Imágenes de páginas
PDF
EPUB

what they are reading; if it is a story or a drama, so that they will carry away all the main incidents of the plot, so that they will know what kind of men and women the characters are and what they do; if it is an essay, so that they will follow the drift of the thought or argument; and if it is a lyric, so that they will know what is the mood of the poet and what emotions he wishes to stir in the reader. I have no formula to suggest for the teacher that will take the place of common sense and experience. Obviously all books are not to be read or studied alike. Stories and novels are the easiest. It has been a great surprise to discover that novels like Ivanhoe and the Last of the Mohicans, as studied in some schools, are chopped up into pieces and doled out for weeks in the class room. A novel was never intended to be read in that way. Read in that way it grows stale and unprofitable. A long novel ought never to be put into the hands of a schoolboy until he is ready to go through it like a flame. The most successful method that I have ever seen in dealing with novels was that of a teacher who read with his students the opening chapters, talked about them, outlined the situation, and left the rest to the students themselves to read in the course of a week or a fortnight. Then the char

acters and incidents were again taken up for very free discussion. For laggards, who will read nothing unless prodded, some more formal test was necessary at the last. But the laggards were apparently few.

In the case of a play of Shakespeare's, it is quite necessary to chop up, for the student must be helped on his journey through it, inasmuch as there are difficulties of style too great for him to overcome alone. Perhaps too much attention has been given in the study of the drama as well as of fiction to form, structure and style. Without doubt it is worth while to bring out clearly the development of a dramatic narrative up to the crisis and on to the conclusion, but there is danger of making mere form the end of the study. Instead of tossing about phrases like "dramatic moments," "dramatic centers," "dramatic forces," etc., it would be better, I should think, to stick rather closely to the characters, to what they do and why they do it. It is this kind of study that widens and deepens intelligence and gives scope

and freedom to the imagination. In the case of the essay, in so far as it is not used as an aid in original composition, two questions mainly arise: what does the author say? and what do we think about it? With the lyric the main questions are: what is the mood of the poet? and how is it expressed down to the details of the imagery and the diction. The lyric is so intangible that it can never become a permanent possession unless it is committed to memory, as a whole if short, and at least in part if long.

To return from the digression. English studies are now hampered by two deficiencies, one or both of which the schools might help to remove. "The modern literatures," to quote Matthew Arnold, "have so grown up under the influence of the literature of Greece and Rome, that the forms, fashions, notions, wordings, allusions of that literature have got deeply into them, and are an indispensable preparation for understanding them." Twenty-five years ago, college students had this indispensable preparation for the modern literatures, but it has since largely disappeared. Greek has ceased to be an absolute requirement for entrance to college, and Latin in some places is optional. Let the process go on for another generation, and the best part of English literature will become unintelligible. In face of the importance of science in modern education, the ancient classics will hardly hold their own during the coming years; certainly they can never be restored to their old place in the school curriculum. Under the circumstances it therefore becomes incumbent upon teachers of English to provide means for acquiring through translation such knowledge of the ancient literatures as may be necessary for an appreciation of great writers like Milton, Keats, Shelley and Tennyson. I should like to see introduced into the high school prose translations of the Odyssey and parts of the Iliad. No romance can surpass the Odyssey in interest; once introduced it will remain. Earlier than Homer may come books, of which we have several good ones, on Greek, Latin and Norse myths and legends. Let us keep so much at least of the ancient heritage.

The other deficiency is the dense ignorance of Hebrew litera

ture as represented by the English Bible. Biblical allusions, which permeate our literature, touch no responsive chord in the majority of college students now-a-days. Though some of them are fairly familiar with names like Abraham, Isaac, Jacob, Samson, David and Daniel, very few know anything about the lives of these men as related in the Scriptures. Not long ago, to recall an extreme case, not one of forty students under my instruction could quite place Judas Iscariot; and a venerable colleague of mine discovered a Jew among the seniors who had never heard of Moses. To lift the burden of this ignorance, several colleges have recently incorporated parts of the Old Testament into their most elementary courses in English with great success from the standpoint both of the student and of the instructor. But a knowledge of the Bible obviously belongs to an earlier stage than this. It is a pity that political and religious considerations stand in the way of introducing into the public schools an available body of splendid literature. Fortunately politics and prejudice cannot hamper many of the large preparatory schools. To them may be submitted the proposition of having read, under the direction of the English department, the most interesting narratives of the Old Testament, not piecemeal chapter by chapter, but as large and complete wholes.

College Education and the Moral Ideal

ALEXANDER MEIKLEJOHN, PH.D., DEAN OF BROWN UNIVERSITY

I

N one of his best passages, Epictetus the Stoic,
portrays a moral hero. He says, "This Priscus
Helvidius, too, saw, and acted accordingly. For
when Vespasian had sent to forbid his going to
the senate, he answered: It is in your power to
prevent my remaining a senator, but as long as I
am one, I must go.' 'Well, then, at least be
silent there,' said the emperor.
'Do not ask my

opinion,' he replied, and I will be silent.' But I must ask it.' 'And I must speak what appears to me to be right.' 'But if you do, I will put you to death.' 'Did I ever tell you that I was immortal? You will do your part and I mine. It is yours to kill, and mine to die intrepid; yours to banish, mine to depart untroubled.' What good, then, did Priscus do, who was but a single person? Why, what good does the purple do to the garment? What else but to be beautiful in itself, and to give an example of beauty to others?" The meaning of the passage is this: there are, in life, some things beautiful in themselves, things worth having; there are other things not so beautiful, not worth having; it is a man's part as he lives this life to choose the former and to set aside the latter to do this well is to succeed in the practice of the art of living. I should like to take this passage as a text from which to consider the work of the American college.

The general principle of the text is one in which all definitions of education seem to agree. Whatever their differences of standpoint, those who discuss the meaning of the term education, are convinced that it is the purpose of the school and college to give preparation for life. It is assumed that every human being has laid upon him the task of making a life, of living a career, and further, that this living may be done well or ill, nobly or ignobly, finely or coarsely, happily or unhap

pily, successfully or unsuccessfully. And since this choice between the higher and the lower, the good and the not so good is open to every one who lives, it is presumed to be legitimate and worth while to prepare the youthful contestant for the fray, to so train him that he may play the better part, that he may live his life as we would choose that he should live. In short, since upon every human being there is laid the necessity of the practice of the art of living, education may well take as its task the giving of training for that art.

But now our differences of standpoint will appear so soon as we attempt to define this art of living, to differentiate between the better and the worse. To the questions, What sort of living is worth while, how shall we describe that aim which a man may properly set before him as the goal of his endeavors, the answers are, as you know, almost hopelessly varied and diverse. Let it be said, however, that obviously no definition of education as preparation for living can be really satisfactory until this question of the aim of living has been answered. And just in so far as our ultimate theory of life remains vague and uncertain, just in so far must our educational methods remain unsettled and our results insecure. It is in this perplexity that I venture to seek a definition in the field of philosophy, and especially in the science of ethics, whose business it is to investigate the art of life. And since it is, alas, true that even the students of ethics are not agreed among themselves, we must, perforce, select one among them whom we would follow. I would suggest, therefore, that we base our inquiry upon a theory of life which is closely akin to that of Immanuel Kant. If, as may be, his view of life does not appeal to you as true, then I fear that the argument will present little which is convincing. But if it should seem to you, as it does to me, that Kant has come very close to the heart of our living, then we may hope to find, implicit in his thinking, some guidance toward that definition of education which we seek.

The essential feature of Kant's theory of life is the distinction between form and content. This distinction is, as every student of philosophy will tell you, at the same time a most fundamental and perplexing one. It is the distinction between

« AnteriorContinuar »