On Popular Education

: WHAT MEN LIVE BY
: Fables For Children, Stories For Children, Natural Science Stori

I suppose each of us has had more than one occasion to come in contact

with monstrous, senseless phenomena, and to find back of these phenomena

put forward some important principle, which overshadowed those

phenomena, so that in our youthful and even maturer years we began to

doubt whether it was true that those phenomena were monstrous, and

whether we were not mistaken. And having been unable to convince

ourselves tha
monstrous phenomena might be good, or that the protection

of an important principle was illegitimate, or that the principle was

only a word, we remained in regard to those phenomena in an ambiguous,

undecided condition.



In such a state I was, and I assume many of us are, in respect to the

principle of "development" which obfuscates pedagogy, in its connection

with the rudiments. But popular education is too near to my heart, and I

have busied myself too much with it, to remain too long in indecision.

The monstrous phenomena of the imaginary development I could not call

good, nor could I be persuaded that the development of the pupil was

bad, and so I began to inquire what that development was. I do not

consider it superfluous to communicate the deductions to which I have

been led during the study of this matter.



To define what is understood by the word "development," I shall take the

manuals of Messrs. Bunakov and Evtushevski, as being new works, which

combine all the latest deductions of German pedagogy, intended as guides

for the teachers in the popular schools, and selected by the advocates

of the sound method as manuals in their schools.



In discussing what is to form the foundation for a choice of this or

that method for the teaching of reading, Mr. Bunakov says:



"No, an opinion about the method of construction based on such

near-sighted and flimsy foundations (that is, on experience) will be too

doubtful. Only the theoretical substratum, based on the study of human

nature, can make the judgments in this sphere firm and independent of

all casualties, and to a considerable degree guard them against gross

errors. Consequently for the final choice of the best method of teaching

the rudiments, it is necessary first of all to stand on theoretic soil,

on the basis of previous considerations, the general conditions of which

give to this or that method the actual right to be called satisfactory

from the pedagogical standpoint. These conditions are: (1) It has to be

a method which is capable of developing the child's mental powers, so

that the acquisition of the rudiments may be obtained together with the

development and the strengthening of the reasoning powers. (2) It must

introduce into the instruction the child's personal interest, so that

the matter be furthered by this interest, and not by dulling violence.

(3) It must represent in itself the process of self-instruction,

inciting, supporting, and directing the child's self-activity. (4) It

must be based on the impressions of hearing, as of the sense which

serves for the acquisition of language. (5) It has to combine analysis

with synthesis, beginning with the dismemberment of the complex whole

into simple principles, and passing over to the composition of a complex

whole out of the simple principles."



So this is what the method of instruction is to be based upon. I will

remark, not for contradiction, but for the sake of simplicity and

clearness, that the last two statements are quite superfluous, because

without the union of analysis and synthesis there can be not only no

instruction, but also no other activity of the mind, and every

instruction, except that of the deaf and dumb, is based on the sense of

hearing. These two conditions are put down only for beauty's sake and

for the obscuration of the style, so common in pedagogical treatises,

and so have no meaning whatever. The first three at first sight appear

quite true as a programme. Everybody, of course, would like to know how

the method is secured that will "develop," that will "introduce into the

instruction the pupil's personal interest," and that will "represent the

process of self-instruction."



But to the questions as to why this method combines all those qualities

you will find an answer neither in the books of Messrs. Bunakov and

Evtushevski, nor in any other pedagogical work of the founders of this

school of pedagogy, unless they be those hazy discussions of this

nature, such as that every instruction must be based on the union of

analysis and synthesis, and by all means on the sense of hearing, and so

forth; or you will find, as in Mr. Evtushevski's book, expositions about

how in man are formed impressions, sensations, representations, and

concepts, and you will find the rule that "it is necessary to start from

the object and lead the pupil up to the idea, and not start with the

idea, which has no point of contact in his consciousness," and so forth.

After such discussions there always follows the conclusion that

therefore the method advocated by the pedagogue gives that exclusive

real development which it was necessary to find.



After the above-cited definition of what a good method ought to be, Mr.

Bunakov explains how children ought to be educated, and, having given an

exposition of all the methods, which in my opinion and experience lead

to results which are diametrically opposite to development, he says

frankly and definitely:



"From the standpoint of the above-mentioned fundamental principles for

estimating the value of the satisfactoriness of the methods of

rudimentary instruction, the method which we have just elucidated in its

general features presents the following plastic qualities and

peculiarities: (1) As a sound method it wholly preserves the

characteristic peculiarities of all sound method,--it starts from the

impressions of hearing, at once establishing the regular relation to

language, and only later adds to them the impressions of sight, thus

clearly distinguishing sound, matter, and the letter, its

representation. (2) As a method which unites reading with writing it

begins with decomposition and passes over to composition, combining

analysis with synthesis. (3) As a method which passes over to the study

of words and sounds from the study of objects it proceeds along a

natural path, cooperates with the regular formation of concepts and

ideas, and acts in a developing way on all the sides of the child's

nature: it incites the children to be observant, to group their

observations, to render them orally; it develops the external senses,

mind, imagination, memory, the gift of speech, concentration,

self-activity, the habit of work, the respect for order. (4) As a method

which provides ample work to all the mental powers of the child, it

introduces into instruction the personal interest, rousing in children

willingness and love of work, and transforming it into a process of

self-instruction."



This is precisely what Mr. Evtushevski does; but why it is all so

remains inexplicable to him who is looking for actual reasons and does

not become entangled in such words as psychology, didactics, methodics,

heuristics. I advise all those who have no inclination for philosophy

and therefore have no desire to verify all those deductions of the

pedagogues not to be embarrassed by these words and to be assured that

a thing which is not clear cannot be the basis of anything, least of all

of such an important and simple thing as popular education.



All the pedagogues of this school, especially the Germans, the founders

of the school, start with the false idea that those philosophical

questions which have remained as questions for all the philosophers from

Plato to Kant, have been definitely settled by them. They are settled so

definitely that the process of the acquisition by man of impressions,

sensations, concepts, ratiocinations, has been analyzed by them down to

its minutest details, and the component parts of what we call the soul

or the essence of man have been dissected and divided into parts by

them, and that, too, in such a thorough manner that on this firm basis

can go up the faultless structure of the science of pedagogy. This fancy

is so strange that I do not regard it as necessary to contradict it,

more especially as I have done so in my former pedagogical essays. All I

will say is that those philosophical considerations which the pedagogues

of this school put at the basis of their theory not only fail to be

absolutely correct, not only have nothing in common with real

philosophy, but even lack a clear, definite expression with which the

majority of the pedagogues might agree.



But, perchance, the theory of the pedagogues of the new school, in spite

of its unsuccessful references to philosophy, has some value in itself.

And so we will examine it, to see what it consists in. Mr. Bunakov says:



"To these little savages (that is, the pupils) must be imparted the main

order of school instruction, and into their consciousness must be

introduced such initial concepts as they will have to come in contact

with from the start, during the first lessons of drawing, reading,

writing, and every elementary instruction, such as: the right side and

the left, to the right--to the left, up--down, near by--around, in

front--in back, close by--in the distance, before--behind,

above--below, fast--slow, softly--aloud, and so forth. No matter how

simple these concepts may be, I know from practice that even city

children, from well-to-do families, are frequently, when they come to

the elementary schools, unable to distinguish the right side from the

left. I assume that there is no need of expatiating on the necessity of

explaining such concepts to village children, for any one who has had to

deal with village schools knows this as well as I do."



And Mr. Evtushevski says:



"Without entering into the broad field of the debatable question about

the innate ability of man, we only see that the child can have no innate

concepts and ideas about real things,--they have to be formed, and on

the skill with which they are formed by the educator and teacher depends

both their regularity and their permanency. In watching the development

of the child's soul one has to be much more cautious than in attending

to his body. If the food for the body and the various bodily exercises

are carefully chosen both as regards their quantity and their quality,

in conformity with the man's growth, so much more cautious have we to be

in the choice of food and exercises for the mind. A badly placed

foundation will precariously support what is fastened to it."



Mr. Bunakov advises that ideas be imparted as follows:



"The teacher may begin a conversation such as he deems fit: one will ask

every pupil for his name; another about what is going on outside; a

third about where each comes from, where he lives, what is going on at

home,--and then he may pass over to the main subject. 'Where are you

sitting now? Why did you come here? What are we going to do in this

room? Yes, we are going to study in this room,--so let us call it a

class-room. See what there is under your feet, below you. Look, but do

not say anything. The one I will tell to speak shall answer. Tell me,

what do you see under your feet? Repeat everything we have found out

and have said about this room: in what room are we sitting? What are the

parts of the room? What is there on the walls? What is standing on the

floor?'



"The teacher from the start establishes the order which is necessary for

the success of his work: each pupil is to answer only when asked to do

so; all the others are to listen and should be able to repeat the words

of the teacher and of their companions; the desire to answer, when the

teacher directs a question to everybody, is to be expressed by raising

the left hand; the words are to be pronounced neither in a hurry, nor by

drawing them out, but loudly, distinctly, and correctly. To obtain this

latter result the teacher gives them a living example by his loud,

correct, distinct enunciation, showing them in practice the difference

between soft and loud, distinct and correct, slow and fast. The teacher

should see to it that all the children take part in the work, by having

somebody's question answered or repeated, now by one, now by another,

and now by the whole class at once, but especially by rousing the

indifferent, inattentive, and playful children: the first he must

enliven by frequent questions, the second he must cause to concentrate

themselves on the subject of the common work, and the third he must

curb. During the first period the children ought to answer in full, that

is, by repeating the question: 'We are sitting in the class-room' (and

not in brief, 'In the class-room'); 'Above, over my head, I see the

ceiling;' 'On the left I see three windows,' and so forth."



Mr. Evtushevski advises that in this way be begun all the lessons on

numbers from 1 to 10, of which there are to be 120, and which are to be

continued through the year.



"One. The teacher shows the pupils a cube, and asks: 'How many cubes

have I?' and taking several cubes into the other hand, he asks, 'And how

many are there here?'--'Many, a few.'



"'Name here in the class-room an object of which there are

several.'--'Bench, window, wall, copy-book, pencil, slate-pencil, pupil,

and so forth.'--'Name an object of which there is only one in the

class-room.'--'The blackboard, stove, door, ceiling, floor, picture,

teacher, and so forth.'--'If I put this cube away in my pocket, how many

cubes will there be left in my hand?'--'Not one.'--'And how many must I

again put into my hand, to have as many as before?'--'One.'--'What is

meant by saying that Petya fell down once? How many times did Petya

fall? Did he fall another time? Why does it say once?'--'Because we are

speaking only of one case and not of another case.'--'Take your slates

(or copy-books). Make on them a line of this size.' (The teacher draws

on the blackboard a line two or four inches in length, or shows on the

ruler that length.) 'Rub it off. How many lines are left?'--'Not

one.'--'Draw several such lines.' It would be unnatural to invent any

other exercises in order to acquaint the children with number one. It

suffices to rouse in them that conception of unity which they, no doubt,

had previous to their school instruction."



Then Mr. Bunakov speaks of exercises on the board, and so on, and Mr.

Evtushevski of the number four with its decomposition. Before examining

the theory itself of the transmission of ideas, the question

involuntarily arises whether that theory is not mistaken in its very

problem. Has the condition of the pedagogical material with which it has

to do been correctly defined? The first thing that startles us is the

strange relation to some imaginary children, to such as I, at least,

have never seen in the Russian Empire. The conversations, and the

information which they impart, refer to children of less than two years

of age, because two-year-old children know all that is contained in

them, but as to the questions which have to be asked, they have

reference to parrots. Any pupil of six, seven, eight, or nine years will

not understand a thing in these questions, because he knows all about

that, and cannot make out what it all means. The demands for such

conversations evince either complete ignorance, or a desire to ignore

that degree of development on which the pupils stand.



Maybe the children of Hottentots and negroes, or some German children,

do not know what is imparted to them in such conversations, but Russian

children, except demented ones, all those who come to a school, not only

know what is up and what down, what is a bench and what a table, what is

two and what one, and so forth, but, in my experience, the peasant

children who are sent to school by their parents can every one of them

express their thoughts well and correctly, can understand another

person's thought (if it is expressed in Russian), and can count to

twenty and more; playing with knuckle-bones they count in pairs and

sixes, and they know how many points and pairs there are in a six.

Frequently the pupils who came to my school brought with them the

problem with the geese, and explained it to me. But even if we admit

that children possess no such conceptions as those the pedagogues want

to impart to them by means of conversations, I do not find the method

chosen by them to be correct.



Thus, for example, Mr. Bunakov has written a reader. This book is to be

used in conjunction with the conversations to teach the children

language. I have run through the book and have found it to be a series

of bad language blunders, wherever extracts from other books are not

quoted. The same complete ignorance of language I have found in Mr.

Evtushevski's problems. Mr. Evtushevski wants to give ideas by means of

problems. First of all he ought to have seen to it that the tool for the

transmission of ideas, that is, the language, was correct.



What has been mentioned here refers to the form in which the development

is imparted. Let us look at the contents themselves. Mr. Bunakov

proposes the following questions to be put to the children: "Where can

you see cats? where a magpie? where sand? where a wasp and a suslik?

what are a suslik and a magpie and a cat covered with, and what are the

parts of their bodies?" (The suslik is a favourite animal of pedagogy,

no doubt because not one peasant child in the centre of Russia knows

that word.)



"Naturally the teacher does not always put these questions straight to

the children, as forming the predetermined programme of the lesson; more

frequently the small and undeveloped children have to be led up to the

solution of the question of the programme by a series of suggestive

questions, by directing their attention to the side of the subject which

is more correct at the given moment, or by inciting them to recall

something from their previous observations. Thus the teacher need not

put the question directly: 'Where can a wasp be seen?' but, turning to

this or that pupil, he may ask him whether he has seen a wasp, where he

has seen it, and then only, combining the replies of several pupils,

compose an answer to the first question of his programme. In answering

the teacher's questions, the children will often connect several remarks

that have no direct relation to the matter; for example, when the

question is about what the parts of a magpie are, one may say

irrelevantly that a magpie jumps, another that it chatters funnily, a

third that it steals things,--let them add and give utterance to

everything that arises in their memory or imagination,--it is the

teacher's business to concentrate their attention in accordance with the

programme, and these remarks and additions of the children he should

take notice of for the purpose of elaborating the other parts of the

programme. In viewing a new subject, the children at every convenient

opportunity return to the subjects which have already been under

consideration. Since they have observed that a magpie is covered with

feathers, the teacher asks: 'Is the suslik also covered with feathers?

What is it covered with? And what is a chicken covered with? and a

horse? and a lizard?' When they have observed that a magpie has two

legs, the teacher asks: 'How many legs has a dog? and a fox? and a

chicken? and a wasp? What other animals do you know with two legs? with

four? with six?'"



Involuntarily the question arises: Do the children know, or do they not

know, what is so well explained to them in these conversations? If the

pupils know it all, then, upon occasion, in the street or at home, where

they do not need to raise their left hands, they will certainly be able

to tell it in more beautiful and more correct Russian than they are

ordered to do. They will certainly not say that a horse is "covered"

with wool; if so, why are they compelled to repeat these questions just

as the teacher has put them? But if they do not know them (which is not

to be admitted except as regards the suslik), the question arises: by

what will the teacher be guided in what is with so much unction called

the programme of questions,--by the science of zoology, or by logic? or

by the science of eloquence? But if by none of the sciences, and merely

by the desire to talk about what is visible in the objects, there are so

many visible things in objects, and they are so diversified, that a

guiding thread is needed to show what to talk upon, whereas in objective

instruction there is no such thread, and there can be none.



All human knowledge is subdivided for the purpose that it may more

conveniently be gathered, united, and transmitted, and these

subdivisions are called sciences. But outside their scientific

classifications you may talk about objects anything you please, and you

may say all the nonsense imaginable, as we actually see. In any case,

the result of the conversation will be that the children are either

made to learn by heart the teacher's words about the suslik, or to

change their own words, place them in a certain order (not always a

correct order), and to memorize and repeat them. For this reason all the

manuals of this kind, in general all the exercises of development,

suffer on the one hand from absolute arbitrariness, and on the other

from superfluity. For example, in Mr. Bunakov's book the only story

which, it seems, is not copied from another author, is the following:



"A peasant complained to a hunter about his trouble: a fox had carried

off several of his chickens and one duck; the fox was not in the least

afraid of watch-dog Dandy, who was chained up and kept barking all night

long; in the morning he had placed a trap with a piece of roast meat in

the fresh tracks on the snow,--evidently the red-haired sneak was

disporting near the house, but he did not go into the trap. The hunter

listened to what the peasant had to say to him, and said: 'Very well;

now we will see who will be shrewder!' The hunter walked all day with

his gun and with his dog, over the tracks of the fox, to discover how he

found his way into the yard. In the daytime the sneak sleeps in his

lair, and knows nothing of what is going on, so that had to be

considered: on its path the hunter dug a hole and covered it with

boards, dirt, and snow; a few steps from it he put down a piece of

horseflesh. In the evening he seated himself with a loaded gun in his

ambush, fixed things in such a way that he could see everything and

shoot comfortably, and there he waited. It grew dark. The moon swam out.

Cautiously, looking around and listening, the fox crept out of his lair,

raised his nose, and sniffed. He at once smelled the odour of

horseflesh, and ran at a slow trot to the place, and suddenly stopped

and pricked his ears: the shrewd one saw that there was a mound there

which had not been in that spot the previous evening. This mound

apparently vexed him, and made him think; he took a large circle around

it, and sniffed and listened, and sat down, and for a long time looked

at the meat from a distance, so that the hunter could not shoot him,--it

was too far. The fox thought and thought, and suddenly ran at full speed

between the meat and the mound. Our hunter was careful, and did not

shoot. He knew that the sneak was merely trying to find out whether

anybody was sitting behind that mound; if he had shot at the running

fox, he would certainly have missed him, and then he would not have seen

the sneak, any more than he could see his own ears. Now the fox quieted

down,--the mound no longer disturbed him: he walked briskly up to the

meat, and ate it with great delight. Then the hunter aimed carefully,

without haste, so that he might not miss him. Bang! The fox jumped up

from pain and fell down dead."



Everything is arbitrary here: it is an arbitrary invention to say that a

fox could carry off a peasant's duck in winter, that peasants trap

foxes, that a fox sleeps in the daytime in his lair (for he sleeps only

at night); arbitrary is that hole which is uselessly dug in winter and

covered with boards without being made use of; arbitrary is the

statement that the fox eats horseflesh, which he never does; arbitrary

is the supposed cunning of the fox, who runs past the hunter; arbitrary

are the mound and the hunter, who does not shoot for fear of missing,

that is, everything, from beginning to end, is bosh, for which any

peasant boy might arraign the author of the story, if he could talk

without raising his hand.



Then a whole series of so-called exercises in Mr. Bunakov's lessons is

composed of such questions as: "Who bakes? Who chops? Who shoots?" to

which the pupil is supposed to answer: "The baker, the wood-chopper, and

the marksmen," whereas he might just as correctly answer that the woman

bakes, the axe chops, and the teacher shoots, if he has a gun. Another

arbitrary statement in that book is that the throat is a part of the

mouth, and so on.



All the other exercises, such as "The ducks fly, and the dogs?" or "The

linden and birch are trees, and the horse?" are quite superfluous.

Besides, it must be observed that if such conversations are really

carried on with the pupils (which never happens) that is, if the pupils

are permitted to speak and ask questions, the teacher, choosing simple

subjects (they are most difficult), is at each step perplexed, partly

through ignorance, and partly because ein Narr kann mehr fragen, als

zehn Weise antworten.



Exactly the same takes place in the instruction of arithmetic, which is

based on the same pedagogical principle. Either the pupils are informed

in the same way of what they already know, or they are quite arbitrarily

informed of combinations of a certain character that are not based on

anything. The lesson mentioned above and all the other lessons up to ten

are merely information about what the children already know. If they

frequently do not answer questions of that kind, this is due to the fact

that the question is either wrongly expressed in itself, or wrongly

expressed as regards the children. The difficulty which the children

encounter in answering a question of that character is due to the same

cause which makes it impossible for the average boy to answer the

question: Three sons were to Noah,[1]--Shem, Ham, and Japheth,--who was

their father? The difficulty is not mathematical, but syntactical, which

is due to the fact that in the statement of the problem and in the

question there is not one and the same subject; but when to the

syntactical difficulty there is added the awkwardness of the proposer of

the problems in expressing himself in Russian, the matter becomes of

greater difficulty still to the pupil; but the trouble is no longer

mathematical.



[Footnote 1: The Russian way of saying "Noah had three sons."]



Let anybody understand at once Mr. Evtushevski's problem: "A certain boy

had four nuts, another had five. The second boy gave all his nuts to the

first, and this one gave three nuts to a third, and the rest he

distributed equally to three other friends. How many nuts did each of

the last get?" Express the problem as follows: "A boy had four nuts. He

was given five more. He gave away three nuts, and the rest he wants to

give to three friends. How many can he give to each?" and a child of

five years of age will solve it. There is no problem here at all, but

the difficulty may arise only from a wrong statement of the problem, or

from a weak memory. And it is this syntactical difficulty, which the

children overcome by long and difficult exercises, that gives the

teacher cause to think that, teaching the children what they know

already, he is teaching them anything at all. Just as arbitrarily are

the children taught combinations in arithmetic and the decomposition of

numbers according to a certain method and order, which have their

foundation only in the fancy of the teacher. Mr. Evtushevski says:



"Four. (1) The formation of the number. On the upper border of the board

the teacher places three cubes together--I I I. How many cubes are there

here? Then a fourth cube is added. And how many are there now? I I I I.

How are four cubes formed from three and one? We have to add one cube to

the three.



"(2) Decomposition into component parts. How can four cubes be formed?

or, How can four cubes be broken up? Four cubes may be broken up into

two and two: II + II. Four cubes may be formed from one, and one, and

one, and one more, or by taking four times one cube: I + I + I + I. Four

cubes may be broken up into three and one: III + I. It may be formed

from one, and one, and two: I + I + II. Can four cubes be put together

in any other way? The pupils convince themselves that there can be no

other decomposition, distinct from those already given. If the pupils

begin to break the four cubes in this way: one, two, and one, or, two,

one and one; or, one and three, the teacher will easily point out to

them that these decompositions are only repetitions of what has been got

before, only in a different order.



"Every time, whenever the pupils indicate a new method of decomposition,

the teacher places the cubes on a ledge of the blackboard in the manner

here indicated. Thus there will be four cubes on the upper ledge; two

and two in a second place; in a third place the four cubes will be

separated at some distance from each other; in a fourth place, three and

one, and in a fifth one, one, and two.



"(3) Decomposition in order. It may easily happen that the children will

at once point out the decomposition of the number into component parts

in order; even then the third exercise cannot be regarded as

superfluous: Here we have formed four cubes of twos, of separate cubes,

and of threes,--in what order had we best place the cubes on the board?

With what shall the decomposition of the four cubes begin? With the

decomposition into separate cubes. How are four cubes to be formed from

separate cubes? We must take four times one cube. How are four cubes to

be formed from twos, from a pair? We must take two twos,--twice two

cubes, two pairs of cubes. How shall we afterward break up the four

cubes? They can be formed of threes: for this purpose we take three and

one, or one and three. The teacher explains to the pupils that the last

decomposition, that is, 1 1 2, does not come under the accepted order,

and is a modification of one of the first three."



Why does Mr. Evtushevski not admit this last decomposition? Why must

there be the order indicated by him? All that is a matter of mere

arbitrariness and fancy. In reality, it is apparent to every thinking

man that there is only one foundation for any composition and

decomposition, and for the whole of mathematics. Here is the

foundation: 1 + 1 = 2, 2 + 1 = 3, 3 + 1 = 4, and so forth,--precisely

what the children learn at home, and what in common parlance is called

counting to ten, to twenty, and so forth. This process is known to every

pupil, and no matter what decomposition Mr. Evtushevski may make, it is

to be explained from this one. A boy that can count to four, considers

four as a whole, and so also three, and two, and one. Consequently, he

knows that four was produced from the consecutive addition of one.

Similarly he knows that four is produced by adding twice one to two,

just as he knows twice one is two. What, then, are the children taught

here? That which they know, or that process of counting which they must

learn according to the teacher's fancy.



The other day I happened to witness a lesson in mathematics according to

Grube's method. The pupil was asked: "How much is 8 and 7?" He hastened

to answer and said 16. His neighbour, too, was in a hurry and, without

raising his left hand, said: "8 and 8 is 16, and one less is 15." The

teacher sternly stopped him, and compelled the first boy to add one

after one to 8, until he came to 15, though the boy knew long ago that

he had made a blunder. In that school they had reached the number 15,

but 16 was supposed to be unknown yet.



I am afraid that many people, reading all these long refutals of the

methods of object instruction and counting according to Grube, which I

am making, will say: "What is there here to talk about? Is it not

evident that it is all mere nonsense which it is not worth while to

criticize? Why pick out the errors and blunders of a Bunakov and

Evtushevski, and criticize what is beneath all criticism?"



That was the way I myself thought before I was led to see what was going

on in the pedagogical world, when I convinced myself that Messrs.

Bunakov and Evtushevski were not mere individuals, but authorities in

our pedagogics, and that what they prescribe is actually carried out in

our schools. In the backwoods we may find teachers, especially women,

who spread Evtushevski's and Bunakov's manuals out before them and ask

according to their prescription how much one feather and one feather is,

and what a hen is covered with. All that would be funny if it were only

an invention of the theorist, and not a guide in practical work, a guide

that some follow already, and if it did not concern one of the most

important affairs of life,--the education of the children. I was amused

at it when I read it as theoretical fancies; but when I learned and saw

that that was being practised on children, I felt pity for them and

ashamed.



From a theoretical standpoint, not to mention the fact that they

faultily define the aim of education, the pedagogues of this school make

this essential error, that they depart from the conditions of all

instruction, whether this instruction be on the highest or lowest stage

of the science, in a university or in a popular school. The essential

conditions of all instruction consist in selecting the homogeneous

phenomena from an endless number of heterogeneous phenomena, and in

imparting the laws of these phenomena to the students. Thus, in the

study of language, the pupils are taught the laws of the word, and in

mathematics, the laws of the numbers. The study of language consists in

imparting the laws of the decomposition and of the reverse composition

of sentences, words, syllables, sounds,--and these laws form the subject

of instruction. The instruction of mathematics consists in imparting the

laws of the composition and decomposition of the numbers (but I beg to

observe,--not in the process of the composition and the decomposition of

the numbers, but in imparting the laws of that composition and

decomposition). Thus, the first law consists in the ability of regarding

a collection of units as a unit of a higher order, precisely what a

child does when he says: "2 and 1 = 3." He regards 2 as a kind of unit.

On this law are based the consequent laws of numeration, then of

addition, and of the whole of mathematics. But arbitrary conversations

about the wasp, and so forth, or problems within the limit of 10,--its

decomposition in every manner possible,--cannot form a subject of

instruction, because, in the first place, they transcend the subject

and, in the second place, because they do not treat of its laws.



That is the way the matter presents itself to me from its theoretical

side; but theoretical criticism may frequently err, and so I will try to

verify my deductions by means of practical data. G---- P---- has given

us a sample of the practical results of both object instruction and of

mathematics according to Grube's method. One of the older boys was told:

"Put your hand under your book!" in order to prove that he had been

taught the conceptions of "over" and "under," and the intelligent boy,

who, I am sure, knew what "over" and "under" was, when he was three

years old, put his hand on the book when he was told to put it under it.

I have all the time observed such examples, and they prove more clearly

than anything else how useless, strange, and disgraceful, I feel like

saying, this object instruction is for Russian children. A Russian child

cannot and will not believe (he has too much respect for the teacher and

for himself) that the teacher is in earnest when he asks him whether the

ceiling is above or below, or how many legs he has. In arithmetic, too,

we have seen that pupils who did not even know how to write the numbers

and during the whole time of the instruction were exercised only in

mental calculations up to 10, for half an hour did not stop blundering

in every imaginable way in response to questions which the teacher put

to them within the limit of 10. Evidently the instruction of mental

calculation brought no results, and the syntactical difficulty, which

consists in unravelling a question that is improperly put, has remained

the same as ever. And thus, the practical results of the examination

which took place did not confirm the usefulness of the development.



But I will be more exact and conscientious. Maybe the process of

development, which at first is confined not so much to the study, as to

the analysis of what the pupils know already, will produce results later

on. Maybe the teacher, who at first takes possession of the pupils'

minds by means of the analysis, later guides them firmly and with ease,

and from the narrow sphere of the descriptions of a table and the count

of 2 and 1 leads them into the real sphere of knowledge, in which the

pupils are no longer confined to learning what they know already, but

also learn something new, and learn that new information in a new, more

convenient, more intelligent manner. This supposition is confirmed by

the fact that all the German pedagogues and their followers, among them

Mr. Bunakov, say distinctly that object instruction is to serve as an

introduction to "home science" and "natural science." But we should be

looking in vain in Mr. Bunakov's manual to find out how this "home

science" is to be taught, if by this word any real information is to be

understood, and not the descriptions of a hut and a vestibule,--which

the children know already. Mr. Bunakov, on page 200, after having

explained that it is necessary to teach where the ceiling is and where

the stove, says briefly:



"Now it is necessary to pass over to the third stage of object

instruction, the contents of which have been defined by me as follows:

The study of the country, county, Government, the whole realm with its

natural products and its inhabitants, in general outline, as a sketch of

home science and the beginning of natural science, with the predominance

of reading, which, resting on the immediate observations of the first

two grades, broadens the mental horizon of the pupils,--the sphere of

their concepts and ideas. We can see from the mere definition that here

the objectivity appears as a complement to the explanatory reading and

narrative of the teacher,--consequently, what is said in regard to the

occupations of the third year has more reference to the discussion of

the second occupation, which enters into the composition of the subject

under instruction, which is called the native language,--the explanatory

reading."



We turn to the third year,--the explanatory reading, but there we find

absolutely nothing to indicate how the new information is to be

imparted, except that it is good to read such and such books, and in

reading to put such and such questions. The questions are extremely

queer (to me, at least), as, for example, the comparison of the article

on water by Ushinski and of the article on water by Aksakov, and the

request made of the pupils that they should explain that Aksakov

considers water as a phenomenon of Nature, while Ushinski considers it

as a substance, and so forth. Consequently, we find here again the same

foisting of views on the pupils, and of subdivisions (generally

incorrect) of the teacher, and not one word, not one hint, as to how any

new knowledge is to be imparted.



It is not known what shall be taught: natural history, or geography.

There is nothing there but reading with questions of the character I

have just mentioned. On the other side of the instruction about the

word,--grammar and orthography,--we should just as much be looking in

vain for any new method of instruction which is based on the preceding

development. Again the old Perevlevski's grammar, which begins with

philosophical definitions and then with syntactical analysis, serves as

the basis of all new grammatical exercises and of Mr. Bunakov's manual.



In mathematics, too, we should be looking in vain, at that stage where

the real instruction in mathematics begins, for anything new and more

easy, based on the whole previous instruction of the exercises of the

second year up to 20. Where in arithmetic the real difficulties are met

with, where it becomes necessary to explain the subject from all its

sides to the pupil, as in numeration, in addition, subtraction,

division, in the division and multiplication of fractions, you will not

find even a shadow of anything easier, any new explanation, but only

quotations from old arithmetics.



The character of this instruction is everywhere one and the same. The

whole attention is directed toward teaching the pupil what he already

knows. And since the pupil knows what he is being taught, and easily

recites in any order desired what he is asked to recite by the teacher,

the teacher thinks that he is really teaching something, and the pupil's

progress is great, and the teacher, paying no attention to what forms

the real difficulty of teaching, that is, to teaching something new,

most comfortably stumps about in one spot.



This explains why our pedagogical literature is overwhelmed with manuals

for object-lessons, with manuals about how to conduct kindergartens (one

of the most monstrous excrescences of the new pedagogy), with pictures

and books for reading, in which are eternally repeated the same articles

about the fox and the blackcock, the same poems which for some reason

are written out in prose in all kinds of permutations and with all kinds

of explanations; but we have not a single new article for children's

reading, not one Russian, nor Church-Slavic grammar, nor a Church-Slavic

dictionary, nor an arithmetic, nor a geography, nor a history for the

popular schools. All the forces are absorbed in writing text-books for

the instruction of children in subjects they need not and ought not to

be taught in school, because they are taught them in life. Of course,

there is no end to the writing of such books; for there can be only one

grammar and arithmetic, but of exercises and reflections, like those I

have quoted from Bunakov, and of the orders of the decomposition of

numbers from Evtushevski, there may be an endless number.



Pedagogy is in the same condition in which a science would be that would

teach how a man ought to walk; and people would try to discover rules

about how to teach the children, how to enjoin them to contract this

muscle, stretch that muscle, and so forth. This condition of the new

pedagogy results directly from its two fundamental principles: (1) that

the aim of the school is development and not science, and (2) that

development and the means for attaining it may be theoretically defined.

From this has consistently resulted that miserable and frequently

ridiculous condition in which the whole matter of the schools now is.

Forces are wasted in vain, and the masses, who at the present moment are

thirsting for education, as the dried-up grass thirsts for rain, and are

ready to receive it, and beg for it,--instead of a loaf receive a stone,

and are perplexed to understand whether they were mistaken in regarding

education as something good, or whether something is wrong in what is

being offered to them. That matters are really so there cannot be the

least doubt for any man who becomes acquainted with the present theory

of teaching and knows the actual condition of the school among the

masses. Involuntarily there arises the question: how could honest,

cultured people, who sincerely love their work and wish to do good,--for

such I regard the majority of my opponents to be,--have arrived at such

a strange condition and be in such deep error?



This question has interested me, and I will try to communicate those

answers which have occurred to me. Many causes have led to it. The most

natural cause which has led pedagogy to the false path on which it now

stands, is the criticism of the old order, the criticism for the sake of

criticism, without positing new principles in the place of those

criticized. Everybody knows that criticizing is an easy business, and

that it is quite fruitless and frequently harmful, if by the side of

what is condemned one does not point out the principles on the basis of

which this condemnation is uttered. If I say that such and such a thing

is bad because I do not like it, or because everybody says that it is

bad, or even because it is really bad, but do not know how it ought to

be right, the criticism will always be useless and injurious. The views

of the pedagogues of the new school are, above all, based on the

criticism of previous methods. Even now, when it seems there would be no

sense in striking a prostrate person, we read and hear in every manual,

in every discussion, "that it is injurious to read without

comprehension; that it is impossible to learn by heart the definitions

of numbers and operations with numbers; that senseless memorizing is

injurious; that it is injurious to operate with thousands without being

able to count 2-3," and so forth. The chief point of departure is the

criticism of the old methods and the concoction of new ones to be as

diametrically opposed to the old as possible, but by no means the

positing of new foundations of pedagogy, from which new methods might

result.



It is very easy to criticize the old-fashioned method of studying

reading by means of learning by heart whole pages of the psalter, and of

studying arithmetic by memorizing what a number is, and so forth. I will

remark, in the first place, that nowadays there is no need of attacking

these methods, because there will hardly be found any teachers who would

defend them, and, in the second place, that if, criticizing such

phenomena, they want to let it be known that I am a defender of the

antiquated method of instruction, it is no doubt due to the fact that my

opponents, in their youth, do not know that nearly twenty years ago I

with all my might and main fought against those antiquated methods of

pedagogy and cooperated in their abolition.



And thus it was found that the old methods of instruction were not good

for anything, and, without building any new foundation, they began to

look for new methods. I say "without building any new foundation,"

because there are only two permanent foundations of pedagogy:



(1) The determination of the criterion of what ought to be taught, and

(2) the criterion of how it has to be taught, that is, the determination

that the chosen subjects are most necessary, and that the chosen method

is the best.



Nobody has even paid any attention to these foundations, and each school

has in its own justification invented quasi-philosophical justificatory

reflections. But this "theoretical substratum," as Mr. Bunakov has

accidentally expressed himself quite well, cannot be regarded as a

foundation. For the old method of instruction possessed just such a

theoretical substratum.



The real, peremptory question of pedagogy, which fifteen years ago I

vainly tried to put in all its significance, "Why ought we to know this

or that, and how shall we teach it?" has not even been touched. The

result of this has been that as soon as it became apparent that the old

method was not good, they did not try to find out what the best method

would be, but immediately set out to discover a new method which would

be the very opposite of the old one. They did as a man may do who finds

his house to be cold in winter and does not trouble himself about

learning why it is cold, or how to help matters, but at once tries to

find another house which will as little as possible resemble the one he

is living in. I was then abroad, and I remember how I everywhere came

across messengers roving all over Europe in search of a new faith, that

is, officials of the ministry, studying German pedagogy.



We have adopted the methods of instruction current with our nearest

neighbours, the Germans, in the first place, because we are always

prone to imitate the Germans; in the second, because it was the most

complicated and cunning of methods, and if it comes to taking something

from abroad, of course, it has to be the latest fashion and what is most

cunning; in the third, because, in particular, these methods were more

than any others opposed to the old way. And thus, the new methods were

taken from the Germans, and not by themselves, but with a theoretical

substratum, that is, with a quasi-philosophical justification of these

methods.



This theoretical substratum has done great service. The moment parents

or simply sensible people, who busy themselves with the question of

education, express their doubt about the efficacy of these methods, they

are told: "And what about Pestalozzi, and Diesterweg, and Denzel, and

Wurst, and methodics, heuristics, didactics, concentrism?" and the bold

people wave their hands, and say: "God be with them,--they know better."

In these German methods there also lay this other advantage (the cause

why they stick so eagerly to this method), that with it the teacher does

not need to try too much, does not need to go on studying, does not need

to work over himself and the methods of instruction. For the greater

part of the time the teacher teaches by this method what the children

know, and, besides, teaches it from a text-book, and that is convenient.

And unconsciously, in accordance with an innate human weakness, the

teacher is fond of this convenience. It is very pleasant for me, with my

firm conviction that I am teaching and doing an important and very

modern work, to tell the children from the book about the suslik, or

about a horse's having four legs, or to transpose the cubes by twos and

by threes, and ask the children how much two and two is; but if, instead

of telling about the suslik, the teacher had to tell or read something

interesting, to give the foundations of grammar, geography, sacred

history, and of the four operations, he would at once be led to working

over himself, to reading much, and to refreshing his knowledge.



Thus, the old method was criticized, and a new one was taken from the

Germans. This method is so foreign to our Russian un-pedantic mental

attitude, its monstrosity is so glaring, that one would think that it

could never have been grafted on Russia, and yet it is being applied,

even though only in a small measure, and in some way gives at times

better results than the old church method. This is due to the fact that,

since it was taken in our country (just as it originated in Germany)

from the criticism of the old method, the faults of the former method

have really been rejected, though, in its extreme opposition to the old

method, which, with the pedantry characteristic of the Germans, has been

carried to the farthest extreme, there have appeared new faults, which

are almost greater than the former ones.



Formerly reading was taught in Russia by attaching to the consonants

useless endings (buki--uki, vyedi--yedi), and in Germany es em

de ce, and so forth, by attaching a vowel to each consonant, now in

front, and now behind, and that caused some difficulty. Now they have

fallen into the other extreme, by trying to pronounce the consonants

without the vowels, which is an apparent impossibility. In Ushinski's

grammar (Ushinski is with us the father of the sound method), and in all

the manuals on sound, a consonant is defined thus: "That sound which

cannot be pronounced by itself." And it is this sound which the pupil is

taught before any other. When I remarked that it is impossible to

pronounce b alone, but that it always gives you b[)u], I was told

that was due to the inability of some persons, and that it took great

skill to pronounce a consonant. And I have myself seen a teacher correct

a pupil more than ten times, though he seemed quite satisfactorily to

pronounce short b, until at last the pupil began to talk nonsense. And

it is with these b's, that is, sounds that cannot be pronounced, as

Ushinski defines them, or the pronunciation of which demands special

skill, that the instruction of reading begins according to the pedantic

German manuals.



Formerly syllables were senselessly learned by heart (that was bad);

diametrically opposed to this, the new fashion enjoins us not to divide

up into syllables at all, which is absolutely impossible in a long word,

and which in reality is never done. Every teacher, according to the

sound method, feels the necessity of letting a pupil rest after a part

of a word, having him pronounce it separately. Formerly they used to

read the psalter, which, on account of its high and deep style, is

incomprehensible to the children (which was bad); in contrast to this

the children are made to read sentences without any contents whatever,

to explain intelligible words, or to learn by heart what they cannot

understand. In the old school the teacher did not speak to the pupil at

all; now the teacher is ordered to talk to them on anything and

everything, on what they know already, or what they do not need to know.

In mathematics they formerly learned by heart the definition of

operations, but now they no longer have anything to do with operations,

for, according to Evtushevski, they reach numeration only in the third

year, and it is assumed that for a whole year they are to be taught

nothing but numbers up to ten. Formerly the pupils were made to work

with large abstract numbers, without paying any attention to the other

side of mathematics, to the disentanglement of the problem (the

formation of an equation). Now they are taught solving puzzles, forming

equations with small numbers before they know numeration and how to

operate with numbers, though experience teaches any teacher that the

difficulty of forming equations or the solution of puzzles are overcome

by a general development in life, and not in school.



It has been observed--quite correctly--that there is no greater aid for

a pupil, when he is puzzled by a problem with large numbers, than to

give him the same problem with smaller numbers. The pupil, who in life

learns to grope through problems with small numbers, is conscious of the

process of solving, and transfers this process to the problem with large

numbers. Having observed this, the new pedagogues try to teach only the

solving of puzzles with small numbers, that is, what cannot form the

subject of instruction and is only the work of life.



In the instruction of grammar the new school has again remained

consistent with its point of departure,--with the criticism of the old

and the adoption of the diametrically opposite method. Formerly they

used to learn by heart the definition of the parts of speech, and from

etymology passed over to syntax; now they not only begin with syntax,

but even with logic, which the children are supposed to acquire.

According to the grammar of Mr. Bunakov, which is an abbreviation of

Perevlevski's grammar, even with the same choice of examples, the study

of grammar begins with syntactical analysis, which is so difficult and,

I will say, so uncertain for the Russian language, which does not fully

comply with the classic forms of syntax. To sum up, the new school has

removed certain disadvantages, of which the chief are the superfluous

addition to the consonants and the memorizing of definitions, and in

this it is superior to the old method, and in reading and writing

sometimes gives better results; but, on the other hand, it has

introduced new defects, which are that the contents of the reading are

most senseless and that arithmetic is no longer taught as a study.



In practice (I can refer in this to all the inspectors of schools, to

all the members of school councils, who have visited the schools, and to

all the teachers), in practice, in the majority of schools, where the

German method is prescribed, this is what takes place, with rare

exceptions. The children learn not by the sound system, but by the

method of letter composition; instead of saying b, v, they say

b[)u], v[)u], and break up the words into syllables. The object

instruction is entirely lost sight of, arithmetic does not proceed at

all, and the children have absolutely nothing to read. The teachers

quite unconsciously depart from the theoretical demands and fall in with

the needs of the masses. These practical results, which are repeated

everywhere, should, it seems, prove the incorrectness of the method

itself; but among the pedagogues, those that write manuals and prescribe

rules, there exists such a complete ignorance of and aversion to the

knowledge of the masses and their demands that the relation of reality

to these methods does not in the least impair the progress of their

business. It is hard to imagine the conception about the masses which

exists in this world of the pedagogues, and from which result their

method and all the consequent manner of instruction.



Mr. Bunakov, in proof of how necessary the object instruction and

development is for the children of a Russian school, with extraordinary

naivete adduces Pestalozzi's words: "Let any one who has lived among the

common people," he says, "contradict my words that there is nothing more

difficult than to impart any idea to these creatures. Nobody, indeed,

gainsays that. The Swiss pastors affirm that when the people come to

them to receive instruction they do not understand what they are told,

and the pastors do not understand what the people say to them. City

dwellers who settle in the country are amazed at the inability of the

country population to express themselves; years pass before the country

servants learn to express themselves to their masters." This relation of

the common people in Switzerland to the cultured class is assumed as the

foundation for just such a relation in Russia.



I regard it as superfluous to expatiate on what is known to everybody,

that in Germany the people speak a special language, called

Plattdeutsch, and that in the German part of Switzerland this

Plattdeutsch is especially far removed from the German language, whereas

in Russia we frequently speak a bad language, while the masses always

speak a good Russian, and that in Russia it will be more correct to put

these words of Pestalozzi in the mouth of peasants speaking of the

teachers. A peasant and his boy will say quite correctly that it is very

hard to understand what those creatures, meaning the teachers, say. The

ignorance about the masses is so complete in this world of the

pedagogues that they boldly say that to the peasant school come little

savages, and therefore boldly teach them what is down and what up, that

a blackboard is placed on a stand, and that underneath it there is a

groove. They do not know that if the pupils asked the teacher, there

would turn up very many things which the teacher would not know; that,

for example, if you rub off the paint from the board, nearly any boy

will tell you of what kind of wood the board is made, whether of pine,

linden, or aspen, which the teacher cannot tell; that a boy will always

tell better than the teacher about a cat or a chicken, because he has

observed them better than the teacher; that instead of the problem about

the wagons the boy knows the problems about the crows, about the cattle,

and about the geese. (About the crows: There flies a flock of crows, and

there stand some oak-trees: if two crows alight on each, a crow will be

lacking; if one on each, an oak-tree will be lacking. How many crows and

how many oak-trees are there? About the cattle: For one hundred roubles

buy one hundred animals,--calves at half a rouble, cows at three

roubles, and oxen at ten roubles. How many oxen, cows, and calves are

there?) The pedagogues of the German school do not even suspect that

quickness of perception, that real vital development, that contempt for

everything false, that ready ridicule of everything false, which are

inherent in every Russian peasant boy,--and only on that account so

boldly (as I myself have seen), under the fire of forty pairs of

intelligent youthful eyes, perform their tricks at the risk of ridicule.

For this reason, a real teacher, who knows the masses, no matter how

sternly he is enjoined to teach the peasant children what is up and what

down, and that two and three is five, not one real teacher, who knows

the pupils with whom he has to deal, will be able to do that.



Thus, the chief causes which have led us into such error are: (1) the

ignorance about the masses; (2) the involuntarily seductive ease of

teaching the children what they already know; (3) our proneness to

imitate the Germans, and (4) the criticism of the old, without putting

down a new, foundation. This last cause has led the pedagogues of the

new school to this, that, in spite of the extreme external difference of

the new method from the old, it is identical with it in its foundation,

and, consequently, in the methods of instruction and in the results. In

either method the essential principle consists in the teacher's firm and

absolute knowledge of what to teach and how to teach, and this knowledge

of his he does not draw from the demands of the masses and from

experience, but simply decides theoretically once for all that he must

teach this or that and in such a way, and so he teaches. The pedagogue

of the ancient school, which for briefness' sake I shall call the church

school, knows firmly and absolutely that he must teach from the

prayer-book and the psalter by making the children learn by rote, and he

admits no alterations in his methods; in the same manner the teacher of

the new, the German, school knows firmly and absolutely that he must

teach according to Bunakov and Evtushevski, begin with the words

"whisker" and "wasp," ask what is up and what down, and tell about the

favourite suslik, and he admits no alterations in his method. Both of

them base their opinion on the firm conviction that they know the best

methods. From the identity of the foundations arises also a further

similarity. If you tell a teacher of the church reading that it takes

the children a long time and causes them difficulty to acquire reading

and writing, he will reply that the main interest is not in the reading

and writing, but in the "divine instruction," by which he means the

study of the church books. The same you will be told by a teacher of

Russian reading according to the German method. He will tell you (all

say and write it) that the main question is not the rapidity of the

acquisition of the art of reading, writing, and arithmetic, but in the

"development." Both place the aim of instruction in something

independent of reading, writing, and arithmetic, that is, of science, in

something else, which is absolutely necessary.



This similarity continues down to the minutest details. In either method

all instruction previous to the school, all knowledge acquired outside

the school, is not taken into account,--all entering pupils are regarded

as equally ignorant, and all are made to learn from the beginning. If a

boy who knows the letters and the syllables a, be, enters a church

school, he is made to change them to buki-az--ba. The same is true

of the German school.



Just so, in either school it happens that some children cannot learn the

rudiments.



Just so, with either method, the mechanical side of instruction

predominates over the mental. In either school the pupils excel in a

good handwriting and good enunciation with absolutely exact reading,

that is, not as it is spoken, but as it is written. Just so, with either

method, there always reigns an external order in the school, and the

children are in constant fear and can be guided only with the greatest

severity. Mr. Korolev has incidentally remarked that in instruction

according to the sound method blows are not neglected. I have seen the

same in the schools of the German method, and I assume that without

blows it is impossible to get along even in the new German school,

because, like the church school, it teaches without asking what the

pupil finds interesting to know, but what, in the teacher's opinion,

seems necessary, and so the school can be based only on compulsion.

Compulsion is attained with children generally by means of blows. The

church and



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