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any more than two leaves of the same tree are alike, as Leibnitz pointed out long ago. It is affirmed that this unlikeness is best and most adequately ministered unto through different subjects of thought and of learning. It has seen that what is one student's meat may be another student's poison, or, if not poison, it may be to the other student sawdust; and what is to one student poison or sawdust may be to another student meat and drink The college has not failed to recognize that what is food to a student in one period of his career may not be food to him at all in the other periods of his career. All this and much more has been worked out and put on the shelves of our intellectual storehouse.

But the colleges have made but small use of the opposite principle, which is also one of the great results of the century,– namely, the principle of unity:- a principle which is not more true in the realm of nature than in the realm of mind. Man is ever the same man. The soul is ever the same soul. The mind that asks manifold questions in youth is the same mind that asks its less manifold, but hardly less important, questions of nature and humanity in its maturity. If every man is unlike every other man, it is also true that he is always unlike every other man ; he maintains his persopal identity. As matter is the same matter under many forms, so man is the same man under all the changes through which he passes and which work their works in and on him.

Both the principle of unity and the principle of individuality have their special advantages and limitations. The principle of unity tends to become sameness, monotonous. It lacks picturesqueness, as applied to human character. It exemplifies the prairie in human life. It stands for one wide and far-reaching level of uniformity. Man is the same man, noble, noble; mean, mean ; great, always great ; and small, always small. One knows where to find him who embodies this principle; one forecasts what answer he will give to every question; one anticipates what opinions he will hold under certain conditions; and one can measure his convictions of the next week by his convictions of the last.

But this principle of unity also possesses for one's self and for humanity at large many and fine advantages. Man is like the mountains, not like the weathercock which shows which way the wind blows. He is like the eternal hills, which determine which way the wind shall blow. He is firm and fixed. He represents the conservative element of human society. There is nothing uncertain or wavering about him. He knows what he knows; he believes what he believes ; and he needs no one to convince him of his convictions. He is typed in the force of gravitation--an element at once fixed and not fixed, which moves through all things and guides them by unalterable laws. The principle of individuality, also, is beset by corresponding advantages and disadvantages. It gives variety to life. It is the mother of interest. It is both the cause and the result of development. It stands for life ; and life is never in general, but life is always in particular, and life is always full of fascination It represents the progress of being, which is always in and through individuals. But individuality, be it said, tends to become eccentricity. If it grows into the graciousness of righteousness and goodness and into the superlative excellence of beauty, it also grows into wickedness and into the pessimistic degradation of sin and of ugliness.

In education, as in all life and nature, these two principles of unity and individuality are to be joined. The ocean is the same ocean, although the same tides never sweep over its beaches. The sun is the same sun, although not two risings or settings are identical. The world is the same world, although no two springtimes are alike in their sweet fragrance or in their mighty and silent growths. In the higher education the two principles are to he joined. The nineteenth century has given us the principle of individuality ; the twentieth century is to associate this principle with the principle of unity as the nineteenth has not associated it. We are to learn that the boy is father to the man, and that the man is the son of the boy. We are to draw a straight line from the primary school to the professional. We are to strive to make character more consistent without making it less interesting, more solid without making it less picturesque, more conservative without causing it to become less progressive, more fixed without causing it to lose adaptiveness. The man we take off the commencement platform we desire to be the same man whom, as a boy four years before, we sent to college ; only we wish him to be finer, nobler, greater.

The union of unity and individuality as applied to the curriculum and to the student's use of the curriculum will tend to do away with that bane of our educational system, a haphazardness in the choice of studies. This union will give directness in aim; and directness in aim will contribute to force in execution and administration ; and force thus used will add to consistency and general worthiness. The studies of the freshman year will be chosen in the light of the needs of the senior year; and both years will derive their purpose from what the man desires to know, to do, and to be after his college career. This union will not simply give us studies wbich a man may make into a backbone, as it is usually called,-for a backbone implies also other bones running at right angles to the chief one,-but this union will give us a whole system of studies, articulated each to all and all to each, and all going to make up a consistent and vigorous personality, filled with one spirit, guided by one purpose, moved with one will, and living one life.

The twentieth century will also give us aid in determining the law of diminishing and increasing returns in studies. What this law is we have begun to learn from experimentation. We have learned that a language, be it ancient or modern, dead or alive, may continue to grow in its power over the student until he is possessed of the spirit of its literature, and of the people out of whom it grew and whom it in turn helped to create. The first three or four years in the study of Latin or Greek are the least profitable. The fifth and sixth years are, and should be, the most valuable. In the first period the study of a language is good; and it is good chiefly as a training in the important element of discrimination; and it is worthy of studying even if one pursues it no longer or further. But when one has become in a degree the master of a language, as, for instance, of the Latin, he is prepared to become a sympathetic student of these people themselves, to know what they were, to understand the institutions in which their life was


embodied, to think as they thought, to feel as they felt, to see out of their eyes, and to hear with their ears. He thus causes the life of this one nation - one of the four which have contributed most largely to our modern humanity — to become an integral part of his own life.

* * For the solution of all these administrative and scholastic questions the nineteenth century will transmit to the new age one condition which will prove to be of value simply priceless. It is the public and special interest in education. Education has come to be recognized as one of the elemental and fundamental forces in life. It has always been an elemental and fundamental force, but it has not always been recognized as such. It now takes its deserved place with the greatest. It may now be said that it has become a stronger force than the church, of which it was formerly a function. The schoolmaster is indeed abroad. He was formerly abroad on foot; he is now abroad in the saddle; he is a commander and director and leader. In no department of life has there been a larger increase of enthusiasm or a' nobler development of interest or an adoption of wiser methods. Such a condition represents the best force for the solution of the problems which the old century gives to the new.

Mental and

and Moral Development of the

Kindergarten Child.* PRESIDENT C. C. VAN LIEW, CHICO STATE NORMAL SCHOOL. There are a great many things which it is desirable to accomplish in the education of the child; but we sometimes find it pretty difficult to know just when to accomplish them. As the conscious efforts of education have descended more and more to the earliest years of childhood, they have often carried with them an attempt to modify the child to a precocious fitness to his environment. The adult educator has usually had well in view only the end of his work as determined by adult society, - not the conditions which the laws of growth impose upon him. Hence we often come to a consciousness of attempting some things in vain. With all our refinement of methods, furthermore, and with all our enrichment of the curriculum, we find it difficult to point out just wherein the product of hot-house culture possesses power essentially superior to that of the individual who has enjoyed a larger measure of wild, free, iostinctive growth, and only a limited amount of arbitrary modification.

But our experiences here have been very valuable, for they have taught us in an indefinite sort of way that somewhere, somehow, education is strictly limited. Finally we have begun to turn our eyes more seriously toward the main source of these conditions and limitations, the child.

The kindergarten has not been wholly free from attempts at precocious modification, although the philosophy of its founder has always brought bis followers close to child-nature. I suspect that the difficulty, in so far as one exists, depends upon the conception which I have already noted above as common to all primary education. We try to construct a bridge from the individual child to adult society, and to make it as short as possible. But, in the light of modern biology and child-study, we must admit that this bridge cannot arbitrarily be shortened. In fact, nature seems to have taken pains in the human individual to lengthen it. With us infancy, childhood, and youth occupy about one-third of life. They mean not only a long period of openness to impressions, of receptivity; but also one which is genetic, subject to laws of unfolding and succession. However roughly and imperfectly we conceive it at present, there is an order of development, each step of which is conditioned by its predecessor, and conditions its successor. In dealing with these conditions it is always the problem of education to favor each step in development in its own place. Any attempt at precocious development of any power is equivalent to an attempt to produce a high order of action upon a narrow basis of experience. Yet it is most difficult to secure a recognition of this condition of educational growth in practice. For example, to touch more closely the question of the kindergarten age, Miss Harrison tells us (see Home and School Education, June, '99, page 510): “When we realize that the tools of the kindergarten make the child conscious of evolution in nature (the italics are mine) and of geometric construction in the works of man, we then, and then only, begin to realize the greatness of Froebel's Gifts and Occupations." Assuming this statement to be correct, that geometry, for example, may make the child conscious of evolution in nature, the statement, implying as it does, together with its context, that this is their function in the kindergarten age, ignores such questions as these: "How broad a basis of experience with life and the world is it desirable to have to become conscious of evolution in nature? How much of that basic experience does the child acquire in the two or three kindergarten years? At just what age ought the child to come to such broad, abstract, and highly organized interpretation or consciousness of evolution in nature ? Has it been demonstrated to belong to the kindergarten age?

*Address delivered before the Kindergarten section of the N. E. A. at Los Angeles, Cal., July,


Similarily the very simple, crude sense-symbolism of the little child has been, and still is used to defend the practice of mystic, esthetic and ethical symbolism in the kindergarten. No one will deny the vast presence and import of symbolism in all human life, thought, and production. But that is not the moot question. In all the profound, philosophic discussions upon the value and import of symbolism which I have met, there is not a word which answers the question as to just how much and what kind of symbolism belongs to the three years of kindergarten training.

These examples and others betoken, it seems to me, two defects in the ordinary approacb to the problem of training the kindergarten child. (1) A tendency to interpret the child's nat'ıre to fit a philosophy which has gone before, and (2) but slight consciousness of the true genetic problem in child growth. Let us, in the first place, then, institute no educative processes that can not have an unquestioned foundation in the nature of the child ; in the second, let us remember that the kindergarten period both comes after and goes before ; that it does not stand alone, but is closely related to the whole genetic movement of the child's life ; that its solution does not mean a safe solution of the whole life of the child (as we so often hear), but of only one period, which may then favorably condition later periods; that it possessess no difinitive reach beyond itself. In general, therefore, two things are needed by kindergartners in their present practical attack upon the problem. These seem to me to be (1) more unbiased, concrete study of the simple and normal phenomena of child-life ; (2) a broader study of the whole problem and period of education, especially of the relations of this period to others, to prevent exclusivism and isolation in practice.

It is the further function of this paper to suggest some thoughts upon the mental and moral traits of the kindergarten child, and upon the teacher's attitude in practice toward these traits.

If now we assume that the kindergarten age covers the years from three to six, we see that it follows closely the period of infancy, which covers the first three years. Some of the characteristics of infancy are still prominent in the kindergarten age. Infancy is dependent for its development largely upon the spinal cord and the lowest brain centers. It is a period of relatively marvelous increase in physical weight and stature. The problem of nutrition is dominant in infancy. There is some awakening and activity of the senses, though they have hardly reached their most marked period of nas. cency. Powers of movement have unfolded along the line of the very oldest heredity. The same has been true of expression. Speech has ordinarily advanced no further than the opening of the stage in which the mother tongue is imitated and used. Memory is not strong or persistent, and is confined chiefly to recognition in representation. Concept building is confined practically to this last stage of presentative cognition, plus an association of the familiar experience with the name or symbol which stands for it. In short, all mental life, whatsoever, of the infant, prior to the kindergarten age, has been a close accompaniment and reflection of the physical life. Nutrition, primitive sensation and reaction, instinctive feeling and expression, sum up for us about all that can be said of the child, mentally or morally. It is on these fundamental processes and the unstable habits of which they have left traces, that the work of the kindergarten must be based. It would seem to be a tenet, sanctioned by common sense and experience, that whatever is attempted at this age, as well as in any other, should both be founded upon faculties undoubtedly present in the child at the time, and be in direct response to the needs and instincts for development which the child displays.

The mental life of the child in the kindergarten is not to be sharply distinguished from what has immediately preceded. There is the same strong appetite of the senses and for instinctive and fundamental forms of action. But sssociated with these earlier faculties are certain special forms of instinct, which must unquestionably furnish the points of attack in kindergarten work. They represent, in fact, some of the keener interests which awaken in senses and muscles as soon as the body and its members have been brougbt under ordinary control. Among these I should mention the instinctive love for, or interest in, nature. There can be no doubt that we have a good basis

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