under the two great Hohenzollern kings, Frederick William I and his son, Frederick the Great, the two ruling from 1713 to 1786, made most rapid strides in education. Both were practically absolute rulers, but they were benevolent and far-sighted, and the educational reforms that they inaugurated were basic and far-reaching, such as state-control and support, compulsory attendance, and the professional education of teachers. Being absolute in authority, all they needed to do was to promulgate the decrees and order their execution. The result was that, educationally, Prussia immediately forged ahead of all the other European countries.

England, on the other hand, was a limited monarchy. Her king could not have acted thus even if he so desired. Such mesures had to have the sanction of Parliament, which would have to hark back to an enlightened public opinion since Parliament was a representative body. And public opinion, especially in matters of education, is slow of creation. As a matter of fact, even tho the English people were much in advance of the Germans in civilization and in all the refinements of life, it was not till 1833 that England as a government took her first step looking toward the education of her children thru appropriating money. And the grant of that Act was only a paltry £20,000 a year to be used by two religious societies for the erection of school houses. And it was an entire generation later, even 1870, before they adopted the necessary principles of compulsory attendance and local taxation. More than a hundred years behind Prussia, England was, in the management of educational affairs!

Another illustration of the slow action of democracy is nearer at hand both in time and space, even in our own country. For one reason or another, rather, for many reasons, education was at a low-water mark in the United States the latter part of the eighteenth and the first part of the nineteenth centuries. Thoughtful men, progressive educators, prominent statesmen, searching for the cause and for the remedy, found the one in the poor character of the teaching being done and the other in the establishment of the State Normal School patterned after those of Germany. This was first suggested in 1816 in Connecticut and pretty faithfully kept before the people of New England thereafter. But in spite of every effort, including a campaign of education and the establishment of private normal schools for the purposes of demonstration, it was not till 1838 that the Massachusetts legislature could be induced to act. And she would not have done so then had it not been that a very prominent man of Boston, a friend of the cause, Mr. Edmund Dwight, showed his faith in the movement by making a generous contribution out of his private funds. Note, too, this action from another point of view—the amount of Democracy's initial contribution toward this new great movement in America: Mr. Dwight's gift of $10,000 was evenly matched by that of the wealthy state of Massachusetts! And the $20,000 was the amount planned for the establishment of three new normal schools and their maintenance for three years! That amount to-day would scarcely build a coal shed for each of three new normal schools!

But I am not advocating monarchical methods even to hasten so good a cause as educational improvement. I am merely accounting for our slowness of action in needed reform. For several reasons I should be decidedly opposed to adopting such a program of centralization even if we could. In the first place, not every absolute monarch would act as did Frederick the Great. There are few benevolent despots. In France during the seventeenth centuries the Louises were just as absolute as were the Fredericks in Germany. But they were not interested in education for the people. Again, Germany's system of education, tho objectively efficient, has been far from satisfactory because not based on sane moral principles. And that fact, by the way, has finally been Germany's undoing. Now, we can scarcely conceive of Democracy erecting an educational structure on an unsatisfactory moral foundation.

And still again, the action of an absolute monarch, in all such matters as education, tho perhaps temporarily rapid, is not permanent. Remove the guiding spirit and it slips back. An illustration will assist. Again Germany furnishes it. The little duchy of Gotha, just south of Prussia, serves us. During the Thirty Years' War Gotha had suffered greatly. Near its close, in 1640, Duke Ernest the Pious became its ruler. He had at heart the good of his people. He believed that education could be a very important factor in their upbuilding, and at once put into effect a progressive program. His people were greatly bettered and his duchy became a fine object lesson for other German States. But Duke Ernest died. And his educational reforms, not springing from the people themselves, followed him not long after.

A few years ago President Diaz, Mexico's benevolent despot of nearly half a century, died. And his people, never having been taught how to rule themselves nor practised in the art, went to pieces.

Democracy is slow but she is apt to be sure. Her action in educational matters is often provokingly dilatory, but she holds what she gains and thus continues to progress. She does not take a step forward until she is sure of her ground, but then she stands firm. Her actions are the results of deliberate thought based on adequate data gathered from actual experiments and not to be shaken. Democracy would not give up universal education nor take one step backward in the matter of compulsory attendance to secure it. She would not part with her elementary normal schools for anything in the world. And when once she sees her duty clear she will add to her school workers, in every community, the physician, the nurse, and the playground director. She will do it and, quickly noting improvements, soon wonder why she had not done it long before.

Since so much emphasis has been placed on the conservative nature of Democracy and on its consequent slowness of action, a word should be added as to its possibilities in emergency. Tho we were slow in entering the Great War, once our duty was clear we acted with a promptness, a unanimity, and an efficiency that surprised both friend and foe, giving heart to the one and consternation to the other. Tho a democracy, we invested our chief executive with a power and an authority beyond that possest by any monarch in the world.

So let us not be discouraged. The situation is not as bad as it might be. Our fundamental principles are sound. We are working along right lines and accomplishing good results. Our shortcomings, our weaknesses, our failures, if you wish to call them such, are seen only when our record is compared with a perfect score. The schools have not yet attained to 100 per cent efficiency; that is, the country over. Here and there, under the favorable conditions of an intelligent citizenry willing to follow expert leadership even to the extent of providing adequate funds, are schools and departments of schools of approximately 100 per cent efficiency. And these, as Democracy's experiments, assure us of other advance steps. They are object lessons. Thus Democracy always advances.

Finally, what shall we say? What shall we do? Not to "redeem" ourselves, oh, no! not that! but to approximate the 100 per cent efficiency all along the line? What? Why, knowing that we are headed aright, keep steadily forward with our eyes on the goal, refusing to be stampeded by the unthinking critic of whom Democracy always has a plenty. Take courage! Speed up!

I

ON THE FIRING LINE IN EDUCATION

President's Address delivered at the Annual Banquet of the Fortnightly Club, Grand Forks, North Dakota, June 4, 1917

The plan of the military campaign is worked out in the quiet, away back in the rear, sometimes at considerable distance from the place of actual hostilities. It is worked out quietly, usually slowly, and attracts but little attention. But when worked out and ready to be put into operation, the plan is taken forward and activities begin. Supplies are gotten ready, men stationed, guns loaded, the firing line is formed. Here is where the battle is to be fought, where an attempt is to be made to carry out the plans formed in the quiet, back there in the rear. Activity characterizes the scene. Advances are being made, new things being done. Every effort is put forth to realize the plans.

It is not different in education. In the quiet of the laboratories and the study, thoughtful men consider conditions, form plans, and develop theories of educational betterment that have to be tried out, out in the open. A firing line has to be formed, a place where new things are to be done different from the regular conventional activities. The humdrum, prosaic, traditional, everyday work goes on, in the main, all around but at these points where some advances are being tried, a new and it is hoped better program tested. All eyes are centered, all minds eager. The analogy is not inapt.

It is my purpose to discuss briefly some of the things that are happening on our educational firing lines. I want to bring to your attention first, however, the plan of the great educational campaign upon which we have entered, the goal before us at the present time, and then take up a few of the relatively new and typical positions being taken by leaders of educational thought, having the realization of that goal in view. This will present to you some of the things that are actually being done in a few progressive communities and point out possibilities for others.

Social Betterment, the Dominant Motive in Education

If I interpret aright the present-day educational thought, the dominant motive in it all is social in character. That is to say, in all of our plans for the education of children we keep them in mind as future members of society, acting with one another and all working together for the common good and for the betterment of the race. And around this motive, or back of it, or being used by it as a means, can be grouped all the significant educational practises of the time.

Formerly the motive was largely psychological. That is, the school effected its organization, chose its curriculum, worked out its program, and decided upon its methods in order that it might assist the child in the development of its instincts and capacities, thus enabling him to realize his own personality. The great French educator, Rousseau, living in the eighteenth century, was responsible for this movement and it was a notable advance beyond the haphazard and aimless practise of the time. Pestalozzi, the great Swiss educational reformer, Froebel, the German apostle of childhood, and Herbart, the psychological genius of the Fatherland, were disciples of Rousseau and worked out from his point of view, trying to put it into practise in the school-rooms.

And here was the firing line in education for many a long day. True, none of these later men ignored social relationships as did Rousseau. True, a strong case could be made out, if one should wish to defend the thesis, that these distinguished followers of Rousseau, even tho carrying out his program in the main, were likewise inaugurating the new sociological movement. But yet it was not sufficiently clear to dominate even in their own minds. The individual stood out beyond the mass. He filled the stage. Nor did they clearly pass it on to others. As a matter of fact, what the immediate followers of these men got from them was the theory of individualism in its better form.

The best definition of education that can be given from this point of view is the development of an inner life. That is what Rousseau wanted to bring about and Pestalozzi and Froebel, and our own Colonel Parker of more recent times, the modern apostle of childhood, had the same vision. And so to Froebel and these others, likewise, the school was an institution in which each child should discover his own individuality, work out his own personality, and develop harmoniously all his powers. True, in that environment and doing all that, the child is going to learn the relationships of society, and thus the school might become a means for social progress as well as the instrument of individual development. But this was incidental. The development of the inner life was the goal. Fashioned in the quiet, in the study, away from the haunts of man, this became the program and the rallying cry, and out on the firing line it was striven for. On the educational battlefields of both Europe and America, where redoubts were being stormed and advance positions taken, this was the one great end in view. It eventuated in the child study movement of the present generation that is now at its height and that has done so much to mitigate the severities of the old time school room practises and likewise greatly aided in putting education on a scientific basis.

The immediate followers, I say, of the great European quartet of educators had the above worthy goal in view; but with their followers, many of them, especially the noisy ones, the modern sophists, it degenerated into a theory of pure individualism of the most selfish type. The theory of getting on in the world, every man for himself, became rampant. The school came to be looked upon as an institution in which children could learn how to get ahead of the rest of the community, and education as merely another weapon to use in making society contribute more to purse and pleasure. And on the firing line, formed by these noisy agitators, mistaken by many as educational leaders, these were the things striven for. But this aberration was only temporary. The real educational leaders, in trying to realize the goal of Rousseau and Pestalozzi and to do it having to combat this movement of wildcat educational speculation, gradually came to see a more important truth even than the one they were seeking. As on many another firing line, victories by the wayside have clarified our vision and given us new perspectives, and a goal, not at first recognized, looms large upon the horizon.

For thru all this struggle we have learned that the first business of the public school is to teach the child to live in the world in which he finds himself, to understand his share in it and to perform it because, after all, unless people learn to adapt themselves to other individuals and communities, disorder and chaos follow. In it all we have come to see that education is the best instrument for regenerating society.

Not individual development, then, the selfish view of Rousseau, not even the harmonious development of all the faculties, the one-sided, somewhat restricted, or undeveloped, view of Pestalozzi and others of his followers, surely not individual efficiency for personal gain, the selfish view of crass materialism, but social efficiency is the present-day motive in education. And the definition of education takes on a different color. Not merely the development of inner life but in conjunction with that or in addition to it, the development in the individual of the power of adjustment to an ever changing social environment. And likewise the school becomes more than a place in which the child can discover himself. Aye, it is the instrument that democracy has fashioned for realizing its broad and humanitarian ideal. Democracy is ever striving for closer and more harmonious relation between its members, a greater degree of social justice, and the school is its efficient means.

These two tendencies, the psychological and the sociological,—only two since the narrow individualistic was never accepted and is now being rapidly eliminated—these two are not antagonistic nor mutually exclusive. The difference is largely in point of view or emphasis. One may say that they are but the two sides of the same shield but the fact remains that there are two sides. There is a difference and the change came as suggested. And the change has modified conditions on the firing line. Ever since Mr. Spencer asked his suggestive question, "what knowledge is of most worth," the question of educational values has been raised and the curriculum has come under close scrutiny. The result has been a modification. The purely linguistic and literary, that which does not function directly for preparation in life and society, is slowly giving way to that which deals with the facts and forces of nature and of social institutions.

Thus far I have tried to make plain the great educational campaign in which we are engaged, as seen on the firing line,—to point out the goal before us, universal education, of course, and social efficiency for each member of the group. That suggests at once as a definition of education, the one made famous by Herbert Spencer more than a half century ago, "Preparation for complete living." That was good as a start in the new direction, but one of the most prominent generals of our educational forces now commanding at the front, John Dewey of Columbia University, has suggested a modification which brings it up to date and gives the key-note of explanation to the tactics now in vogue out there in the front ranks. He says that instead of being the preparation for life, education is life itself. Some without trying to probe deeply into the thought back of the trenchant expression, have said that this was a mere play upon words. But Dewey is not a man who plays with words. What he meant by the statement is that the child is best prepared for life as an adult by living the right kind of life as a child. That is by living a life that has real meaning to him now, a normal natural life, putting forth those activities that spring from within, not merely sitting behind a narrow desk trying to memorize wordy descriptions of complicated facts thought to be useful to him later on. And when we go out and see what they are doing on the firing line we shall see just that being done.

Child Study

But perhaps I should guard against a possible misapprehension. In eliminating the materialistic point of view in individualism—narrow individual development for personal gain—we have not thrown aside the goal of development suggested by Rousseau and Pestalozzi. Advanced educational thought has that prominently in mind—the discovery of the child's latent powers—his possibilities—his tastes—his "bent" and the development of the same. But while with them that was the goal, the end in view, and a somewhat selfish one, even tho not crassly materialistic, it has become, with us, a means to a larger end, namely, social betterment. The child must be known and developed to enable it to be able to contribute its largest quota to the welfare of society.

With this general direction of educational activity made plain, and incidentally the character of the activities along the entire battle front, let us pass to a consideration of a few specific activities that will illustrate the general movement. Let us bear in mind that we have in view, in the first place, the individual child whose tastes and aptitudes we must discover and, on the basis of discovery, whose fullest development, consistent with the rights of others, we must seek. And the reason for this, you know, is that only as this is done and he is prepared to do that kind of work in the world for which his tastes best adapt him—only thus can he be made the most efficient member of society possible. Because, as Plato said, centuries ago, "Society is but the individual writ large"—a collection of individuals. The foundation of all things in social life is the individual.

Now, I'll admit, at once, that that is not the program of the rank and file of the schools. It should be, but it isn't. What the schools are trying to do, in the main, is to teach the children a lot of facts that tradition says would be well for them to know when they become adults, wholly irrespective of the child's present attitude toward these facts—whether or not they have meaning for him. What the high schools are trying to do is to teach the relatively few who survive this grade program, in addition to these elementary tradition-directed facts of knowledge, a lot more of meaningless matter prescribed by the colleges and listed under that alluring title, "entrance requirements." And as a result of these programs the schools are sending altogether too many of their boys and girls into society unacquainted with themselves, and ill-fitted for any useful occupation, and therefore out of sympathy with the serious work of the world. They are misfits in the social and economic world and are obliged to take their places in the ranks of the lowest-paid of unskilled labor—and work up if they can.

Now, what is being done on the firing lines to remedy this situation and to usher in the new day? Well, first, in our normal schools—institutions established and maintained for the simple purpose of preparing young people for teaching children—great emphasis is being placed upon the study of the child. It is felt that only as the teacher understands the child mind and the laws of its development can she direct that development aright. (That's a sensible point of view, isn't it? And yet it is only on the firing line in educational practise that we find it recognized. Without that factor of equipment, the teacher is teaching subjects, not boys and girls.) In many normal schools child study is one of the required subjects—no one may graduate or be recommended for a teaching position who has not taken it. It should be required in all—and will be a little later on. No person should be allowed to occupy the position of teacher of children who has not made such a study—and proved himself efficient in it. Boards of education should demand it even if some normal schools do not yet require it for graduation. It is far and away the most important part of the teacher's professional equipment.

And then in our schools of education and teachers colleges—institutions set apart for preparing teachers for our high schools and for administrative positions—the study of adolescence is receiving increasing attention. The high school boy and the high school girl are being made the subjects of close, careful, scientific study. It is thought that in order to deal effectively with these young people the high school teacher should understand those marvelous changes—physical, mental, and moral—thru which they are passing. How else can one know how to check where checking is needed (and it usually is needed somewhere along the line); to guide where the pathway is obscure (and every adolescent is sure to pass thru valleys of darkness during the high school course); and to inspire where inspiration is lacking (and with some it is lacking a good deal of the time)—in a word, how else than thru a knowledge of the situation can one be the "philosopher, guide, and friend" that the adolescent always needs?

Do you know that about one-fourth of all students who enter the freshman classes of our high schools, thruout the United States, drop out before the close of the first semester? Do you know, too, that the elimination continues right along until that one-fourth is made more than one-half before graduation day arrives? Now, these boys and girls enter full of hope and expectation, eager and ambitious for what the high school is supposed to do for them; they do not plan to drop out before completing the course—nor do their parents plan to have them do so. Why do they do it? What has changed their point of view and sent them from the school, sad and disappointed, and their parents dissatisfied with both school and child? What is it? Do you want me to tell you? The situation has been the subject of investigation in many places thruout the country, and the conclusion reached by thoughtful men and women, unbiased students of educational practises, is that, while many influences combine to bring about that unfortunate result, the chief cause of this high mortality is the unsympathetic attitude of high school teachers toward the adolescent. But, you may ask, why unsympathetic? Because they regard them as fickle, unstable, and irrational, and so have but little patience with them. I'll admit that the adolescent seems all that at times, but that is only on the surface. The developmental changes—physical and moral—thru which he is passing often make the life during this period one of turmoil. From fourteen to eighteen—the normal high school period—is frequently called the "storm and stress period" of life. Not having made a study of the situation, high school teachers, in the main, do not know the fundamental scientific facts, and therefore can not account for actions, points of view, signs of waywardness, lack of appreciation, poor lessons, etc., etc., that sometimes characterize the youth while a student in the high school. They often lay to an unclean mind what springs from a perfectly normal development of the sex function; they are sure that moral perversity is the basis of actions that are more correctly explained by reference to a moral nature merely in the process of development; they think that pure laziness alone explains the lack of vigorous work, whereas the boy is growing so fast that he has no strength for anything else; they scold him for being awkward and say it is due to carelessness and a slip-shod mind, because they do not know that the muscles sometimes grow faster than the bones, making accurate co-ordination a physical impossibility; in a word, to general, all round cussedness they charge behavior that should be referred to high blood pressure, aching bones, the knitting together by fiber growth of the various brain centers, and finally, to youthful enthusiasm, all of which are perfectly normal signs of developing youth. They do it because they do not know any better. They are ignorant of many things that touch, and vitally, the young people with whom they are working. But how could it be otherwise? They have never given any reflective thought to the matter. The term "half-baked" that they often apply to the adolescent in disgust, or in coarse jest, is, from this point of view, more applicable to themselves.

That, I say,—the unsympathetic attitude of the high school teacher toward the adolescent—is the chief cause of the high mortality of high school students. That, coupled with another, that springs from the same fundamental situation—ignorance of the needs and points of view of the adolescent—tho not so chargeable to the individual class teacher as to the school system as a whole, local, state, and national, pretty nearly cover the ground. The other cause to which I refer is the course of study and program of activities that are so ill-adapted to the tastes, and needs, and capacities of adolescent boys and girls—studies and activities that have no real meaning to them and that fit them for nothing definite save college entrance where the same old process, meaningless to many, often goes on for another period.

What is being done on the firing line to better such conditions? A good deal; quite a good deal. Normal schools and schools of education here and there, the former more than the latter, are now giving attention to the matter, requiring in some cases and urging in others, prospective teachers to become intelligent in regard to the lives they are to direct. It is being done at our own institution as at others. This year Dr. Todd has given instruction in child study to nearly one hundred young men and women who are looking forward to teaching in the grades, and I have had a group of some thirty-five or forty prospective high school teachers and superintendents who have been making a careful study of adolescence. I guarantee that these people will not make the crude and unfeeling blunders that I have mentioned as too common among high school teachers, as they run. These are firing-line activities. They were nearly new a dozen years ago. My introduction of such courses in our University was smiled at indulgently by some of my colleagues and sharply criticised, especially the work in adolescence, by others. They are not yet required of students preparing to teach, but have evidently demonstrated their value since, tho in no sense snap courses, they have become very popular.

As illustrative of this work let me refer to a notable recent action of the legislature of Iowa. It has just passed an Act appropriating to the State University $25,000 a year for the purpose of financing what is called a "child-welfare" campaign. The plan is to make an exhaustive scientific study of the child from both the physiological and psychological points of view, to the end that it may be better known and thus more satisfactorily guided in its educational career.

One other thing, in this same connection, is being done on our firing lines all over the country—something that is hoped will set the people at large, parents and citizens generally, to thinking sanely on educational matters and ere long rectify our blunders as to subjects of study and general school activities and thus result in sending the children out efficient workmen in suitable fields. I refer to addresses and discussions such as this and others, to articles in newspapers and magazines, and the educational press, and to even more extensive and thoro discussions put out in book form from time to time for the laymen.

The old darkey says, "The world do move." We sometimes think it moves very slowly, but yet it "do move." Tho we can't see it move, we can, by looking back, see that it has moved.

Physical Education

Another thing for which we are fighting out on the firing lines is an adequate system of physical education. This would include periodical medical inspection of every child from the kindergarten up; it would also include the school nurse and the visiting nurse, and, as well, free public clinics for ear, eye, nose, throat, and tooth difficulties. It would also include, for mental and moral as well as physical ends, well-equipt playground and gymnasium facilities under the direction of men and women expert and skilful in those fields—and these would be in operation the entire year.

The physical education of the child and adolescent should be as carefully planned, as scientifically workt out in a positive way, as the intellectual. Why not? Because you know—every intelligent person knows—that the physical is the basis for the mental and the moral. You know—we all know—that a sound, a healthy, a sane life can not be developt in an unsound or a diseased body. Then why are these activities merely on the firing lines and not a part of the regular program? Because ignorance, and prejudice, and selfishness, and stubbornness, and penuriousness are still keeping many people in the trenches. But they will be dislodged. Just as sure as fate they will be driven from cover. They are fighting a losing battle. They are standing in the way of an irresistible movement that is sure to engulf them. If there were time I should like to describe just what is being done along this line in some places and give the reflex influence of the same on the community. It has surely meant a new heaven and a new earth to many a child, and glimmerings of the same to many a community. But I pass to less spectacular matters, continuing to discuss principles rather than illustrations.

The Educational Survey

Another matter of interest these days is the educational survey that has been taken up by many progressive communities. The plan is, as many of you know, to subject the school system of a city or community to a searching investigation in order to discover, if possible, its weak points, if it has any, to the end of their betterment. Experts are brought in who, without fear or favor, examine the system from all possible points of view—location and arrangement of school buildings including heating, lighting, and general health conditions, adequacy of playground and athletic facilities, the extent to which the schools are satisfying community needs in the way of equipt workmen and the needs of the young people for equipment for suitable work, the cost of the system, attendance, methods of teaching and supervision, course of study, etc. Outside experts are brought in for various reasons: known to have no personal interest in the outcome, their reports are likely to be received with greater respect; and, too, a local committee, thru nearness and very familiarity, would fail to notice features, good as well as bad, that might at once attract the attention of strangers. Many cities, ranging from 2500 to half a million people, have already availed themselves of the survey with, in the main, very gratifying results. Not only have cities used the survey, but other units of educational administration. There have been a few very significant and interesting rural school surveys by counties in several states. A similar study has been made of several State universities, Wisconsin, Iowa, Nevada, for example. I notice that the legislature of Minnesota has just arranged for a survey of theirs. You all recall that such a survey was made of all the institutions of higher education of North Dakota only a short time ago. The general feeling is that it was well worth while. Such and even more extensive surveys have already been made in five other states—Oregon, Iowa, Washington, Colorado, and Wyoming. The end sought in each and all of these surveys, whether city schools, higher institutions, or state-wide systems, is greater efficiency—larger service to society. A survey of this character is usually followed by a detailed printed report that is generously distributed resulting in greater interest in the schools and a more intelligent appreciation of their work and their needs.

Vocational Guidance

Much has been said in recent years about vocational education. The schools have been severely criticised for not teaching trades. Many have demanded that that be the dominating motive in all our schools, especially in the high schools. The educational press, for the last decade, has kept the matter in the limelight. Books have been written calling attention to the heavy dropping out of school of pupils even before reaching high school age wholly unfitted to do anything above the most menial and lowest-paid work. They have argued strenuously and sometimes logically for better things. To this program the objection has been raised that children in these early years are not yet ready to choose their work of life; that they do not yet sufficiently know themselves—their own tastes and capacities for such serious choice; it has also been urged that to place before children such attractive objective features would result in swerving many from the normal pathway of their development and check it midway. The result has been what might be called a compromise, and the firing-line activities have been somewhat modified. Not vocational education but vocational guidance is now more nearly the thought. And this has a much larger content, a background, a more scientific basis, and one organically connected with the larger movement of which I have already spoken—the social motive in education supplemented by the individual involving the discovery and development of taste and capacity.

I have already called attention to the high mortality of high school students. The reasons I have given are the lack of sympathy that the teacher has with the adolescent and the lack of meaning found in the work being done. The same facts account for the heavy elimination that takes place in the upper grades of the elementary school. But both are being remedied to some extent. The first thru the child-study movement and the second thru the matter of vocational guidance. And the two are very closely connected as one can see at a glance. Thru the child-study movement the teacher comes to know child nature so well that direct application can be made to the individual child and an intimate knowledge gained of his tastes, capacities, ambitions, and dominant interests. This will enable her to give the subject matter definite meaning in the early years, and, later on, when vocations begin to attract, the guiding may be intelligent and the final choice a suitable one. From the beginning of the adolescent period there should be opportunities furnished by the school or thru its co-operative effort for children to test themselves in various lines—academic lines, vocational lines. They should, in a word, be vocationally tempted in as many different directions as possible so as to come to know themselves so well that the final settling will not be haphazard. In these ways they should be guided into their vocations, definite ones, just as early in life as they can be adequately prepared for them. For example:—if his tastes and capacities fit a certain boy for merely a mechanical pursuit that requires but little academic learning, such as carpentry, plumbing, blacksmithing, brick laying, etc., he should, relatively early in the adolescent period, be thus guided, and not forced to attempt an academic course that can have no possible meaning to him. This would send him out, a productive member of society, happy in his work because suited to him and efficient in it because fitted for doing it well. If, on the other hand, tastes and capacities fit for academic or professional careers, such as medicine, law, teaching, or engineering, the principle would remain the same but the program would differ. The academic work, meaningless to the prospective plumber, or dressmaker, would be full of meaning to the embryo lawyer or teacher, and the period of preparation much prolonged.

Such are the points of view that teachers should hold, and such the opportunities that schools should offer. And it is all being found out on the firing lines. This program is being carried out to some extent in many places in different parts of the country. The time is not very far distant when something of the kind will be demanded in all our towns. For out in the front ranks the high school is no longer regarded chiefly as a preparatory for college. Out there it is seen to possess a much larger function—assisting the child—every child—to form its own acquaintance and to begin the planning of its future. In other words, the thought on the firing line is that the high school is an institution established by a community for community purposes—to take its young people—all of them—and guide them thru the difficult and transitional period of adolescence, directing, inspiring, shaping, checking, developing for the largest manhood and womanhood possible and providing the community with efficient workmen in various lines.

The Educational Psychologist

While there are many other activities, significant and interesting, that might well be considered in such a treatment as this, I shall close with a very brief mention of one more—the place and work of the educational psychologist in our modern system.

One of the most significant of the newer movements in educational procedure is that termed educational mesurements, perhaps better called the mesurement of intelligence. About a generation ago it began to be observed that many children did not pass thru the grades with the regularity that was thought normal or desirable. Many were obliged to repeat grades—they did not "pass," to use the language of the schools. The more the matter was investigated, the more serious was it seen to be. Investigation has gone on until at last carefully gathered statistics tell us that almost, if not quite, one-half of all the children in the schools fail to progress thru the grades at the expected rate. For some reason, or for some combination of reasons, they are retarded from one to three years. And of the $400,000,000 annually spent to carry on the work of the schools it is estimated that from $40,000,000 to $50,000,000 go every year in attempts to teach these retarded ones what they have already tried but failed to learn. Here was a double loss, a financial one of large proportions and a human one of much more serious import. Why the retardation? And what could be done to check it?

Thoughtful consideration was given to the matter with the following revelation: it was seen that in educational procedure all matters of grading, promotion, even choice of subject matter where there was a choice, were being handled on the basis of results of tests of information—possession of knowledge facts—rather than of ability or intelligence. This might not be so bad if the knowledge sought in these tests were knowledge necessary to have in order to function adequately in the new or advanced environment. But usually no such relationship could be traced. It was but another illustration of no present meaning connected with the work of the school. A remedy was sought, and is being sought, in trying to substitute for the information test a test of intelligence. It is generally admitted that neither one is an adequate mesure of the other. A child may have a very high grade of intelligence and yet make a very poor showing in the ordinary schoolroom test for knowledge, not that he has been unable to learn such facts but merely that his interests and attention have not been thus focust. On the other hand, it is entirely possible for one of low-grade intelligence to receive a very creditable "mark" in a test for information since it is frequently a test of verbal memory, that "great simulator of intelligence," as Binet calls it.

One of the most interesting of the books bearing upon this new educational movement is The Measurement of Intelligence by Professor Terman of Leland Stanford University. In the thoughts just exprest I have used material found in this book.

So, for a few years now, educational psychologists have been trying to work out a series of tests of intelligence, so that children may be located on the basis of their general intelligence, or ability to accomplish results. The results so far are very promising as tending to eliminate much of the loss mentioned above. And out on our firing lines the educational psychologist is being looked upon as a necessity in any system looking forward to real efficiency. It is thought that thru the saving he could effect in the two directions cited his regular employment would be a matter of economic foresight. A few years ago it was the school physician who was being fought for out in the front ranks. He is now a fixture in every up-to-date school system, and it is the psychologist for whom battle is now being waged. And it is only a question of time when his position will be secure and the line pushed forward for another attack.

I have discust with you briefly some of the interesting points of view of the education of to-day. I have tried to place before you, first, what I think to be its dominant motive—social betterment, made effective thru discovery and development of the individual's tastes and dominant interests. To show how this program is becoming established and worked out, I have touched upon various new lines of activity in sympathy with and contributing to the general movement. Thus I discust briefly the great child-study movement having for its goal knowledge of the individual child as a basis for its educational treatment. Following this I spoke of physical education—its beginning in many places and the great need for extension. Another activity named was the educational survey by means of which a community may have its own educational activity tested by impartial experts that its real efficiency may be known. Then followed brief discussion of the new movement for vocational guidance that is doing so much where being used to make the youth efficient and happy in his chosen and appropriate field of activity. I closed the discussion with a mention of a still newer movement having the same great ends in view—the employment of the educational psychologist. Firing-line activities all of these are, each vigorous and active in the great movement for educational betterment.

II

THE RELATION OF THE STATE UNIVERSITY TO THE HIGH SCHOOLS OF THE STATE

An Address delivered before the Annual Conference of the North Dakota Superintendents and Principals at the University of North Dakota, May 18, 1916

This is a topic of great interest to us all—to you in the field and to us here on the campus. The work of the two institutions is so closely related, each depends so much upon the other, that participation in the activities of one bespeaks interest in the other. But before we can discuss at all intelligently the matter of relationship it will be necessary to look at the two separately—objectively, as it were—to note the function of each and its place in the educational system of the State. What is the university? What is the high school? And what is the work of each? are questions that must first be answered.

In the first place, of course, the two are but parts of a still larger whole, neither being an independent, self-sufficing entity. The larger whole is the educational system of the State, of which there is one other part equally important with the two named, even the elementary school. And all three parts forming the whole are creations of the State, devised, controlled, and maintained for a very definite purpose—namely, the welfare and happiness of our people.

While it is true that the three parts are correlative, each supplementing the others and the system incomplete without all three, it is also true that they are co-ordinate, no one of the three being, per se, in authority over any other, nor any one subordinate to another. Let me put before you, very briefly, that we may all be thinking together, the system in its outlines and then discuss each of its parts, trying to discover its function and its node of work. Then we shall pass to the matter of relationship.

The system as a whole covers and tries to provide for the entire school life of the individual. The elementary period, or department, includes, in the main, as now organized, the work of the first eight years of the child's school life and ministers to it from the age of six to fourteen years. The secondary, beginning where the elementary closes, carries on the work for four years and is followed by the higher, the colleges and the professional schools—the university.

It may clarify matters somewhat and thus give us a clearer perspective, if, before, entering upon the discussion, I account for the system as we have it to-day.

Our Colonial forefathers in the Old Bay State, back in the 17th century, in providing to meet the situation that prest upon them, unconsciously laid the foundations for an educational system that expanded with their expansion and developed with their development. But before taking the initial steps they did not wait to analyze the entire situation and upon logical or philosophical grounds map it out in its entirety. They had no such thought. They needed ministers of the Gospel and, since a knowledge of Latin was the one sure gateway to that profession, they established a Latin school almost as soon as they had set their own dwelling places in order. This was in 1635, and Harvard College followed the very next year to complete the preparation. It was an afterthought and came eleven years later when they legislated for an elementary school. And even tho we can see, in what they had then produced, the fundamental factors of our present somewhat complicated system, the people who were responsible for its organization were only dimly conscious of the significance of it all. They builded better than they knew. The broad outlines can not be improved. Details, of course, are ever changing as local conditions change, but from the very nature of things, the elementary, the secondary, and the higher schools have remained with us, each for a quite definite purpose and all working together for a common end. Let us look, therefore, for a moment, at each of the three and see for what it stands and what it should attempt to do.

The Elementary School

The fundamental purpose of the elementary school in a democracy is well stated in the first legislation on the continent touching elementary education, tho not mentioning the elementary school. It was in the Massachusetts colonies in 1642. The General Court passed an ordinance of which the following quotation gives the substance:

"This Court, taking into consideration the great neglect of many parents and masters in the training of their children in labor and learning, and other employments which may be profitable to the commonwealth, do hereupon order and decree that in every town the chosen men appointed for managing the prudential affairs of the same shall henceforth stand charged with the care of the redress of this evil ... and for this end they, or the greater number of them, shall have the power to take account, from time to time, of all parents and masters, and of their children, concerning their calling and employment of their children, especially of their ability to read and understand the principles of religion and the capital laws of this country; and they shall have power ... to put forth as apprentices the children of such as they shall find not to be able and fit to employ and to bring them up."

Here was compulsory elementary education, that children might know how to read, might "understand the principles of religion and the capital laws of the State," and also that they might be taught to work. And why? For their own present and future welfare, and that they might be "profitable to the commonwealth," the document reads.

It was for all the children of all the people. The same thought is with us to-day and, analyzed and stated in our present-day terminology, may be put about as follows:

The elementary school is for all the people and aims to do for all three things: first, exercise a positive directive influence over the child's physical development; second, carry on, in a more systematic, scientific manner the training of the sense organs already begun by the home, thus opening up the life to the beauties of nature, art, and other forms of truth, and so providing for the development of the inner life of each in accordance with inherent leaning and capability; and, third, equip them with the tools of knowledge and give such knowledge facts and develop such points of view as will enable each to become a self-directing, constructive, and contributing member of his democratic community.

Attendance upon the elementary school should, in the interests of all as individuals and of the State as an organization, be compulsory.

The High School

The high school should likewise be for all, tho for a somewhat different purpose. While attendance should not be compulsory, the aim should be to make it universal. For a somewhat different purpose, I said; I should perhaps have said for an added purpose, because I would have the three ends of the elementary school kept constantly in view as fundamental bases. But, assuming that these things have been well done, the chief purpose of the high school should be to discover the child's latent powers, his dominant interests, and then, so far as these are wholesome, help him plan his education in their general direction. I might put it briefly thus: the chief function of the high school should be to help the child to become acquainted with himself and begin the planning of his future. Let us look at it carefully and see if it is not sound.

At the conclusion of the elementary school, at the age of 14, the boys and girls are still children; they are developing, not developed, in either body or mind. They have not yet reached, in the main, the period of rapid acceleration of physical growth, intellectual expansion, or moral development; they are just reaching it; they are now in the early stages of that wonderful period of adolescence when the boy is being transformed into the man and the girl into the woman. They are neither children nor adults, yet manifesting the characteristics of both. They do not know themselves, nor does any one else know them intimately. How can they? They are not yet formed. They are in the process of formation. What will emerge as a result of the process, we know only in broad outlines—not at all in minute detail. So many factors are at work and there are possible so many combinations of factors that no one can tell; for it is during the period of adolescence that hereditary characteristics show themselves. Up to this time the child is a child of the race; during this period it becomes the offspring of its parents. And the factors of heredity—father, mother, ancestry—are mingling and clashing and combining with the factors of environment, and what the outcome is going to be, nobody knows, in specific cases, in advance.

This is the period when the heart, the lungs, and the brain are being transformed, modified, whipt into shape for the performance of the duties of adulthood. It is a period when, in the intellectual realm, because of what is taking place in the physical, concepts are being clarified, relationships traced, ideas formed, things seen in the right perspective, and real reasoning begun. It is the period when, in the moral field, because of what is being accomplished in the physical and the intellectual, principles are being apprehended that will finally enable the individual to distinguish between right and wrong, to organize on principle rather than upon expediency his relationships with his fellows, and eventually to become a free moral agent, self-controlled and self-directed. It is the period, therefore, when ideals are being formed, habits fixt, character shaped, life plans matured, and professions chosen.

And so, with such an individual and during such a period, what other function of the high school can begin to compare, either in importance or in appropriateness, with the one stated?

It may be objected that I do not include in this function of the high school that which has been during a large portion of its history its foremost work—preparation for college. The seeming omission has not been accidental. I say the seeming omission because, even tho not specifically stated, it is there, for all who should be encouraged to prepare for college. But it has not been made prominent since, in my judgment, it is of minor importance. Note again the function as suggested—to help the child know himself, find out what he wants to do and what he can do best, and then begin getting ready for doing it well. If the specific form of future activity decided upon in a particular instance should call for the contribution of the college, then of course the plan mentioned would include appropriate preparation.

But from what point of view should the high school be regarded and for whom should it be planned? Should it be for the relatively few who go beyond, or for the great majority who do not? It is a fair question and admits of but one answer. The high schools of the State must, of course, give adequate preparation for entrance into the State university. Some of them must—not necessarily every one. It must be the preparatory school, since both are State institutions and the only ones occupying the field. But it should do vastly more than that. Being of the people, by the people, and for the people, it should be so handled as to serve all, not merely a few, of the people. It is perfectly plain, therefore, where the emphasis should be placed.

Please do not misunderstand me; I am not looking upon this from any narrow point of view, I am not thinking merely of getting these children ready for jobs—certainly not all of them. I am not advocating the transforming of our high schools into trade schools—not at all. What I am urging primarily is a different point of view—and so enlarging and modifying our high school activities and equipment that all our children, instead of only a few, may find there a congenial atmosphere and activities suited to their tastes. If their tastes lie in the direction of carpentering, or of plumbing, or of dress-making, well and good; let them be thus developed and prepared to go out into their community somewhat equipt for remunerative toil and for community service. Why not? Are they not as worthy as those who have tastes and ambitions or a more literary character and who, therefore, look forward to the chair of the teacher, the office of the lawyer, or the practise of a physician? And is not the community under as much obligation to the one as to the other? Some fear that such a program would lessen the number preparing for college, that work of this objective character would be so attractive that all would choose it. These fears are groundless. Children are not all built that way. At any rate it would not lessen the number who ought to go to college—who are adapted to that kind of work. It would, of course, greatly increase the number attending high schools—holding those who now, because of lack of interest in the work offered, drop out of school entirely and thus swell the ranks of unskilled and unintelligent labor. And that is greatly worth while. My own feeling is, too, that out of the greatly increased attendance of the high school an even larger number than at present would find their way to the university, and that they would be better equipt in point of view and purpose than are many who enter under present conditions. This suggestion is made not to keep boys and girls out of the university, but to send them there with a purpose.

But there is oftentimes a misapprehension as to these two possible programs for the high schools. Preparation for college and preparation for life are by no means antagonistic. Preparation for college is the only kind of preparation for life for him who goes to college. And for him who, during his high school course, plans to go to college, but who at its close, finds himself unable to do so, for economic or other reasons, it should still be the best possible preparation for life that he could have made, and it will be if, as I am urging, it has all the time been based upon his own nature and seeking his normal development in the direction of his dominant interests. And preparation for life should be the very best kind of preparation for college, for him who later changes his plans and goes to college as well as for him who does not, since the college itself should be regarded as merely completing preparation for life. But a great many, the majority, no doubt, will not go to college, should not go to college, or to put it better, perhaps, need not go to college. The activities of life, psychical as well as manual, for which they are best adapted by native endowment, and in the performance of which they will, therefore, be happiest, and thru which they will, therefore, contribute most to the welfare of society, do not need for their satisfactory performance school preparation beyond the high school period. In other words, a great many boys and girls should not be urged to go to college. They should not if they do not have within them those characteristics of leadership which, developed, will make them leaders. The college graduate who, in later life, is a street car conductor, or a Pullman porter, or what-not, has largely wasted the time and money spent in college. And this is not because these occupations are not honorable, but because they do not call for that kind of preparation. And the kind of an individual who is at home as a street car conductor does not usually profit greatly by the work of the college. I will not put it as David Starr Jordan is said to have done, that "It does not pay to give a fifty-cent boy a five thousand dollar education." It is not a question of dollars and cents—rather one of fitness and of fitting. The so-called "fifty-cent boy" who may have been given the "five thousand dollar education" and because of its inappropriateness degenerated into a ten-cent man, might have been made into a thousand dollar man if he had been given the right kind of education. The boy who has the instincts of a blacksmith, who likes the shaping of iron and the shoeing of horses and the smell of the forge, will be a far happier and more useful member of society as a blacksmith than, made over by the college, as a lawyer without clients, a physician without patients, or a teacher always hunting a new position.

I have discust the high school, as you see, from the point of view of the developmental needs of the children of the community. The outcome would have been practically the same had I looked upon it from the standpoint of the industrial needs of the community. I fully believe that a high school should be to-day just what it was originally planned to be back there in the first half of the nineteenth century—a school higher than the elementary, controlled by the community, in co-operation with the educational leaders of the State, serving the needs of the community, fitting its boys and girls for service in the community and discriminating, if at all, in the favor of the group of boys and girls who are not going to college, since that group is much the larger. Since boys and girls are nearer to us than industrial needs, I have chosen to look at the problem from that angle.

I am well aware that my point of view in this entire matter is not quite in accord with the present-day program. The American high school still has preparation for college as the one dominant object. Its curriculum is planned for that end. It is rated at first, second, or third class, depending upon the degree in which it meets college entrance requirements—not upon the degree in which it serves the community needs or develops the community's children.

I realize fully that the change suggested would involve quite a decided rearrangement of the ordinary high school program. With the time at my disposal it will be impossible to discuss the matter in detail, but it should be touched upon briefly to get the matter of relationship clearly before us.

The first change would be in the matter of organization: instead of having the elementary school, as now, covering eight years and closing with the child at the age of 14, it should cover but six years, sending the child to the high school at about the age of 12, at which time, approximately, begin those physical and psychological changes earlier spoken of, as belonging to adolescence. And that thought has taken root, as we all know, in the junior high school movement. Six years is long enough to do well all that the elementary school should be expected to do. It certainly is as long as children can be held interested in the kind of work thought necessary for the child, and as long as he can be happy in the atmosphere of the ordinary elementary school. It is long enough for the laying of foundations. It is time something else should be taken up.

Planning to meet the needs of adolescents, we must take the adolescents as they are—many of them not primarily students of books, but individuals of ceaseless activity, physical as well as mental, vastly more interested in the doing of things than in the learning of lessons. And we must provide a means whereby they can learn to do all sorts of things that have to be done in the community. The subject matter, the methods of handling young life, the atmosphere, the activities, and the ends in view, should be so changed or modified, or supplemented as to be appropriate to the new and changing personalities to be affected by them. The details would differ with different communities but the principle is adaptable to all.

The State University

With the functions of these two departments thus clearly in mind, let us look at the next in order—the State university. Fortunately this discussion need not detain us long since there is a quite well recognized unanimity of opinion in regard to its work.

While the State university does many things, and some of them well, and while it can be said to have many ends in view, its one all-inclusive function is to prepare leaders for society. It must prepare leaders in law, that justice may be done; leaders in medicine that health may be preserved; leaders in engineering that the State's resources may be developed; leaders in education that the youth of the State may be educated; leaders in research that the boundaries of knowledge may be pushed out—leaders all along the line that character may be formed, statesmanship developed, and the welfare of the people secured and preserved. And the preparation of all these is not, primarily, that those prepared may achieve fame or amass fortunes, but that society may be better served.

We are all agreed, in the United States, that elementary education should be universal. Many are now taking the position that I have already advanced that secondary education should likewise reach and serve all. But all stop at that point. No one even suggests a college education for every boy and girl. And the reason is found in the above statement of the function of the institution, since not all are suited to leadership. It takes only the relatively few who stand out clearly in their high school experiences as possessing the characteristics of leadership, and these few it develops, equips, locates.

Coming a little closer to our subject—tho I think we have not been very far from it at any time—let us inquire as to this relationship along some more specific lines.

It goes without saying that the relationship should be very cordial. The two institutions are creatures of the State, partners in the important work of educating the children of the State. Each has its own work to do, and neither has been given any authority over the other. At the same time each depends upon the other, neither being able to do its own work without the other's assistance. They should work hand in hand, each assisting the other in every possible way to realize its largest usefulness to the community and the State. In general, the high school should send its students to the university well equipt to do the lines of work for which they respectively apply. And the university, knowing in each case just what that work is to be, and the difficulties it presents, should be the judge as to the details of that equipment.

On the other hand, the university should not make requirements for beginning its work that are beyond the capacity of the ordinary high school student. Nor should it definitely require or legislate against specific subjects upon which there is no general agreement among educational leaders. Something is wrong somewhere, in the matter of educational values, when some colleges absolutely prescribe for entrance certain subjects for which others will give no credit at all: for example, at the present time 91 colleges in the United States require at least one unit of natural science and 8 colleges will not accept a single unit; again, 13 require 2 units of natural science and 22 will not accept the two. Until we know a little better than we do at present what we are doing and why we are doing it, it might be well to move slowly in legislating for or against specific subjects. The university should keep in mind the fact that the high school has other duties to perform—and possibly more important ones—than preparing a few students for the university.

I am glad to say that in this matter of entrance requirements the two institutions are gradually coming closer together. The university is coming to have greater respect for and more confidence in the high school and its work. Whereas in the earlier days all entrance work was rigidly prescribed, now, in nearly all of our higher institutions, several units are open to free choice from a list of accepted subjects. In a goodly number these units may be chosen from any subjects offered by an approved high school. And, too, there are five institutions of good standing that allow the entire 15 units to be thus chosen. Our own, as you doubtless know, is much more generous in this matter than the great majority. It gives a margin of 5 units to be thus selected. I think there are but 9 institutions in the whole country more liberal. As you know, too, in all our colleges save Engineering we specifically require but 4 units—3 in English and 1 in mathematics. From the others free election among groups is allowed. The movement here and elsewhere seems to be in the direction of requiring the completion of a full four-year high school course, with increasing flexibility as to specific subjects. And that seems wise.

It gives me pleasure, at this point, to say that the relationship between the University of North Dakota and the high schools of the State has ever been most cordial. I think there has never been a time when the two, tho differing at times in details, have not co-operated in the most frank and cordial manner to bring about the best good of both and to secure the best service to the State. Neither one has been selfish, trying to secure undue advantage over the other. Where domination of the university over the high school can be seen—as it most certainly can be seen—and even tho, as I have said, the work of the high school is what it ought not to be—mainly a preparation for the university—this University and these high schools are not at fault. It is not a local situation. It is nation-wide, and even nation-wide as it is, it does not include, consciously and directly, the State universities. The older colleges and universities did dominate, but the relation between the State university and the high school has ever been cordial. They have always recognized their partnership and have acted in accordance with it. But yet we have all been caught in the maelstrom, and it would be difficult for any one institution or any one State to get out of it. So no immediate or rapid change can be expected. Large bodies move slowly. The change will come, but it will come gradually thru claiming a little here and granting a little there.

But before leaving this topic of entrance requirements, I desire to refer to one of its broad factors and touch, incidentally, upon the large matter of university attendance in general. In discussing the high school, and again the university, I have tried to make clear the fact that not all high school students should be urged or expected to go on to the university. Remember that the high schools should be made to serve all the youth of the State but that the university's work is to take but the choice ones of these, or, better yet, the scholarly output of the high schools, and equip them for leadership in society, and the point is clear. It is a new problem but coming to be a very real one. Going to college is getting to be the fashion—almost a fad in some places. We all know that a goodly number of students, boys and girls alike, enter the universities, East and West, every year who have no characteristics of leadership, who are not fitted for real university work, either in academic equipment, maturity of judgment, point of view, or earnestness of purpose. Many of these young people are wholly worthy, well meaning, and ambitious in a weak way, but they have been misguided. They have listened to the attractive preaching of the popular but unintelligent gospel of college attendance for all and, caught by the glamor—the foot-ball, the track meet, the declamation contest, the fraternity pin, the Junior prom, etc.—have answered the hail of "All aboard for the University!" without knowing what university work really is or what it is for.

The college and the university are also coming to be thought a convenient place for rich fathers to dump their incorrigible sons and marriageable daughters for a few years. And in some sections these rich fathers are increasing in numbers at an alarming rate. The presence of all such people (they can not be called students) in various classes is a drag, and the wheels of the institution are clogged. These people themselves are soon disillusioned but ashamed to quit; the home people are dissatisfied with results; the university is unjustly blamed for not developing them into leaders—there is trouble all around. I am not speaking of our own institution alone; others are experiencing the same difficulty and are seeking a way out. Michigan University, for example, is now urging its alumni to discriminate carefully in sending students to their Alma Mater; it wants only those fitted by nature as well as by the preparatory school.

As said above, this is coming to be a real problem and difficult of solution. What shall be the relationship of the university to the high school touching these various classes of its graduates? Should it receive them all? If not, where shall the line be drawn? And who shall draw it? Shall one factor of the entrance requirements be the recommendation of the high school principal or superintendent? Would it be well for the high school to have two distinct grades: one for local graduation and a higher for university entrance? That is done in some places. The entire matter is worthy of careful thought of both high school and university.

With the discussion of one more point of contact, the preparation of teachers for the high schools, I am thru.

If, as stated above, the great function of the State university is to provide leaders for society, then, in a broad way it is easy to answer the question as to what it should do for the preparation of teachers for high schools—it should prepare them. For where else is clear-headed, unselfish leadership more needed than in the high schools from the students of which are being selected, thru direction and competition, the boys and girls who are to pass out to the colleges and then into the world as leaders? We all know that that is what happens. The man or woman, untouched by college or university, who yet occupies a responsible position of leadership is an exception to the rule. And where else than in a university can preparation for high school teaching be secured? But of what sort should be this preparation? The answer to the question in general has long been clear—it should be professional as well as academic in character. Mere acquaintance with the subject to be taught is no longer held adequate by people at all intelligent along educational lines. And during the progress of the movement that has demonstrated to us the need of professional preparation, there has been worked out also, along somewhat general lines, the details of this preparation. We are now, the country over, in approximate agreement that it should cover the History of Education, Philosophy of Education, Psychology, including the study of adolescence, and Methods of Teaching. Institutions differ somewhat in minor matters within these broad fields, but the development of the movement in the United States has resulted in approximately the above program—professional preparation for all teachers in the high school and that along the four lines suggested. But the movement has gone much farther than suggested by my statement. The results are found in something more authoritative and more permanent than tentative agreement among educational leaders, or even among educational institutions. The law-making bodies of the land have taken a part, and by legal enactment have required about what I have suggested. The State of North Dakota, for example, requires professional equipment of every teacher within its borders—no, not quite, it does not require it of its teachers in the special schools—the reform school, the schools for the deaf, blind, and the feeble minded—nor in its institutions of higher education, including the normal schools and the University. And in this North Dakota does not differ from other states of the Union. But it is strange, isn't it? that the state absolutely requires professional preparation of all its elementary and secondary teachers and yet does not require it of those whom it engages to equip them? Some of them have it, of course, and the majority of those who give the specifically professional courses, but the greater number of all teachers in the higher institutions are lacking in this respect. That doesn't mean that all university teachers are poor teachers. Many of them have learned how to teach in the crude and expensive school of experience. They have, at last, the professional equipment, but gained at high cost. Perhaps this lack of professional equipment accounts, in a mesure, for the admittedly poor character of much of the teaching in our colleges, normal schools, and universities.

But to come back to the high school and the preparation of high school teachers. What does North Dakota require, and how does the University meet the requirement?

All teachers in classified high schools, save special teachers of music and drawing, are required to hold certificates that presuppose proficiency in psychology, history of education, principles of education, school administration, and methods. Special teachers in music and drawing are required to have covered in professional lines only psychology and pedagogy. But in cases where the certificate is granted on the basis of college work instead of on results of an examination, the law requires that the applicant shall have covered at least two year-courses, or sixteen semester hours, of professional work, and it recommends that this be distributed among the four great fields: history of education, principles of education, methods of teaching, and school management.

The School of Education has been organized within the University for the specific purpose of preparing teachers for the high schools of the State. To graduate from the School of Education and thus receive the B.A. degree and the Bachelor's Diploma in teaching, which is accredited by law as a first-grade professional certificate, and also to be recommended for teaching specific subjects in the high-school, an applicant is required, first, to have specialized, academically, in the subject to be taught. The amount of work required for this specializing varies with the different subjects, but in most cases it is from 20 to 24 semester hours. Recall what is meant by the work of a semester hour and you will easily see how broad our academic requirement is. It means that in addition to one's high school work he is required to carry the subject in practically daily recitation for from 2½ to 3 years in the University. To some that may seem too much, but we feel that the first requirement for teaching in the high school should be a thoro grounding in the subjects to be taught.

The academic matter thus disposed of, let us note the professional. For this, in its various phases, we require 20 semester hours covering psychology, history of education, secondary education, philosophy of education, and methods of teaching academic subjects in which the student has been specializing and which he expects to teach. The course in methods includes observation and practise teaching of the same subjects in the Model High School under expert supervision. Many of our students voluntarily take more than 20 hours, but that is all that is required. We have cut down the professional requirement to the minimum so as to leave ample opportunity within the course for thoro mastery of the subjects to be taught, and also for general culture and the development of broad-mindedness, not being willing to send teachers into the high schools as narrow specialists.

Were there time I should like to go more into detail in regard to these various requirements and try to show the contribution of each; but I must pass on to speak of another way by means of which the University enables students to meet the legal requirements for teaching in the high schools—thru the College of Arts. A student who graduates from the College of Arts and who has had, during the progress of this course, 16 hours of Education is, upon application to the State Board of Education and the payment of a fee of $5, granted a first grade professional certificate. But this method of preparation is seen to be quite unsatisfactory when contrasted with the one just outlined. The Arts student is a relatively free lance, practically wholly so in the choice and arrangements of his professional work. In the School of Education the program is for all the professional subjects, save general psychology, to be taken after the beginning of the junior year and so immediately prior to the actual work of teaching, and too, when the student is relatively mature. But with the Arts student, it may all be taken much earlier, during relative immaturity and making a long period elapse between it and the work of teaching—quite long enough for the influence of the professional atmosphere, always valuable in such matters, to be wholly lost. The question of the professional work of the School of Education student is carefully planned to meet the ends in view. Each course has its definite contribution. The Arts student may, and often does, select courses that are not the most appropriate for high school teaching: for example, instead of a course in adolescence he may select one in child study which deals only with the child in the grades. Instead of a special methods course in the subjects he plans to teach in high school, he may select a course in methods in elementary subjects; and he may not take any course in secondary education nor have any practise teaching in the Model High School. The work may be—quite often is—ill-arranged and of little value as a professional preparation for high school teacher.

I have dwelt upon this contrast because the University and its School of Education has suffered by the laxness of this second mode of preparation. Some of the people who thus go out are not good representative products of the institution's professional activity.

Just a closing word as to this phase of the subject. You see what we are trying to do and how we are trying to do it. From the work of the young people whom we have sent you from time to time, how successful have we been? Our work as to time and content of courses and our general equipment are about the same as found in similar institutions in other states. We differ somewhat, of course, in personalities and in individual point of view but, taking everything together, we are doing the best we know how with the material that you send us as students. How does our product suit you? What criticism have you to make and what changes to suggest?

III

THE UNIVERSITY AND THE TEACHER

An Address delivered at the University of Manitoba, Winnipeg, Canada, March 30, 1916, in the Exchange Lectureship existing between the University of Manitoba and the University of North Dakota. It was printed in the "American Schoolmaster," December, 1916

Having accepted the kind invitation of the University of Manitoba to be one of the exchange lecturers from the University of North Dakota, for the current year, I made inquiry as to the nature of the different groups of people whom I should be expected to address. I did this so as to be able to select appropriate themes for discussion.

For this gathering, therefore, semi-popular in character and made up, as I was told it would be, of the more thoughtful and intelligent people of the community, University, and city, I selected as my topic for discussion, "The University and the Teacher."

To a group of educated men and women who have visions—people who are characteristically looking beyond the present and trying to plan for the development of a great democratic state and for the welfare of a free people, I know of no line of thought more appropriate or suggestive. This is true because in such a state and with such a people, the state or provincial university is the recognized leader of thought and action. And this is true since the one great function of such an institution is to take the choice youth and maidens from the various sections of the state and, thru the work of the class room day in and day out, week by week, year after year, give them knowledge, shape their opinions, mold their characters, and develop their minds, and then send them back into society as recognized leaders of the next generation.

The topic is doubly suggestive when we stop to inquire as to what makes a university or any other institution of learning—what it is that really gives it its reputation, its character, its influence. What is it, anyway? Its towering brick walls? Its libraries and its laboratories? Its athletic prowess? Its beautiful campus? Why, no, of course not. Not any one of these nor all of them combined, complete and extended and excellent as they may be, or as useful as they all are, ever yet made or ever can make a great university. A real university, or any other institution of learning, is made up of the men and the women who form its student and its teaching bodies. The character of the institution, its very life blood, is drawn from them. Their points of view, their motives, their scholarships, their visions, their aspirations, make it what it is in every instance.

You recall that ex-President Garfield's description of a university included only two factors as essential—the teacher and the student. The external equipment—buildings, libraries, laboratories—what not—is merely a tool in their hands. Please do not misunderstand me. I am not inveighing against these things; they are necessary. What I am insisting upon is that not things but teachers make a university. And so my topic, "The University and the Teacher," launches us at once into the midst of a great big thought. So big, indeed, it is, that it goes without saying that it cannot be adequately handled in the brief space of a single address. Only certain phases of the large topic can be touched upon at all, and they treated but briefly.

But, after all, the function of a speaker, certainly upon such an occasion as this, is not merely to give information. It is not to speak with finality upon any subject. Is it not, rather, to direct the thoughts of the listeners along worthy lines? For any good that shall result from the meeting together of speaker and audience will be the direct outcome of their thoughts and not of his words. So, after having thus spoken briefly of the university as a whole—of its place in the state, its great influence and that of its teaching body—I invite you to think with me as I touch the subject here and there briefly discussing these three sub-topics: 1. The Kind of Teachers the University should Employ; 2. The University Teacher in His Classroom; 3. The University's Attitude Toward the Preparation of Teachers. Our first discussion, then, will be of

The Kind of Teachers the University Should Employ

A few moments ago I said that the one great function of a State University was to provide the State with a competent leadership. That involves, however, a subsidiary function of such great importance, especially as we regard the teaching force, that an added word is needed both to prevent misunderstanding and to make clear the line of discussion of this sub-topic. The development of a competent leadership is the all-embracing function of such an institution, but that can not be done save as the institution is, at the same time, thru some or all of its teachers, keeping fully abreast, or well in the lead, of the discovery of new knowledge and of new applications of knowledge in the various fields of human endeavor. And this is true because men can not be leaders in any field of action unless they possess the fullest and latest items of knowledge obtainable in that particular field, and again because real leadership can not be developed save thru the use, as educative material, of the fullest and latest.

What kind of teachers should the university employ? Clearly, teachers who can do these two things: men of open and enquiring minds, men of imagination, men who are hungry and thirsty for knowledge, men of research—men of the laboratory and the library. But that is but one side; we must also have men of vision, men of great breadth of view, men of broad human sympathies, men who can take this knowledge, old and new, and with it, as educative material, help to shape opinions, and mold characters, and fashion destinies, thus transforming crude, unstable, and immature youth into men and women of virtue, and knowledge, and courage, and sanity, and poise, into whose trust, therefore, can be placed the guiding of a great, free, developing people—men of the classroom, teachers and inspirers of youth.

The question may well be asked if I mean two groups of teachers, a research group and a teaching group, neither one acting within the field of the other. Not necessarily and certainly not absolutely. To quite an extent the two functions should overlap since each supplements the other. The man of research should also be a teacher in order both to keep his human sympathies alive and as a spur to still further search. And every teacher should be, to some extent, a man of research so that thru his own joy in discovery he will be able to kindle a like fire in the minds of others, thus keeping the spirit of discovery alive and active in the land, and also that he may invite his students to drink at a living stream instead of a stagnant pool. The teacher who is not also a student, and continually working at it, is usually but a poor teacher. But while all this is true, it is probably true also that no person is equally successful in both fields. Some men are primarily teachers—are in their element in the classroom engaged with the problems of the student but only indifferently successful in the laboratory, while others, at home in the laboratory, are somewhat out of place and ill-at-ease in the classroom. I shall not attempt to say which of the two functions is the more important or the more useful. Both are needed and, as said before, both are needed, to some extent, in each. But, in the main, where characteristics are marked, the shoemaker should be allowed to stick to his last. It is a very wise procedure that is more and more being followed at the present time, in American universities, of recognizing such differences and making provision for research professorships that include no teaching duties whatever. The percentage of these should be small, of course.

What kind of a teacher should the university employ, then? The teacher who is eager to push the boundaries of human knowledge a little beyond the point yet reached and who also greatly desires to take knowledge as an instrument and with it develop boys and girls and equip them for leadership in the great world of action. So far as possible the two kinds of service should be performed by the same person, but yet that is immaterial—the material thing being that both kinds be performed.

What kind of teachers should the university employ? Why, teachers who not only desire to do these two things, but who also know how to do them. If one is to do research work, he should know how to do it, economically and efficiently. His preparation should have included a certain amount of reflection upon the reasons for research and of training in the manner of conducting the same. Likewise, if he is to be a teacher, he should be well grounded in the theory and art of teaching. If he is going to shape opinions, mold character, give points of view, develop human minds, then it goes without saying that his preparation should have included a very thoro study of the human mind in its various relationships, activities, and stages of development. If a teacher is expected to equip young men and women for the duties of life as leaders in the great social, economic, and political activities, he must also possess great stores of knowledge, and likewise know how to impart that knowledge so that it will become equally the possession of others.

The University Teacher in His Classroom

The second of my three topics, "The University Teacher in His Classroom," is an even more intimate one than the one just treated. It is so intimate that perhaps discretion would be the better part of valor, but since I am at a considerable distance from the people and the institutions I am discussing, I feel that I can proceed with comparative safety.

There is abroad at the present time considerable hostile criticism of our higher education. Our graduates, it is said, are not able "to connect up"; "it takes them two or three years after they get out to find themselves"; "they first have to get rid of a lot of theoretical notions that have been given them before they can learn the practical things of life." President Foster of Reed College, Oregon, puts it thus: "It is possible to graduate from almost any college without an idea in one's head." Professor Wenley, Head of the Department of Philosophy in Michigan University, had about the same thought when he gave me his original definition of an American college as "A so-called institution of higher learning whose chief accomplishment is the inoculation of innocent youth against education." Or shall we put it in the words of our friend Mr. Dooley: "Nowadays when a lad goes to college, the prisidint takes him into a Turkish room, gives him a cigareet an' says: Me dear boy, what special branch iv larnin wud ye like to have studied f'r ye be our compitint perfessors?"

Such are some of the caustic remarks that we occasionally hear. Of course the situation is always exaggerated in such criticisms; but, as the old saw puts it, "Where there's so much smoke, there must be some fire." Where does the trouble lie? All sorts of guesses have been made, and some careful investigations entered into in an effort to discover the cause. The outcome of all such consideration, so far as I am able to learn, throws the responsibility upon the teacher rather than upon the institution as a whole, and upon his teaching ability rather than upon any lack of knowledge. We cannot teach, it is said. In spite of the knowledge that we possess, we do not know how to present that knowledge so that another can gain it. Nicholas Murray Butler, the brainy President of Columbia University, says, "The teaching of many very famous men [in colleges and universities] is distinctly poor; sometimes it is even worse."

These are rather interesting statements and worthy of thought. What is meant by teaching, anyway? Teaching involves a double process and two persons, both active upon the same matter. Both must be successful for either to be. Teaching is causing to learn, and when there is no learning, there can have been no teaching. "Learning is not merely the correlative idea of teaching, but is one of its constituent elements." No matter how much an instructor may know, no matter how much he may say nor what he may do, if he doesn't cause the student to put forth those mental activities that result in learning, he doesn't teach. And it is claimed that, in many cases, our university instructors do not know how to do this. He knows but he does not know how to cause another to know, is a common criticism.

I suppose it is true, tho loyalty makes me rather dislike to admit it, that with us the poorest teaching in our entire educational system is done in colleges and universities. My own observation both as a student and as a teacher all along the line leads me to say that, in the main, our best teaching is done in the elementary grades, second best in the high schools, and poorest in the higher institutions. Another puts it thus: "We have excellent teaching in the lower primary grades and in the graduate schools, but between these two extremes, we can call it teaching only by courtesy." Another, the president of a State University, is reported to have said, "I have resolved never again to turn my undergraduates over to young Ph. D.'s. It takes five years to make a commonsense teacher of a raw doctor fresh from three years of graduate work."

If these statements are true, and I am afraid that there's much of truth in them, the situation is rather serious. Still, it isn't at all surprising when one takes the whole matter into consideration. For relatively few university instructors have given any attention to the matter of teaching itself. They have studied the subject matter with which they are to deal. They have become proficient so far as knowledge is concerned. No fault can be found with them touching the matter of erudition. But they have not given any reflective thought to the art of teaching. They have not made a study of the human mind in its development in order to know how it receives knowledge as mental nourishment, and to understand the assimilative process; they have not given themselves to a systematic and scientific study of human life so as to know how to handle it in its various moods and characteristics. How differently these good people would have planned if they had expected to practise Law, or Medicine or to enter the Ministry! In every such case they would have made professional preparation for their work. Isn't it strange that any one should think that this profession—the most important—could be practised with success in its higher realms, by people who have never given its practise one moment's attention? President Butler, in giving reasons for poor college teaching, says, "Too few instructors are interested in education."

I am reminded of Socrates' shrewd parody of a supposed speech of Euthydemus who, totally ignorant of statecraft, desired election to an important position in the government of the city of Athens. It is suggestive here: "I, O man of Athens, have never learned the medical art from any one, nor have been desirous that any physician should be my instructor; for I have constantly been on my guard, not only against learning anything of the art from any one, but even against appearing to have learned anything; nevertheless confer on me this medical appointment, for I will endeavor to learn by making experiments upon you." Comment is unnecessary.

There are three kinds of knowledge that every teacher should possess, that every successful teacher does possess: first, knowledge of the subject matter with which he deals; second, knowledge of the human mind which he is trying to stimulate; and third, knowledge of the way to bring these two together in a helpful manner. Of the three, I am afraid that university instructors have, in the main, but the first. At any rate, all they know of the other two is of an empirical character and what they have picked up incidentally. There are exceptions, to be sure. Every worthy institution has them, striking exceptions, too, some of them are. A few of our older men have become good teachers thru practise and experiment, and an occasional young man now comes with professional preparation. But yet, as in so many other matters, the exceptions merely prove the rule.

Thus equipt, or rather with this serious lack of equipment, the young university instructor begins his work. If he is, to use the words of the university president just quoted, "a raw doctor fresh from three years of graduate work," he probably begins by copying the methods of procedure of his own recent instructors. He tries to set these immature boys and girls at research problems and, in classroom, tries to impart information by the lecture method.

How well I remember such an instance in my own freshman days. I fell into the hands of such an instructor in Greek. We were reading that most charming of Greek stories—The Odyssey. Textual criticism was this man's hobby, and we were put to work trying to compare texts, to delve into the intricacies of form and structure—trying to improve upon Homer! Such information as we could not find he gave us, in the formal lecture, day after day. But when we got it, we did not want it because we did not know what to do with it. Now, I am not quarreling with textual criticism. It would have been all right for that young doctor (he was younger than I was at that time) to deal with the facts of textual criticism, with some people, at some time, but it was all wrong for him to attempt to give those facts to us in our freshman year in the College of Arts. They were not adapted to our intellectual needs. They did not fit into our mental stomachs. We could not keep them down, or in, or something. But the pathetic fact was that the instructor did not know that they did not fit. I, being older than many in the class and thus appreciating better the barrenness of the Greek pasture in which we were trying to graze, finally managed, by a little skilful maneuver, to escape and to join another group that happened to be in the care of a real teacher who knew not only Homer but, as well, freshman boys and girls, the reasons for teaching Homer to freshmen boys and girls, and how to do it. He was acquainted with both the science and the art of teaching. Oh, how green was the pasture here, and how abundant and how nutritious the food! In all my university experience I recall nothing more delightful.

But this is ancient history? Yes, I know it is. But yet, I am sorry to say, history repeats itself. Those three great mistakes that that young doctor made in my Greek class some twenty or more years ago are being made this very year by young doctors and by old doctors and by many who are not doctors at all, in one subject or another, in well-nigh every college or university in the United States. Our instructors do not know well enough how to adapt knowledge to human needs; they have the erroneous notion that the chief function of an educational institution is to impart information; and, too, many of them are afflicted with the lecture craze.

Touching these three mistakes, let me say, briefly: first, as to the adaptation of knowledge: the word education is derived from the Latin educo, educare, and means to nourish, and nourishment, physical, mental, or moral, is never secured save as the food is adapted to the organism. And just as much care as our scientific dietitians give to our dining-room service, our university instructors should give to the mental and moral pabulum that they serve to their students, especially the lower classes if not the entire body of undergraduates. They should know this knowledge as mental nourishment; they should know the condition of the mind, and they should know how to select and prepare this food for digestion and assimilation.

As to the second mistake, the undue emphasis upon the mere imparting of knowledge: let me quote a few words from President Wilson, uttered when President of Princeton University: "We should remember," said he, "that information is not education. The greater part of the work that we are doing in our colleges to-day is to impart information." I am afraid that he is correct. I am very much afraid that that is mainly what we are doing. But it is wrong. The greater part of our work should not be to impart knowledge. It should be to assist in interpreting the knowledge that the student himself gets—to fit it to his own life needs and to help him learn how to study and how to think for himself. In other words, this information in which we deal should not be an end in itself, but a means to an end. And that end should be development, mental power, point of view—character. To be sure, we must deal in knowledge facts (do not, I beg of you, misunderstand me) but not for the mere possession of those facts.

And lastly the lecture craze, under the domination of which otherwise sensible people get into the habit of supplying information to students who already know how to read instead of telling them where to find it and then discussing it with them. How common it is! But why? Simply because it is easy. How much easier it is than to conduct a real live recitation in which there is the give and take, the action and reaction, of eager vigorous young minds, where the instructor is the agency of interpretation and the inspiration! To conduct such an exercise with from thirty to fifty bright college students and keep them on the alert is no lazy man's task. It requires brains and skill, whereas anybody can do the other thing! President Foster is correct in saying, "There should be fewer lectures ... the easiest of all methods of instruction."

Again let me give an illustration drawn from my own sad experience, just to show what at least some of this lecturing is. This, you see, is getting to be a confession as well as an exposition. I was taking a course in the History of Philosophy. It was given by a man well known in the educational world, then and now. He was well thought of both as a teacher and a man. He read his lectures from manuscript. We were supposed to put into our note books every golden word that dropt from his inspired lips. And the most of us tried to do so, and in the effort got down some that were not golden. I did as the rest did till one day, fresh from the lecture, I went into the library and chanced upon a copy of Burt's "History of Greek Philosophy." I opened it and shortly found the very discussion, and some of the very sentences, word for word, that I had just copied with so much labor into my note book. And they were in print, too, so much easier to read than my note book writing! I at once sent to the publisher for a copy of the book and took no more notes in that course. Nor did I take any more courses under that instructor.

And so it was in a course in history—only there the kind old professor was naïve enough to tell us the name of the book from which he got his lectures. And again, let me say that history repeats itself. Am I wrong in my criticism? Let me quote from one whose words carry more weight than do mine—Nicholas Murray Butler, President of Columbia University—(Ed. Rev. Apr., 1915, p. 399): "To use—or rather to abuse—the academic lecture by making it a medium for the conveyance of mere information is to shut one's eyes to the fact that the art of printing has been discovered. The proper use of the lecture is the critical interpretation by the older scholar of the information which the younger has gained for himself. Its object is to inspire and to guide and by no means merely to inform."

I do not mean to condemn the lecture method absolutely. There are certain lines of work in which it is quite necessary. This is true in some advanced courses, especially in the sciences, where an instructor is doing both lines of university work—carrying on research and giving his advanced students the results of his findings. Of course these have not yet been embodied in a text or other printed form and cannot be thus given.

And this same justification can be urged for some of the work in our professional schools where both the material used and the end sought are different. In still another line of work the lecture is permissible—if it deal with a relatively new subject or with new phases of an old subject not yet covered by a satisfactory text. But here it need not continue long because some enterprising instructor will soon satisfy the need. The formal lecture has therefore no place in the earlier and but slight place in the later years of undergraduate work. Its place should be taken by the text and reference book and the class discussion. One of the finest accomplishments that we can help our students to gain is the ability to master the book.

Then, in conclusion, touching the matter of teaching, fidelity to truth compels me to admit, tho reluctantly, that much of it is very poor. It satisfies the external demands and that is about all. It is not of a character to kindle enthusiasm nor to develop high ideals of scholarship. Much of it, I said, not all. Every institution has some good teachers, some very excellent ones, but no institution is overstockt with species of that genus. The great majority of our undergraduates are poorly taught. That examination mortality is not greater than it is is due to two fine qualities, one in the student body and the other in the instructors. It speaks eloquently of the initiative of the students, and demonstrates that instructors can be fair even if they can't teach. Many times we know that we are to blame for the poor work of the student and, knowing it, will not visit the penalty upon the unoffending head.

The reason for this lamentable situation can be traced to two practises: In the first place, up to the present time, as said before, very few prospective college teachers have made any professional preparation for their work as teachers. In the second place, it is the almost universal custom to place the freshmen and sophomores, by all means our largest classes and the ones in greatest need of skilled teachers, in the hands of young instructors who have not yet learned how to teach. Relief will come thru two changes; first, when either the State or the governing board of the college shall demand professional preparation of every one allowed to occupy a teaching position, just as we do now for positions in the elementary and secondary schools. And if any one should raise a question as to the value of such preparation, my only but all-sufficient answer is to point to the universally recognized improvement in the character of teaching in those parts of our educational system since that requirement was put into effect. And the second needed change is this—for Presidents seeking teachers to ask candidates two questions instead of one as heretofore: first, of course, the question should be, "What do you know?" Satisfied as to that, let the second come clear and strong, "Can you teach?" And until an affirmative answer is demonstrated, let the appointment be withheld. It might be salutary, too, in dealing with the forces on the ground, to follow President Foster's suggestion given in these words: "It would be well if more teachers were dismissed because they fail to stimulate thinking of any kind."

I come now to the last of my three sub-topics,

The University's Attitude Toward the Preparation of Teachers for the Schools of the State

Fortunately, its discussion need not detain us long. What should be that attitude? If you will analyze the relationship existing between the teachers of a state and that state's progress and development, and then recall my brief discussion of the function of a State University—to provide leaders—the answer to the question is at once apparent. The logic of the situation is clear. For what other body of people in a state are so clearly the state's leaders as the teachers? Always intellectually and, for the most part, in these days, morally and physically, the teachers in our schools mold the coming generation and guide it into paths of progress and accomplishment. This is true of the teachers of a state more than of any other group of people within its borders not excepting the ministry.

We have, in the States, a system of State Normal Schools maintained for the purpose of preparing teachers for the elementary schools. Each state of the Union has from one to a dozen of these institutions. North Dakota has three. The course of study covers from one to two years' work in advance of a four-year high school course. In the East it is usually two years, in the West, one. This work is partly academic and partly professional and is always supposed to include a certain amount of practise teaching under expert supervision.

The elementary teachers thus provided for by the normal schools, there are left for preparation at the university teachers for the secondary schools, for city superintendencies, special teachers of various kinds, and teachers for college and university positions. And this latter is a work, it seems to me, the State University must perform. They are already doing this, to quite an extent, for the high schools; a few are doing it well and the rest are working in that direction. A few, too, are taking up the more advanced phases of the work and are competent to prepare for college teaching. The movement is strongly on.

It may not be uninteresting for me to trace this movement briefly as it has developed with us. For it has been a development. Our system of education was not planned at the beginning from a careful theoretical study of our present or prospective educational needs, but has grown up, little by little, step by step, to meet and satisfy from time to time present and pressing needs.

The movement for the professional preparation of teachers began in the first quarter of the nineteenth century in Massachusetts. That state, with others, was suffering from an educational declension that had been going on for a long time. Matters were getting serious. Finally, a few clear-headed, far-seeing leaders made an analysis of the situation hoping to bring about a betterment of conditions. They quickly put the finger upon the sore spot—the poor quality of teaching being done in the schools. A remedy was sought. It was found in the European Normal Schools, an institution devoted to the professional preparation of teachers for the elementary schools. An agitation was begun for its establishment on this side of the water. After many weary years the efforts were crowned with success when, in 1838, the State Legislature of Massachusetts planned for the equipment of three. Thru their work the character of the teaching in the elementary schools was at once improved. Other states followed the example and this new institution soon began its westward sweep, following the development of the country.

This early work, however, had in mind the improvement of teachers for only the common schools, rural and urban. Indeed, at that time no one even suggested that any other teacher needs special preparation. But when, after the Civil War, the high schools began to develop so markedly, the problem of teachers became a pressing one. Since teachers with normal school preparation were everywhere being recognized as superior to all others in the elementary schools, it was the most natural thing in the world for those in charge of the new high schools to demand professional preparation of their teachers.

But where could it be obtained? Not in the normal schools, because it should be of different character than that planned for elementary teachers. To make a long story short, the universities and colleges took the matter up and provided the professional work thought necessary by adding Departments of Education. Michigan University was the first to act when, in 1878, the Regents established a chair called the "Theory and Art of Teaching." The example was followed by others, and, tho limited in scope and experimental in character, it was at once seen to be justified in the improved character of high school teaching. Improvements were sure to follow. The next step was the expansion of the department of education into the Teachers College, or School of Education, as it is getting to be called, which is now recognized as a professional school of equal rank with the School of Law or the School of Medicine. An essential element of its equipment is a high school for observation and practise under expert supervision, just as an elementary practise school is an essential part of a well equipt normal school.

New York University, in the city of New York, was the first to move in this direction. This was in 1890. For fifteen years progress was slow and halting and confined to private institutions. But it was justifying itself. In 1905 the University of North Dakota effected the larger organization, the first of the State universities to do so. During the last five or six years, however, several others have fallen into line including such institutions as Missouri, Wisconsin, and Minnesota. The institutions that have not yet effected this change and thus organized schools of education still maintain their Departments of Education and thus try to satisfy the need. The University of North Dakota was also one of the very first to make use of the high school for observation and practise, and in all lines of development has been recognized as occupying an advanced position. Other institutions, older and larger, contemplating a change, have frequently advised with us. If this mention seems borne of institutional pride, I trust that it will also be regarded as pardonable.

Thus the movement—not the result of a theoretical formulation, but a situation forced upon us by the logic of events. It is as logical, however, and as irrevocable, as tho produced by deductive reasoning. An explanation of a statement made earlier in the paper as to the relative teaching abilities of elementary, secondary, and higher teachers, can now be seen in the periods of development of the corresponding professional schools.

What should be the attitude of the university toward the education of teachers? Let us follow the development a little farther.

During the last few years another very interesting phase of the movement has begun to show itself. You will recall that as soon as professional preparation demonstrated its usefulness in improving the character of elementary teaching, it was demanded for teachers in the secondary schools. And now that it has proved efficient in that field, it is being demanded in the field next higher—the colleges and universities. And this demand, like the others, is no longer confined to professional schools or educational journals—to the people from the inside. It is being taken up by laymen, even the daily papers, and prest with some vigor. To give the point of view, I give a single quotation from an editorial in a recent issue of the Minneapolis Journal: "None of our graduate schools require any course in education or teaching methods, or any previous experience in teaching work for a Ph. D. degree, except, of course, in the field of education, where theory is cultivated, if not practised. May it not be found that the best method to increase the teaching efficiency of the undergraduate instruction in colleges and universities will be to provide every graduate student with definite and detailed instruction in teaching methods for his chosen subject?"

This demand, thus clearly voiced, and coming from many sides, will continue until granted as has been the case with each of the others. And as a result the teaching of our undergraduates will be improved. To do this added work, however, will not require another institution. The present universities, thru their Schools of Education, amplified and strengthened, will supply the need.

Just as the University, thru its Medical School, provides its community with skilled physicians and public health officers to secure and preserve public health, and thru its Law School performs a similar service in sending out men who become competent lawyers and judges to secure the administration of justice, and thru its College of Engineering, its engineers to safeguard property, public welfare and life itself, so, thru its School of Education, it must provide its teachers for all these and other advanced fields. And all this service must be performed not that individual citizens may be better prepared to make a living, amass a fortune, or achieve fame, but that the community may be served.

So the School of Education, now given equal rank with other professional schools of the university, must ere long be recognized, by virtue of the work thus forced upon it, as, in a very definite way, superior to them all in opportunity and responsibility.

IV

THE EYE PROBLEM IN THE SCHOOLS

A Paper read before the 1914 meeting of the North Dakota State Association of Opticians. It was printed in the May, 1914, issue of "The Optical Journal and Review," also in the same issue of "The Keystone"

I do not know how fully people appreciate the importance of the eye as an agent, or factor, of human cultivation. Judging from the amount of work it is being made to do in our schools and in nearly all our processes of education, we might perhaps be led to feel that its importance is fully appreciated, indeed, that it is being looked upon as the sole factor, or agent. But, on the other hand, this very excessive use, especially in the early school years, leading, as it does in such a large percentage of cases, to serious impairment of vision, almost tells us that its great value is not appreciated. If it were, should we be likely to abuse it as we do in these early years and thus render it incapable of performing its larger, fuller use later on? The attitude seems rather to be that its conservation is not thought to be necessary. That, however, springs from ignorance rather than from studied disregard.

But let us look for a moment at the processes of education and note where the eye comes in. If there is anything upon which leading educators are now practically agreed, or upon which they tend to agree, it is that education as a process is a matter of development rather than the learning of knowledge facts. Now, that development is analogous to the growth and development of the plant, that is, it is brought about thru nourishment. In the plant this nourishment is taken in thru the roots, becomes absorbed and assimilated and thus ministers to growth and development. In the child, looking at it from the physical point of view and having in mind psychical, not physical, nourishment, the sense organs serve this purpose. Did you ever stop to think that the sense organs form the only connecting link between the great outside world, which serves as raw material for the nourishment, and the inner life of the child, the development of which we are seeking? Did you ever stop to think that these sense organs, the eye, the ear, the nose, the tongue, and the surface of the body as the organ of touch, form the only possible avenue of approach to that inner life? Cut off, or close up, these avenues and no development of this inner life would be possible in the slightest degree. Thus considered, these same sense organs, simple as they seem to be, leap into importance that almost staggers one's thought. The most priceless possession of any child, I often say to my classes in education, is made up of their eyes, their ears, their noses, their tongues, and their finger tips—simply because thru them is poured the nourishment that sustains psychic life and ministers to the development of the same.

Of these five sense organs, the eye is, par excellence, the one of value. More psychic nourishment is poured into the laboratory of psychic life thru this one channel alone than thru all others combined. Indeed, one of our most eminent scientific psychologists after making most careful investigation of the matter, estimates that the eye's contribution is about 74% as against the other 26% that comes thru all the other sources. If this relative value of the eye be even approximately correct, how eminently important it is that it be studied with close scientific accuracy, that it be guarded with the utmost and intelligent jealousy, and that it be cared for with the most scrupulous fidelity!

But what is the situation? The Optician and the Oculist have made the most careful, scientific study of the eye. They know it thoroly, both its possibilities of service and its limitations. And they have told the rest of us all about it. But let us see how intelligent we are in the use of the knowledge they have given us. They tell us that the eye of the child is undeveloped and that in the undeveloped state it should not be much used on small or close work. In other words, the child's eye is far-sighted. But at the age of six years we place the child in the school room, put a book in its hands, and compel its use, eyes or no eyes, as long as the child remains in any institution of learning. Why, gentlemen, we have gone mad on this book proposition. We act as tho we think that it is only in the book that knowledge can be found. We act as tho we think that it is only thru the printed page that psychic nourishment can reach the inner life of the child, whereas, as a matter of fact, both the knowledge and the nourishment that are appropriate to the child in all its early years are better obtained thru direct contact with the great outside world itself and by direct communication from the lips of the teacher. If this fact were fully appreciated and acted upon, we should, in two very definite ways, conserve this very important organ; for we should use the eyes upon objects at a greater distance thus preventing unnecessary strain, and allow other organs of sense to share with the eye in the work of gathering information and of appropriating mental nourishment.

Please do not misunderstand me. I am not underestimating the place and value of books, nor decrying their use. They are the storehouse of knowledge and the source of inspiration, but not for children. Our young children in school and out of school read too much—are too much tied to the book. Thru this prolonged and close use of the eye upon small and nearby objects for which, in its undeveloped condition, it is not fitted, the organ is permanently weakened and rendered incapable of its legitimate use later in life when the book is a necessity. And again, this excessive use of the eye causes an atrophy of the other organs that is really serious.

Nor is this all. The Optician and the Oculist have studied the matter so carefully and know the eye so thoroly in its various stages of development that they know exactly the size of type that children of various ages should use. And they know, too, the kind of paper that should be used in books for children. And they have told us all about it. But we systematically disregard all this information gained with such painstaking care, and instead of using the large clear type and the unglazed, soft tinted paper recommended, we persist in tolerating the unsatisfactory merely because it is a little cheaper. Penny wise and pound foolish we surely are. What we save now we shall have to pay later on with compound interest besides compelling our children to undergo physical pain and mental handicap.

And yet again. We are told by our scientific friends the relative amounts of window and floor space that the schoolroom should have in order to be adequately lighted! Not one in ten has as much window space as it should have, and a good portion of what has been provided is frequently covered up by shades thru the teacher's perverted notion of relative values—seeming to have greater appreciation for certain so-called artistic effects than for eye comfort and safety in work. And then again, these scientific friends of ours have told us that there should be in the schoolroom no cross lights; that the light should not shine upon the blackboards nor into the faces of the children, but that it should come only from the rear and the left and from above. They have found out, too, and told us, the proper shades of color for the walls—scientific knowledge, all of it, and therefore thoroly reliable. But how systematically do we disregard all this valuable information! In the construction of a new school building there is nothing that should receive more careful and scientific consideration than the matter of lighting, but too often the architect is either entirely ignorant of the entire matter, or else is selfishly interested in so-called architectural effects.

I do not mean that we all disregard all these things, that we have no school houses properly constructed, no school books properly printed, and no teachers intelligent and sensible in their handling of boys and girls. Not at all. During the last twenty years we have made long strides in advance along many of these lines in many places. But the bright spots are still the exception and not the rule. The friends of children and of the race need to keep vigilantly at work.

Now, let us look at the matter from another point of view. Let us ask what are the results of this persistent and widespread disregard of the normal conditions under which the eye should work and of the fundamental laws of eye development. What do we find? Why, we find just what you are prepared to expect after considering the above disregard. We find that, whereas at the beginning of school life the percentage of school children suffering from visual defects is relatively small, that percentage increases as we ascend the grades. In other words, the regular, systematic work of our schools is all the time weakening the eyes—all the time causing serious visual defects. Gulick and Ayers came to this conclusion as one of the results of their exhaustive investigation, made in 1908, which culminated in the well known work on "Medical Inspection of Schools," published at that time. This is all the more striking since they found that the prevalence of other physical defects steadily decreases as the years pass.

An investigation carried on in Jefferson City, Missouri, in 1907-1908, illustrates the point under discussion; 20% of all children in grades one to three inclusive were found to have defective vision, whereas in grades nine to twelve inclusive 40.5% were found thus handicapped. In some parts of Germany the increase in defective vision as children ascend the grades is seen to be much more marked than in our own country. In one particular study that comes to mind, a study of short-sightedness alone (published, however, some years ago) it was shown that the increase was from practically none at all to approximately 100%. In other words, the work of the schools had made practically every child near-sighted. And the general tendency seems to be in this direction. Indeed, I know of but one study in which a contrary tendency has been observed. And that was in a rural district—St. Louis County, Missouri—where a study was made about four years ago. Under the conditions observed there, the frequency of short-sightedness seemed to diminish with increasing age. And the reasons for this local tendency, being so directly contrary to the general tendency, men have been trying to understand. Various suggestions have been made such as the atmosphere of the rural as against the city districts being, in the main, more favorable from hygienic points of view; or the fewer pupils in the classes in school, thus enabling the teachers to give more personal attention so preventing undue eye-strain; and the shorter school year maintained in the country giving the children less prolonged periods of eye-strain. But whatever be the explanation of this interesting exception, it yet remains true that the regular work of the school, week in, week out, year after year, causes the eyes of our children to deteriorate, or at least the two go hand in hand with grounds for a very strong suspicion in the minds of those who have expert knowledge of the general situation that the one is the cause of the other.

With this point established, namely, that the work of the schools is but ill-adapted to the structure the nature of the child's eye, resulting in steady deterioration, let us try to see how widespread is such deterioration and how serious. This can best be done briefly thru the use of a few statistics taken from the results of investigations that have been made as to the physical conditions of our school children. From these results I disregard all figures save those that bear on the matter of visual defects since that is our one topic of discussion.

In Cleveland, Ohio, in 1906-1907, a very exhaustive and illuminating investigation was made under the general supervision of Dr. Wallin, one of the most eminent authorities on the relationship of the physical and the mental in the work of our schools. Dr. Wallin called to his assistance many experts, both medical and physical, and his report was a very noteworthy one from many points of view. I touch only two or three points here and there. In one school, the Mayflower, located in a fine residence section of the city, 972 pupils were examined, and 20% of them found to be suffering from some rather serious form of eye defect. In an East End school, another of the so-called better class of schools, 668 children were examined and 32.4% found with defective vision. Even more startling than these were the results found in a school of about the same size in what was called a "congested" district of the city. Six hundred and sixteen were examined and 71.1% found defective.

Another very significant fact was brought to light by this investigation—the disregard paid to the whole matter by parents and teachers. Perhaps I should not include teachers in speaking of this disregard since they have, at best, but advisory power. In the East End school, out of the 668 children examined, 216, or 32.4% were found defective, but only 43, or 6.4%, were being relieved by the use of glasses. And in the "congested" district the disparity was even more striking since out of the 437, or 71.1% of the entire number who had visual defects, only 11, or 1.8%, were being relieved.

In one investigation made in New York City in 1908, 1,442 pupils were considered, and 42% found suffering from eye defects. In Jefferson City, Missouri, in 1908, the results of the examination of 1,000 white children showed 36.5% suffering from somewhat serious visual defects; and many others in lesser degrees. Of these 1,000 children, 410, or 41%, were found to need the assistance of glasses, but only 38, or 3.8%, were being thus assisted.

In Los Angeles, California, in 1909, 5,000 children were examined, and 61% found to be suffering from the same trouble. Again, in Philadelphia, in 1909, the well-known Dr. Risley found, in an examination of 2,422 children, that 44.7% were continual sufferers from some form of eye trouble. I could easily cite similar results from many more studies, but surely these are sufficient. These are startling facts, and very serious when we think merely of this one fact alone without considering it in its relationship to anything else. But when we stop to consider the fact that these sufferers are children, in the schools, and are thus handicapped in their work of education—in their efforts to fit themselves for the struggle of life—it assumes even larger proportions and becomes truly appalling.

What does it mean? Why, it means, in terms of the school man, retardation and elimination. To the layman those words may need interpretation. Retardation means the checking of a pupil in his educational progress thru the grades, necessitating the spending of a longer period than that which is considered normal. For example, a normal pupil is one who enters school at six years of age and is promoted each year regularly; or "a pupil whose age and grade correspond to this standard." Thus, the standard age for a second grade pupil, during the year, is 7 years; for a fourth grade, 9 years; and for an eighth grade, 13 years; or in every case, five more than the number of his grade. If one is older than the number of his grade plus five, he is retarded by the amount of the difference; thus a twelve-year-old child in the sixth grade is retarded one year since a sixth-grade child should be but eleven years old. Somehow he has lost a year. Thru failure to do satisfactory work such a child has had to repeat the work of some one of his grades. Elimination means the dropping out of a child from school altogether before the regular course is completed. We find relatively little elimination in the lower grades since the compulsory attendance laws require attendance. But just as soon as the upper limit of age is reached there is much of it.

I do not know how closely you have followed this matter of retardation in the schools and elimination from them, but I think sufficiently to render it unnecessary for me to discuss the matter at length. Let me refer to but one study which is typical as showing the seriousness of the situation. In 1907, Mr. S. L. Heeter, at that time Superintendent of Schools in St. Paul, Minnesota, working under instruction of his Board of School Inspectors, made a very careful investigation as to the matter of retardation in the schools of that city. You may be surprised to learn some of the results. He found more than one-half, exactly 56%, of all the children in the schools at least one year behind normal grade, and many of them much more than one year behind. To be exact: 12,672 children were below grade. Of these, 6,328 were one year behind; 3,650 were two years behind; 1,689 were three years behind; 651 were four years behind; 221 were five years behind, and 133 were six years behind. Now, what is the cause of such a serious situation? Mr. Heeter, in his report of his findings, speaks as follows:

"There are evidently many causes of this phenomenal retardation—yet it seems likely that one of the largest factors ... is physiological, and that more attention given in our schools to the bodily conditions of our children will throw new light on our educational problems, and even on the subject of backward children, and of delinquency itself." "It appears," he goes on to say, "that the schools have been too exclusively concerned about the minds of children and too little concerned about their bodies. Much time and energy and money have been wasted in trying to make all children equal in mental power, without regard to physical inequalities, until now waste products are clogging our educational machinery." And Mr. Heeter's conclusion is that of all who have studied the matter with any care.

Let me now show the relationship existing between the two, that is, between retardation and physical defects. I can do it briefly by referring to the work of Dr. Cronin in New York City. This is but one instance, but it is typical of conditions. A few years ago, as chief Medical Inspector of the schools of New York City, Dr. Cronin read a paper before the School Hygiene Association of America in which he made the statement that an examination of all children reported as backward by various teachers revealed 95% of them as physically defective.

Thus, in a hasty way, but I think correctly, I have thrown the chief burden of backwardness in school, or retardation, upon physical defects. But our special topic is eye trouble. How much of this burden must be referred to this specific source? It is difficult to say exactly. But knowing as we do the great prevalence of eye defects among school children, from 20% to 71%, you remember, depending somewhat upon locality and environment; and knowing, too, the close relationship existing between the eyes of our children and the work of the schools (this school work, you know, is nearly all done with the eyes. It should not be, but it is); knowing all this, it is not beside the mark to say that a very large percentage of the retardation must be laid at its doors.

And what are we going to do about it? What should be done? The reform is easily seen to be a many-sided one. It is educational—our teachers should come to know that the book is only one, and not the chief one, of the many sources of knowledge open to the child; it is physiological—we should all know the eye better than we do, its normal use and its limitations; the reform is architectural—our architects and boards of education should realize that the seating and the lighting of school houses should receive most careful consideration; the reform is economic—we should come to appreciate the unwisdom of being "penny wise and pound foolish," and recall the old saw, "a stitch in time saves nine"; the reform is medical—we should get our people to see that thoro and regular medical inspection of all our school children is the only sensible method of procedure. And so I might go on naming phase after phase of the problem. It is so many-sided that we can not hope for its immediate and perfectly satisfactory solution. But there are certain quite specific ends in view that should at once and all the time be kept before us. Touching the matter of medical inspection, our state law, instead of being merely permissive should be mandatory, and should be made to apply to every school community in the state. Of course, the cry of expense would be at once raised, but it could easily be shown, were there time at my disposal, that it would be an economic mesure rather than one increasing the cost of our schools. Because every time that a child repeats a grade in school, that year's school work in the life of the child has cost the city or school community twice as much as it should. Whenever, as in the case of St. Paul, already cited, a child is two, three, or six years behind normal grade, there is an extra heavy burden of taxation placed on the city. Medical inspection, wherever it has been made effective, has resulted in lowering, very materially, the amount of retardation. And it is looked upon as saving the community very much more than it has cost, saying nothing at all about the added effectiveness of the child for the work of the school nor of his greater happiness. This statement could easily be substantiated were there time. But that is not necessary. It is so apparent that he who runs may read.

But the time when we can expect such a law to be put in force is, I am afraid, considerably removed from the present. Large bodies move slowly; we must have patience. We must keep steadily at it preaching the good gospel of reform. But in the meantime can we not hasten the glad day of full and complete medical inspection, and at the same time bring relief to a very large number of little sufferers, by throwing emphasis, whenever the opportunity offers, upon the phase of the subject that is before us this morning? The eye trouble is the chiefest of all those of a physical nature. It has far more to do in causing retardation of our boys and girls than any of the other physical defects, and therefore should receive its own prompt and vigorous attention irrespective of everything else. Upon this one point let us have immediate relief and keep it up as rapidly as possible. Let us adopt some program of action which will bring relief as quickly as possible to children suffering from visual defects. For I have no sympathy with the position taken by that foolish mother (perhaps I should be charitable and merely say "ignorant" mother. I think she was both ignorant and foolish), who said to me when I was urging her to have glasses fitted for her little girl, "Why, Mr. Ladd, I can't bear to think of Mary wearing glasses. I am going to keep them away from her just as long as she can possibly get along without them." I replied, "My good woman, if you have any regard for the comfort and well-being of your little girl, or if you care for her progress in school, instead of keeping glasses away from her as long as possible, you should see to it that she has the best that can be procured just as soon as they can be of the slightest assistance." I went on to tell her that it was entirely possible that the use of the glasses at that time for a year or two might enable her to do without them permanently later on. But she did not get them; of course not. They would not have added to the attractiveness of the little face. How hard it is for the unreflecting to deny themselves a present pleasure, whether in money or pride, for a future good!

V

THE HOME, THE CHURCH, AND THE SCHOOL

An Extension Lecture delivered in many places in North Dakota and Minnesota

It goes without saying, I am sure, that these three great institutions—the Home, the Church, and the School—fundamental as they are in the life of each, and even of civilization itself, can not be adequately handled in the brief time given to a single address. But yet I think that in that time we can account for each, roughly trace its interesting career, and locate it in our complex life of to-day with function briefly stated. And in it all, or out of it all, directly or indirectly, I think we shall see the relationship existing between the three. This relationship, so strong and so vital, the appreciation of which is so necessary for constructive action and large results in life, I particularly desire to make appear. And it is this relationship that gives appropriateness to the handling of the three in a single address tho each, from a different point of view, might well be made the center of an entire evening's consideration.

The home, the church, and the school! What troops of memories arise around each as we turn our gaze backward! How sweet and sacred appears the home as we recall mother and father, sister and brother, in the old home setting in the early days of our pilgrimage! How solemn and hallowed seems the church as we go back in thought to our first connections with it in Sunday school, in its communion service, and to our own entrance as members! And how fascinating and joyful, even the sometimes tinged with regret or apprehension, the school as we retrace our pathway over the years of its associations! The home, the church, and the school—but the first of these is the home.

The Home

Let me ask you, therefore, to think with me first of the home—of that institution which in its very inception, more than any other, was God-inspired; that institution which from its very beginning up to the present hour has, more than any other, reflected the spirit and purpose of God—that institution whose center is the child and whose function that child's development—the home. It is the most ancient of all the institutions of man. Organized and set apart at the very dawn of human life, when the morning stars were singing together, the divine Voice gave it sanction and stated its function: "Be fruitful and multiply, and replenish the earth." And the institution, as the ages have passed, has never once lapsed and never repudiated its origin or its work. Still it has advanced so far and improved so much in outward appearance, at any rate, and developed so greatly that, as we know it to-day, we may almost call it a modern institution, so modern indeed and so different from all others as to merit the name of American institution.

Students of history have so laid bare the conditions of living and of home life in the past as to reveal to us the fact that the home, as we know it and love it, did not exist prior to our own day. In all former periods, even tho glorious to look back upon, some of them, golden days as they were of the world's upward struggle, we search in vain for our kind of a home. The home of the American workman to-day is provided with more comforts and conveniences, has in it more of the elements of culture and refinement, is more eloquent of love and the higher life than was the home of the ruler of a few generations ago. And the chief factors in it all, those which bind all together and give meaning, are the honored place given the wife and mother and, springing from that, love, love of parent for child and child for parent. For we all know, when we come to think of it, that our love of home and dear ones is ever our motive for action as we explore new fields and mark out new paths, overcome obstacles and surmount difficulties—in a word, carry the banners of civilization to new heights!

The home of all people, in all ages of the world's history, but especially as we know it to-day, is the one thing for which men live and work. Stop the first man you meet on the street,—"rich man, poor man, beggar-man, thief, doctor, lawyer, butcher, priest,"—any man, going along with a preoccupied mind, thinking of the case he is to plead, the trade he is to make, the book he is to write. Get into this man's mind, down below this particular thing that is on the surface of it, and down there there is one picture that you wilt always find, the picture of a cozy corner somewhere, of a woman sitting by the table or before the fire, of two or three growing girls, and a boy or two that look like him. Meet him wherever you will, find him in whatever occupation, or in whatever stage of spiritual or intellectual development; whenever you get under his jacket, whether it be a blouse or a tuxedo, you'll find this picture hanging on the wall of his heart. Ninety-nine men out of every hundred say, with Robert Burns:

"To make a happy fire-side clime
For weans and wife,
That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life."

And the young man of to-day, looking forth into the years that are to come, picturing himself as and where he would like to be, who sees himself alone, without the joys and companionship of wife and child, the young man who doesn't plan to have a home of his own to which he can lead the choice of his heart and in which he may multiply, thru the development of his own offspring, his powers of usefulness,—such a young man is a selfish monstrosity. And the young woman who isn't longing for a home of her own—for a little kingdom in which as Queen, she may rule jointly with a chosen King in loving ministration to their natural subjects—such a young woman is an abnormal specimen. The desire of every little girl for a doll, the craving of every boy for an animal pet, is but the manifestation of the deep-seated instinct of parenthood. Do nothing to stifle it. Minister to its growth and development. And young man—young woman, you who have left behind the days of knee trousers and short dresses, and with them have laid aside the doll and the pet, think it not weakness when you find yourself irresistibly drawn by the sweet smile of an innocent babe or by the childish prattle of one a little farther on. Be not ashamed when, under such influence, you picture yourself the center of a home, and in this connection think of him or her whom you would like to have share it with you. It is the sweetest influence that can ever come into your life. Rightly regarded and used, it will do more for your happiness and usefulness than any or all others that will ever come to you.

But when the crucial moment comes—when the die is to be cast and the promise asked and given that will bind the two lives together, halt for a moment until one asks and the other answers this "Woman's Question."

The Woman's Question

"Do you know you have asked for the costliest thing
Ever made by the Hand above—
A woman's heart and a woman's life
And a woman's wonderful love?
"You have written my lesson of duty out;
Manlike you have questioned me;
Now stand at the bar of my woman's soul
Until I question thee.
"You require your mutton shall always be hot,
Your stockings and shirts shall be whole.
I require your heart to be true as God's stars
And as pure as Heaven your soul.
"You require a cook for your mutton and beef.
I require a far better thing.
A seamstress you're wanting for stockings and shirts,
I look for a man and a king.
"A king for a beautiful realm called home,
And a man that the Maker, God,
Shall look upon as He did the first
And say, 'It is very good.'
"I am fair and young, but the rose will fade
From my soft fair cheek some day;
Will you love me then 'mid the falling leaves
As you did in the bloom of May?
"Is your heart an ocean so strong and deep
I may launch my all on its tide?
A loving woman finds Heaven or hell
On the day she is made a bride.
"I require all things that are grand and true,
All things that a man should be,
If you promise me this, I would stake my life
To be all you demand of me.
"If you can not do this, a seamstress and cook
You can hire with little to pay.
But a woman's heart and a woman's life
Are not to be won that way."

Yes, Bobby Burns was right when he said,

"To make a happy fire-side clime,
For weans and wife,
That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life."

Exactly what is God's ultimate purpose for the human race, I think no one knows. And I am not sure that we need to know. Where clear vision is not granted we walk by faith. But even if the ultimate end is not clearly portrayed, even if we are kept in the dark as to the great outcome, we do know pretty well His method of procedure. A careful study of the past and a critical analysis of the data now at hand looking to the future enable us to grasp with some clearness the leading outlines of the program. From generation to generation, from century to century, from age to age, as time has rolled on, there has been a gradual moving onward and upward, a steady improvement both in the refining and civilizing of man's own being and in bringing that being into sympathetic relations with the external world, that is, a gradual development of man's own powers, and an ever increasing control of the forces of nature. In spite of the fact that this progress has been, at times, painfully slow, it has never once ceased, and during the last century it has moved on with constantly accelerating speed until to-day the human race stands upon the highest point ever reached. I have absolutely no sympathy with that narrow pessimism which is always talking about "the good old times." All in all, there never was a time in the history of the world when man knew so much as to-day; there never was a time when his life was so ministered to by the forces of nature; never a time when his heart was so tender, when it responded so quickly to human suffering, never a time when all forms of evil were so quickly condemned nor when so much good was being done. The long program seems to have been for each age and each generation to hand on to its successors the legacy received, but increased and strengthened and bettered. How much longer this upward movement is to continue, how much more the race is to know and do, how much better it is to be, no one knows. God's ultimate purpose, His great object in view—we may not be able to grasp, but certainly it is not difficult for us to note the general direction of the movement. It is upward.

In all this, wherein does the home come, and what is its function? Is it not, has it not been from the very beginning the Divine agency used for doing this great work? Was not the home instituted, endowed with the divine power of love, and consecrated for the perpetuation of the race? "Be fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth." True, as many times pointed out, our toils and our struggles, our earnings and our productions, incidentally give us pleasure and satisfaction and power, but yet even these are but a means to an end,—that parents may beget, rear, and educate their children in such a way that they can carry the banner of civilization a little higher—lift society to a higher level and draw mankind nearer to God.

So it is that the center and circumference of the home is the child. In the child the home finds its meaning, its excuse, and its justification. It exists, then, that the child may be adequately prepared for doing its great work in the world. Whatever else it may do, on the side, it has one great problem. The child! The child! The best crop the farmer raises, the best article the manufacturer puts on the market, the best ware the merchant handles, the best case the lawyer pleads, the best sermon the minister preaches—or at least that which gives meaning to all of these—the child! "The fruit of all the past and the seed of all the future." God bless the home and God bless its best fruitage—the child!

The Church

Thus the home—God's simple yet mighty agent in His great work of developing the human race. Its work was accepted and for a time all went well. Such preparation, mostly physical, as the child needed for its future work the home gave without difficulty. But this simple life could not continue indefinitely. One of the fundamental principles of life absolutely forbade man's standing still. The laws of growth and development pushed him on. Whether he would or not, he was compelled to move forward, just as the acorn, obeying the law of its being, changes its form, its size, and adds to its complexity. Little by little man, obeying these inexorable laws, began to develop. His mental, his moral, and his physical natures gradually assumed new forms—new needs and desires were born. More and more his vision became expanded until he could see into and mesurably appreciate the forces of nature. His life was becoming more complex. Now, this larger life, this greater complexity of life, in addition to its own complexity, added materially to the work of preparing the child for playing its part in this great onward movement.

Such preparation as was needed by the child of the primitive home to equip it for playing its part as an adult would no longer suffice. The home must now do something more than satisfy the needs of the body—provide food, clothing, and shelter, and incidentally give opportunity to learn, mostly by imitation, how to do this for another generation of children. The spiritual life needed attention and, as well, the intellectual. Competition was growing keen, and each felt the need of a better equipment that he might play his part well in the larger life that was surely before him. And this larger outlook upon life was itself growing by what it was feeding upon and making its own demands for better things.

But the home was handicapped. It felt the need, but with all other things that it had to do, had no time to take up these new duties. And again, the most of the homes, even if time had been abundant, did not know how to do the new work. So it set about finding a solution to its problem. This was found in the principle of the division of labor. It was seen that time would be saved and results much more satisfactorily reached by delegating to persons definitely prepared and set aside for that purpose certain phases of this work. So the church was instituted and, a little later, the school. To the church was delegated, speaking broadly, the religious and moral development of the child and to the school, the intellectual development.

It was exactly the same principle that, later on, took from the home the weaving of cloth and the making of shoes and other industrial pursuits. With this added complexity of life, the homes could not profitably carry on all these varied activities—be, in addition to a home, also a tailor shop and a shoe factory, a church and a school. And so the homes of a community combined, selecting one man particularly adapted to that work to make all the shoes for the community, another the cloth, etc. And, in like manner, earlier in history, one was set aside to minister to the spiritual life, and one to teach the children. Both were offshoots of the home, delegated by the home to do a certain very definite portion of its work. Each took directions from the collective home and looked to it as the source of its authority. And such it was. The point is this: the home was the original educational institution and, as well, the original religious institution. At first it alone performed the work of all three: it was our home, our church, and school all in one. It finally established the others and merely delegated work to these supplemental agencies, so, at any time, it may withdraw that work from them. It is master of the situation. This withdrawal may be done either by the collective home or by any individual home. If any home represented here this evening, for any reason whatever, wishes to resume the religious function and alone direct the religious development of the children, no one can say it nay. And it is the same in regard to the school. If any parent here wishes to withdraw his children from the school and himself, either directly or indirectly, provide for their intellectual development, he has a perfect right to do so. Our compulsory attendance laws are satisfied when evidence is furnished of the child's advancement. Of course the church and the school, in this primitive stage, were both exceedingly crude—corresponding to the crude notions of religious and intellectual development then held by man, yet playing the same great part as now in the drama of life. I suppose it is true that these differentiations were at first only semi-conscious, but nevertheless they were real differentiations and had large influence upon the development of man.

To trace the development of the church thru its early stages is not necessary for the purpose of this address, so I pass at once to the establishment of the Christian church which is in reality our representative of the same fundamental institution. Like the home and the school, the church began in a very humble way, and during the progress of the centuries passed thru many vicissitudes and underwent many changes. Let me speak very briefly of four stages, or periods, of the history of the Christian church: first, the primitive stage, that period of about 350 years following its birth when, in the main, motives were pure, ambitions unselfish, and ideals high. But, tho it was founded to provide the means of securing the religious development of the child and the race thru the perpetuation and extension of the teachings of Christ, and tho it was launched forth into its great career in the spirit of love and meekness and fellowship that characterized His life, it was not long, as history counts time, before that worthy function was entirely lost sight of, that spirit wholly cast aside, and the new institution entered upon its second period, becoming a mere political machine which, in its utter disregard of rights and justice, in the shrewdness and daring of its schemes, and in the blackness of its methods, almost surpassed even our own most skilful efforts in those directions. "My kingdom is not of this world," Christ had said, and yet the church, founded upon His teachings and led by men pretending to be His true representatives, had become, in very deed, a kingdom of this world. The possession and use of worldly power by the church had so blunted its moral sense that Dante, in the early part of the fourteenth century, felt forced to exclaim, and exclaimed with truth:

"The Church of Rome,
Mixing two governments that ill assort,
Hath missed her footing, fall'n into the mire,
And there herself and burden much defiled."

But Dante's criticism and other forces brought to bear drew back the erring leaders to some slight conception of their function and to some slight effort toward the performance of duty, tho neither conception nor performance took them back to their pristine merit. And the church entered another historical stage, the third, and one whose dominant thought and purpose prevails even up to modern times. Indeed, so recently has it passed that its dark outlines are even yet discoverable as we glance backward. In this new conception of the church and its work we find the function of the institution to be not religious development of the individual and of the race, as it had been at first, but merely technical salvation. And the institution may be pictured as a great lifeboat thrust out into the storm to save from destruction those who can be drawn within—while all others perish.

You remember the painting of the picture, foreground and background, how the emphasis was thrown upon the world to come! This world was not man's home. He was a sojourner here, a wanderer. His citizenship was in Heaven. He was a pilgrim passing thru a strange and weary land, and the only purpose of the pilgrimage was a preparation for the life to come. The nature of man himself was corrupt. The world around him was evil. Alone and unaided he was powerless. He was lost both for this world and the next. The storms of life were about him, the great waves were ready to engulf him. But the church, as a lifeboat, was thrust out into the breakers, and upon certain stipulated conditions was ready to take him in. The church was represented as having received direct from the hands of God "the keys of heaven and hell," and as being able to open the gates of a better world to all true believers. But true believers, you know, were no longer the pure followers of the crucified Christ, simply those who would accept the man-made dogmas of the church. No matter how full of error the church was, no matter how corrupt her leaders, there could be no safety outside of her fold. Accept the dogma, salvation was sure; once within, all was well. Religious development was not sought. The character of the life, previous or prospective, mattered not. Acceptance of the dogma was the only requirement. So she taught—having departed Oh! so far from her character and program when given existence by the home and started out on her beneficent work. And so tight had her grip become that none dared dispute her claims. The child had outgrown her mother, that is, the church had, in its own conception, outgrown the home, and it repudiated her control. Indeed, she held the keys—she was the ark of safety.

I have dwelt upon this because, with varying degrees of emphasis, that has been the conception of the church from medieval times almost to our own day. Indeed, I am not sure that it has entirely passed even at the present time. There are doubtless some people who continue thus to regard the church, and there is more than one branch of the institution whose definitely formulated statements of belief can be interpreted in no other way however much, as a practical fact, the members have departed from them.

There are some branches of the church that still teach that the child, newly born into the world, fresh from the hand of God, is already corrupt, prone to evil, of its own volition choosing evil in preference to good. And, believing that, they require the parents when presenting the babe at the altar for holy baptism, to affirm that that pure and innocent babe has inherited an evil and corrupt nature, and that it was conceived and born in sin. A monstrous doctrine, violating not only every parental instinct, but as well all the principles of psychology and ethics. Yea, verily, the Dark Ages are not yet wholly past! Yes, there are doubtless some who still look upon the church as a lifeboat, and who think that that lifeboat should offer safety and protection to those alone who already have on the life preserver. In other words, there are still some who seem to think that church membership should be granted only to those whose character and belief already assure them of abundant entrance into the heavenly kingdom and who, therefore, do not really need church membership.

But yet, on the whole, as a working conception, we have discarded the lifeboat idea and are now regarding the church rather as a great school, so to speak, in which all the children of men, thru the grace of God and mutual helpfulness, may gradually develop the Christian character and eventually come to be the very elect of God. No longer is it being regarded as merely an ark of safety, a lifeboat, ministering to the few, but as a great social beneficent institution shedding abroad upon all people its life-giving light and lifting all men nearer to God; true, giving her choicest blessings to those who come closest and partake most fully of her nature, but yet like the sun which shines upon all and both by direct and indirect rays warms and lightens all. Between the two views, what a contrast! And that change can not be better seen than by a contrast of the methods of work—the methods used to replenish the ranks, to offer the boon of membership to those deemed worthy or to those whom such boon could help.

The old evangelism—you remember its key-note, the old revival meeting, in which skilful word painting presented the two extremes, heaven and hell. And when the emotional nature was wrought up to the desired pitch and fear to the right degree, a choice was demanded,—conversion, it was called. The newer evangelism—Christian nurture in the home and school, and the various agencies of the church—is not as spectacular as the old. It doesn't make as much noise nor draw to itself so much attention. Nor do results so readily lend themselves to figures and tabulation. It does not bring about certain times when large accessions are made to the church membership, feeling rather that a continuous stream, tho smaller, indicates a more healthy growth. But it recognizes the fact that human nature is not necessarily depraved, that, on the other hand, the Christian life is the natural life and that the child under the sweet influences of the home and school and church passes naturally from one stage to another often not knowing when the transitions take place. Christian nurture—a continuous process—in which development is the key-note, not conversion, a sudden transformation, a terrible wrenching of the whole being, is the church's present method of growth. Oh! the old has not entirely gone—here and there we occasionally see evidences of its presence. Professional evangelism we call it to-day. I ran across it in a recent trip East. A big, barnlike structure had been erected which was called "the tabernacle." Its floor was of sawdust sprinkled on the ground. Here for about a month a professional evangelist had harangued the curious crowds in immoderate, and oftentimes immodest language. Wit and sarcasm and slang and emotion had been freely used in his efforts to make sinners "hit the sawdust trail," to use his own spectacular language, as well as to extort money from the pockets of the attendants. He left the town $5,000 richer than when he entered and also carried with him, as advertising material, a long list of so-called converts. A travesty on the sacred work of the church! But such methods are to-day the exception and not the rule, and the exceptions merely prove the rule.

And to-day church membership is graciously held out to all who need help in the work of perfecting character—to all who need assistance in leading the Christian life, as well as to those whose battles have already been fought and won. The question asked is no longer, "Have you attained?" but rather, "Do you wish to attain?" When an individual, child or adult, seeks entrance at the doors of an educational institution, the only condition imposed is assurance of his desire to be a learner. The doors swing open. And thank God the church is at last coming to the same position. And so we see her to-day well started upon the fourth stage of her development, accepting as her one great work that given her at birth so long ago—the religious development of the child and the race.

The School

The American school is a wonderful institution. In its absolute universality and impartiality, in its fine spirit of democracy both of teachers and pupils, there is nothing like it elsewhere in the world. It is a product of the genius of our people. Product? Yes, but, also, successively, the most influential cause of the genius of our people. From the first, in a somewhat remarkable degree, we have been a people knowing no social classes or distinctions. The caste idea, so prevalent in European countries, has ever been repugnant to us. And our schools, emanating from such a people, have had a powerful reflex influence in shaping the people and keeping those fine ideals ever before us. But let us go back and see whence it came—trace the connection between the complex, highly influential institution of to-day and the simple offshoot of the home of primitive times. Just when it was first instituted, nobody knows; but in essential features it is very ancient. Long before the beginning of the Christian era, as a supplementary agent of the home having in charge that one portion of its work, it was a well-recognized and highly esteemed institution.

I have already called attention to the great changes that have taken place in the home and in the church as the centuries have passed. The school likewise has changed, and is to-day as far removed from its original prototype as either of the others. It has changed because the home has changed, and in its changes has kept pace with the changing ideals and added complexities of home life. At the very first, only the essentials—teacher and boy—were present: no building, the great out-of-doors furnished the room and the friendly tree the only protection from sun and storm; no course of study, no book—the teacher was all in all. But this stage passed and the next, that continued so long and is more characteristic, followed. Here we find the building and the book as well as the teacher and the boy. The boy's one task is to transfer the contents of the book to his own mental storehouse and the teacher's function to see that the transfer is made. Knowledge was the main element of the child's preparation, that the home demanded of its school. And this often but ill-fitted him for the performance of the duties of life. This period continued for many centuries, down almost to the present time. But another and a greater followed—a period in which not merely knowledge was demanded as an outcome of the school's activities, but something else very different, including that, it is true, but finer and greater than that—something toward which they are the contributing agents—a somewhat harmonious development of the entire life—physical, mental, and moral.

Little by little, as time has passed, the home seems to have been throwing added burdens upon the school until now it sometimes looks as if the school is expected to give the entire preparation of the child—moral, physical, and manual, as well as mental. It sometimes seems as if the home had gone off on a vacation and left the school to do its work. Now, that statement implies a criticism of the home. On the other hand, it is frequently said by unfriendly critics of our public schools that the schools are all the time reaching out and, in a grasping way, more and more taking unto themselves the sacred rights and privileges of the home, even setting themselves up in authority over the home, aye, even alienating the affections of the children, making the home of none effect. Where does the truth lie? Has the home been so negligent of its duty, or has the school forgotten that it is the creature of the home? Which is the usurper? That is an interesting question. We can not go into it in detail, but let me suggest that it has all come about not so much from the unwarranted assumption of the school, nor the conscious and wilful neglect of the home as from the unconscious working out of a great principle fundamental in human development—namely, that the three phases of a child's life—the physical, the moral, and the intellectual,—can not be separately developed.

At first the home had the three lines of work. Soon it delegated two of them to other agencies and then, thru inexperience or thoughtlessness, made the fatal mistake of withdrawing supervision, assuming that no oversight was necessary. Unwise and short-sighted! No individual would thus deal with any other interest. The farm, the store, the financial interest of any kind, even the thing that ministers to the pleasure of life, often receives more personal attention from the parent than does the school. And this situation is not peculiar to our own day. When I was a boy, in another and distant state, we used to sing a song called "The Parent and the School." The various verses showed that parents were in the habit of visiting every other known place—the theater, the concert, the fair, the sea, the neighbors, and each verse closed with the refrain, "And why don't they visit the school?" They should, but they did not then, nor do they to-day. Somehow, all along the line, the home has seemed to think that if it should satisfy the physical needs of the child in providing food and clothing and shelter, the school should develop the intellectual and the church the moral natures in different places and at different times, and under different conditions, and that in some mysterious manner the three could become satisfactorily blended into a harmonious life. Impossible! The three natures are so clearly interrelated, each depends so much upon the others, that the separate and independent development of any one is impossible.

The spiritual depends upon the intellectual as the house rests upon the foundation. Its mental pictures, its concepts, its beliefs, come out of it, and are marred, misshapen, untrue, just to the extent to which that is faulty. Intelligence is necessary to religious belief and religious life. And the intellectual, in its foundation laying, can not stop short at that point any more than a plant can stop growing when its roots are well developed. The process once well begun is pushed on by the force from behind and must enter the higher realm. So I am not surprised that the school at times seems to be in charge of the entire work. And physical conditions have so much to do with success in both fields that they must be considered by both. The three processes are not only interrelated, they are interlaced, intertwined, as the strands of a braided cord. And just as the cord would be incomplete, just as it would lack strength, if any of the strands were to be omitted, or if the braiding were to be haphazard, so the life would be incomplete, one-sided, weak, should these three processes not go on side by side under the fostering care of an intelligent unifying agency. Indeed, if there is any one thing that has been demonstrated beyond the peradventure of a doubt by modern research in the physical and psychical realms, it is the significant fact that life is a unity. The physical, the intellectual, and the moral are like the three leaves of the clover. And just as with the clover we must apply the nourishment to the root and not to the separated branches, so with the child we must so select and use our educative material that the three-fold development shall result from the single application.

A simple illustration or two will help to make the point clear. All children study arithmetic in school. It is an intellectual activity and so clearly belongs to the school. Why do all study it? Because for the practical duties of life they need to know how to handle numbers. It is a practical study. Yes, but there is something else that the subject is supposed to yield or the extended time given to it could not be justified. It yields large fruitage in the development of the power of concentration and intellectual keenness. Yes, but better than that. All mathematical subjects, in that they require absolute accuracy and definiteness in their operations, are particularly helpful in developing those fine moral qualities of honesty, integrity, and upright dealing. Again, history is taught in the schools as an intellectual subject. In intellectual development alone it is worth all it costs. But over and above the value as a mental quickener it is to be placed as a builder of character, and ministering to the development of the moral and even the spiritual life. Nowhere else can the young so well learn that "righteousness exalteth a nation" and that "sin is a reproach to any people." In no other way so well as by the study of history can desired examples of noble character be placed before the young for imitation. Take but one other illustration, that of gymnastics and athletics—the entire program of play. For physical development? Yes, but in addition to that and finer than that, intellectual development of a high order thru the keener activity of the senses, the quicker and more accurate vision, the developed judgment, and finer discriminations. Yes, but better even than mere intellectual keenness there result from such activities the rare moral qualities of tolerance, respect for others, and self-control. And so I might go on and give illustration after illustration. It is not necessary. You catch my point. I am merely trying to demonstrate two facts: first, that the great breadth of the work of the school—embracing as it does, the development of the entire nature of the child, mental, moral, and physical, instead of merely the mental, that which was given her at first, is hers now not because of the home's neglect nor because the school has been unduly ambitious and grasping, but because we have come to see that life is a unity and can not be cut up into parts each separately developed. And secondly, I have tried to show that the school does interest itself in the moral life of the pupil. As a matter of fact, the school does more to develop morality and to lead toward a sane religious life than all other agencies combined. Our modern American school is a wonderful institution.

But in spite of the fact that the school is broad in its ministrations, it can not stand alone. All three institutions are needed. But the three must work together and in harmony and intelligently, each assisting the others. And one of the three must act as the centralizing, the unifying, the combining agency and bring order out of that which would otherwise be chaos by recognizing the value of each contribution of each of the others, assigning it to its proper place and thus aptly blending the work of the three. Now, which shall be the centralizing force? Really, is there any question? Must it not be the original institution—the home—the one which saw the need of the others and called them into being—the one upon which the responsibility finally rests? And even tho many individual homes are weak, wholly incapable of doing themselves all the varied kinds of work needed, yet the collective institution can and must act. And even the individual home, efficient or inefficient, should, much more than it does, thus act within the limits of its own jurisdiction and up to the limits of its own power.

And to whom does the school belong, anyway? To the Board of Education? Is it the private possession of the teachers? Does it exist to give teachers positions? Why, no, of course not. It is yours, and yours, and yours. They, both Board and teachers, are your servants, hired men and women, if you and they please—hired for pay to do your work, just as much as are the clerks in your stores, the harvest hands on the farms, or the maids in the kitchen. A different kind of work to be sure but, nevertheless, we are workmen for pay. And we need watching just as much as do the other workers. But let us put it in this way—we need intelligent, sympathetic co-operation, as an opportunity and as a spur for our best work and as a joy in it all—your constant kindly interest and your intelligent co-operation. I suppose that the situation is quite different in a city of this size from what it is in the large centers. I remember of talking, at one time, to an audience of teachers in a large city. I was astounded to learn that those teachers did not know, by sight even, the parents of one-half of their pupils, and many of them had been in the schools for a period of from three to four years. Whose fault was it? The teacher's or the parents? Why, what is the school? And whose is it? And what is it for? Whose fault was it? The question does not need an answer. It answers itself. But I urged those teachers to visit the homes—to become acquainted with the parents of their pupils so that they could know the atmosphere surrounding them and thus be better able to guide their development and minister to their varied needs. But I did not thus urge them because they had, up to that time, neglected their duty, rather because there seemed no prospect that the homes would embrace their opportunity and take the initiative.

I fancy that here in the smaller place where everybody knows everybody it is very different. Doubtless there is not a teacher here whose acquaintance has not been made by both parents of every child in her or his room. Probably there is not one who has not been entertained in every home represented in the room. This should be the situation not primarily because parents owe teachers such attention, not because any such social responsibility rests upon them, but rather because the relationship thus created gives parents the best possible opportunity to co-operate with the school in doing that portion of the home's great work. No, parents do not "owe" it to the teachers, rather do they "owe" it to their children and the next generation. I am urging this program because it is the only way by which you can get the most and best service from the schools.

It is true that parents may not understand all the subjects that are taught in the schools. Parents may not be acquainted with the methods of teaching so that they can be intelligent critics of schoolroom procedure. Never mind. That is not necessary. You do know boys and girls. Many of you could give us teachers valuable suggestions on the best ways of dealing with boys and girls. And there isn't one of you who could not assist the teacher in the work with your own children. And then there is another way to look upon it. It is altogether possible that this closer acquaintance with the school and with the teachers—with men and women who have made a careful, scientific study of boys and girls and of the art of teaching—it is altogether possible, I say, that this contact might react helpfully upon you and the home. You might possibly get suggestions from us that would help you in the home. The closer contact might be mutually helpful.

And so, in this necessarily hurried manner we have passed in review these three great age-old yet very modern institutions—the home, the church, and the school. We have seen whence each has arisen, have noted the pathway trod, and caught a glimpse of its present-day function. And the close relationship, too, must have become plain as we passed along. No one of the three, we have seen, could stand alone. Each depends upon both the others and likewise lends them both assistance. For sane, all-round, constructive work in any one field, the contributions of all are seen to be needed.

Let us, therefore, take an account of stock, as the business man says, and note our individual attitude and responsibility. As representing the home, let us look upon the other two as creatures of our own building still requiring direction and fostering care. Let our attitude toward them be neither patronizing nor coldly critical. As representing the church and the school, let us not forget the source of our being. We should not ignore the home nor attempt to dominate it. Let us, rather, seek to carry out its program, rendering a good account of our stewardship. Thus and thus only can the great work originally entrusted to the home be accomplished.

VI

NOBLESSE OBLIGE

A Convocation Address delivered at the University of North Dakota, January 29, 1916

There is no audience before which a speaker should have greater reason for apprehension than an audience made up largely of university students. There is no audience for which a speaker should more carefully choose his thoughts and the words for their expression than a university audience, nor one more worthy of earnest treatment. On the other hand, there is no audience that a speaker can address more inspiring than an audience made up of young men and women in the heyday of young life preparing for better and larger usefulness.