I
MAKE THE PUPILS THINK

For the purpose of testing the quality of gold alloy jewellers formerly used a fine-grained dark stone, called the touchstone. In the eyes of an educator good instruction is more precious than pure gold. The touchstone by which he tests the quality of instruction, so as to distinguish genuine teaching from its counterfeit, rote teaching, is thinking. The schoolmaster who teaches by rote is satisfied if the pupils repeat his words or those of the book; the true teacher sees to it that the pupils think the thoughts which the words convey.

Thring, who, next to Arnold, was perhaps the greatest teacher England ever had, laid much stress upon thinking. Sometimes he would startle a dull lad, in the midst of an exercise, by asking, “What have you got sticking up between your shoulders?” “My head,” was the reply. “How does it differ from a turnip?” And by questioning he would elicit the answer, “The head thinks; the turnip does not.”

So important is thinking in all teaching that at the World’s Educational Congress, in 1893, one educator after another rose in his place to emphasize the maxim, “Make the pupils think.” One of the most advanced of the reformers shouted in almost frantic tones, “Yes, make even the very babies think.” After the wise men had returned to their homes, a Chicago periodical raised the query, “How can you stop a pupil from thinking?” And the conclusion it announced was that neither the teacher behind the desk nor the tyrant upon his throne can stop a pupil from thinking. Evidently, if that which sticks up between a boy’s shoulders is a head and not a turnip, if the pupil is rational and not an imbecile or an idiot, he does some thinking for himself; and the maxim, “Make the pupils think,” requires further analysis before it can be helpful in the art of teaching.

We who teach are very apt to overestimate thinking in our own line of work and to undervalue thinking outside of the school. There is, perhaps, as much good thought in a lady’s bonnet as in the solution of a quadratic equation. A sewing-machine embodies as much genuine thought as the demonstration of a geometrical theorem. The construction of a locomotive or a railway bridge displays as much effective thinking as Hegel’s “Philosophy of History,” or Kant’s “Critique of the Pure Reason.” Most men think very well in doing their own kind of work; in many other spheres of activity they must let other people think for them. When the professor of astronomy discusses a problem connected with his science, he thinks for himself; but when he buys a piece of land, he gets a lawyer to think for him in the examination of the title and the preparation of the deed. The lawyer thinks for himself in the court-house; but when he goes home to dine, he expects his wife, or the cook, to have done the thinking for him in the preparation of the dinner. Grover Cleveland had the reputation of thinking for himself: many a politician found out that this reputation was founded on fact; but when the ex-President is sick, or has the toothache, he is willing to let a physician or a dentist think for him. In like manner, a pupil may think very well upon the play-ground; but if the teacher, whose very name indicates the function of guiding, fails to guide the pupil aright, the latter may become a mere parrot in the class-room. What, then, is involved in making a pupil think?

The difficulty in answering this question is increased by the diversity of meanings of the word thinking. The teacher who is not clear in his use of the term may employ exercises calculated to develop one kind of mental activity, and then accuse the pupils of dulness because they do not show facility in some other intellectual process. When a text-book on mental science defines the intellect as the power by which we think, the term thinking is used to designate every form of intellectual activity. The Century Dictionary defines thinking as an exercise of the cognitive faculties in any way not involving outward observation, or the passive reception of ideas from other minds. The logician defines thinking as the process of comparing two ideas through their relation to a third. Many exercises of the school are supposed to cultivate thinking in the last sense of the word, when in reality they cultivate thinking only in the widest acceptation of the term.

The writer saw a normal school principal conduct an exercise in thinking, as the latter called it. Turning to one of the pupils, he said, “Charley, will you please think of something?” As soon as the boy raised his hand the principal asked, “Does it belong to the animal, the vegetable, or the mineral kingdom?” Then turning to the other members of the class, he said, “Who of you can think of the vegetable in Charley’s mind?” The names of at least forty different vegetables were given and spelled and written upon the black-board. At last a pupil succeeded in naming what was in Charley’s mind. Then there was a look of triumph upon the faces of the principal and the class, as much as to say, “Isn’t that splendid thinking?” At least one person felt like burying his face in his hands for very shame; for here was resurrected from the dead an old exercise of philanthropinism which was buried more than a hundred years ago. What should one call that kind of mental activity? Guessing. That is all it is. The exercise tended to beget a habit very difficult to break up after it has been formed.

Far better was an exercise which the writer witnessed in a graded school. The teacher had called the class in the second reader. As soon as all the pupils were seated she said, “You may read the first paragraph.” Instead of reading orally, the class became so quiet that one might have heard a pin drop. After most of the hands were raised she called upon one pupil to tell what the paragraph said. The second paragraph was read and the substance of it stated in the pupil’s own words. An omission was supplied by another pupil; an incorrect phrase was modified by giving the correct words for conveying the thought. In the course of the lesson it became necessary to clarify the ideas of some. This was accomplished by a few pertinent questions which made the pupils think for themselves. After the entire lesson had been read in this way she dismissed the class without assigning a lesson. Every member of the class went to his seat, took out his slate, and began to write out the lesson in his own language. The interest and pleasure depicted on their faces showed that it was not a task but a joy to express thought by the pencil. The teacher had given them something to think about; she had taught them to express their thoughts in spoken and written language; her questions had stimulated their thinking, and when, later in the day, the lesson in oral reading was given, the vocal utterance showed that every pupil understood what he was reading. There was no parrot-like utterance of vocables, but an expression of thought based upon a thorough understanding and appreciation of what was read. The silent reading was an exercise in thought-getting and thought-begetting, the language lesson upon the slate was an exercise in active thinking through written words, and the oral expression furnished a test by which the teacher could ascertain what she had accomplished in getting her pupils to think.

The first thing necessary in making the pupil think is best shown by relating another incident. The catalogue of a well-known school announced that the teachers were aiming to get their pupils to read Latin at sight and to think in more tongues than one. A captious superintendent wrote to the principal, saying, “I envy you. How do you do it? We would be satisfied if we could make pupils think in English.” The reply was equally sharp and suggestive: “You ask how we make pupils think. I answer, By giving them something to think about. If you ask how we make them think in more tongues than one, I answer, By giving them, in addition to the materials of thought, the instruments of thought as found in two or more languages.”

The first step in training a pupil to think is to furnish him proper materials of thought, to develop in his mind the concepts which lie at the basis of a branch of study, and which must be analyzed, compared, and combined in new forms during the prosecution of that study. Just as little as a boy can draw fish from an empty pond, so little can he draw ideas, thoughts, and conclusions from an empty head. If the fundamental ideas are not carefully developed when the study of a new science is begun, all subsequent thinking on the part of the pupil is necessarily hazy, uncertain, unsatisfactory. How can a pupil compare two ideas or concepts and join them in a correct judgment if there is nothing in his mind except the technical terms by which the scientist denotes these ideas? The idea of number lies at the basis of arithmetic. How often are beginners expected to think in figures without having a clear idea of what figures denote! What teacher has not seen children wrestling with fractions who had no idea of a fraction save that of two figures, one above the other, with a line between them! How many of our arithmetics are full of problems involving business transactions of which the pupil cannot possibly have an adequate idea! Not having clear ideas of the things to be compared, how can the learner form clear and accurate judgments and conclusions?

So essential to correct thinking is the development of the concepts and ideas which lie at the basis of each science, that we may designate the giving to the pupil of something to think about as the first and most important step in the solution of the educational problem before us. In other words, the furnishing of the proper materials of thought is the first step in teaching others to think. The force and the validity of this proposition are easily seen if we reflect upon the essential oneness of the manifold diversities of thinking as they appear at school and in subsequent years.

It is universally conceded that education should be a preparation for life. The thinking at school should be an adumbration of the thinking beyond the school. The possession of enough data, or thought-materials, for reaching trustworthy conclusions, which is the indispensable requisite of successful thinking at school, is likewise a necessary requisite of successful thinking in practical life. It behooves us to inquire into the nature and foundation of the thinking of men in the professions, and in other vocations, for the purpose of gaining further light upon the problem before us. Let us, then, inquire into the nature and foundation of the thinking of men eminent in a profession or prominent in some other vocation. The professional man may have less native ability, less general knowledge, less culture and education, less mental power than the client whom he advises or the patient for whom he prescribes; and yet his inferences and conclusions are accepted as more trustworthy than those of men outside of the given profession, because he has a knowledge of facts and data which they do not possess. If he be a physician, special training and professional experience have taught him how to observe the symptoms of different diseases; how to eliminate sources of doubt and error; how to reach a correct diagnosis of difficult cases, and how to apply the proper remedies. If he be a lawyer, he has been taught how to examine court records; how to detect and guard against flaws in legal documents; how to find and interpret the law in specific cases; how to protect the life and property of his client. The judge on the bench is learned in the law, though he may be ignorant of science, literature, agriculture, commerce, and manufactures. He is aided in arriving at correct conclusions by thought-materials which are not in the possession of laymen.

How does the thinking of an expert differ from that of other men? Not so much in the processes of thought as in the data upon which he reasons. An ordinary witness may testify as to matters of fact; the expert is supposed to possess extensive knowledge and superior discrimination in a particular branch of learning or practice; hence he may be a witness in matters as to which ordinary observers cannot form just conclusions, and he is held liable for negligence in case he injures another from want of proper qualifications or proper use of the thought-materials necessary to form trustworthy conclusions. From this point of view we can see new force and beauty in the remark of Fitch that teaching is the noblest of the professions, but the sorriest of trades. The aim of a trade is to make something that will sell; its ultimate aim is money, a livelihood. Teaching and the other professions, although they cannot be sundered from money-making, have a nobler aim. This arises out of the thought-materials with which they deal. If a teacher’s mind does not busy itself with these, he sinks to the level of a tradesman. A very keen observer said of the head of a large boarding-school, that he had learned his trade from the principal of a large normal school under whom he had been trained. The remark, if true, was severe, but significant. It was an intimation that the substance of the thinking of these two men was business rather than education; that their conversation about the quality of the beef and mutton served, about the loaves of bread, the pounds of butter, and the bushels of potatoes consumed each week, indicated that they were thinking more of the stomach and the purse than of the things of the mind; that their aim was a large attendance and a large cash-balance at the end of the year rather than the mental growth and professional preparation of their students. Their thinking was efficient and trustworthy in the domain in which it was exercised. It partook of the nature of trade-thinking, and lacked professional quality because it did not concern itself with problems of mental growth and moral training, with the proper sequence of studies, with the educational value of different kinds of knowledge, and with the best methods of economizing the time and effort of their students.

In several aspects teaching is like a trade. Every art has its mysteries, with which those who practise it must be familiar if they would succeed. Teaching is no exception; and if the annual institute or the school of pedagogy fails to clarify these mysteries by putting the teachers in possession of materials for thought and of methods of applying knowledge to beget thinking which are not within the ken of the average parent and the general public, then failure must be written over the outcome. A mystery is a lesson to be learned. A scrutiny of the mysteries which characterize every trade and every art will serve not merely to emphasize the necessity for furnishing proper thought-materials, but will be helpful also in paving the way for the consideration of another essential in training pupils to think. Let us view them in the concrete.

A machinist, who was also a skilled mechanic, was compelled by circumstances to quit his trade and to accept a position as janitor. One day the pipe leading from the sink to the sewer was clogged. The teacher, in conjunction with a carpenter, worked a long time to fix it, but in vain. The janitor was called, who in a few moments overcame the difficulty by the application of a principle in natural philosophy on which the teacher could have talked learnedly, although he knew not how to apply it in the given case. The janitor related how the foreman in a foundry was baffled in the effort to bore a hole through a piece of iron until a workman, trained under a foreign master, suggested the purchase of two things at a drug-store by means of which the hole was easily bored. When the druggist asked about the use that was to be made of these chemicals, he was told that the use was one of the mysteries of the machinist’s trade.

Next, the carpenter fixed the mortise lock of a door which needed attention, and the others lauded the skill with which he handled his tools and applied his knowledge. Before the three separated, the janitor’s son came with a word which he could not find in his lexicon. With the aid of chalk and black-board and grammar, the teacher showed how to dig out the roots of a Greek verb and what beautiful changes occur in its conjugation. The turn had come for the tradesmen to admire the mysterious skill and power of the teacher.

In applying the principle of natural philosophy, the janitor made skilful use of one or two tools which the teacher and the carpenter had never seen. He could express thought through the tools of his own handicraft, in ways that they could not. Each one of the three men knew the tools and the mysteries of his own vocation. During the entire scene there was not a logical flaw in the thinking of any one of them. Probably there was little difference in their native ability; certainly none in the fundamental nature of their thought-processes. The practical difference resulted from the data at their command and from the tools they were using to express the thoughts peculiar to their several vocations.

The power to use tools, instruments, and machinery lifts man above the brute creation. There is labor-saving machinery in thinking as well as in manual labor. The more perfect the tools with which we work the greater the results we can achieve without waste of effort. In thinking as well as in working we must use the best tools in order to attain the greatest facility and efficiency. Yonder are two wheat-fields. In one of them a giant is wielding the sickle of our forefathers; in the other a youth, not yet out of his teens, is at work. At the close of the day the work of the giant will not bear comparison with that of the lad, because the latter was sitting upon a self-binder. They had the same material to work upon, yet, in spite of his superior strength, the giant could not cope with his weaker though better-equipped competitor. In like manner, the youth who has mastered the algebraic equation, or the symbols and formulas of chemistry, is in many respects the superior of a much brighter man who is not in possession of these tools or instruments of thought. A boy of average capacity who goes through a good high school thereby acquires certain fundamental ideas and the accompanying instruments of thought by which he is enabled to solve problems entirely beyond the power of a much brighter boy who never studies beyond the grammar grade.

The instruments of thought are generally spoken of as symbols, whilst the materials of thought are the things for which the symbols stand. In thinking, the mind may employ the ideas which correspond to the things in the external world; or it may employ the symbols by which science indicates things that have been definitely fixed or quantified. Failure to distinguish the sign from the thing signified, the symbol from its reality, leads to confusion in thought and to the most disastrous results in mental development. Loss of appetite for knowledge must inevitably result from methods of teaching by which the pupil is expected to learn the sounds of the letters from their names, or musical sounds from the notation on the staff, or the ideas of number from the arabic notation, or a knowledge of flowers from the technical terms of a text-book, or a knowledge of chemical elements and substances from the definitions, descriptions, and formulas of a scientific treatise. The symbol is indispensable in advanced thinking; but to expect the learner to get the fundamental ideas of a science from words, symbols, and definitions is evidence that the teacher does not understand the nature of thinking. It may, therefore, be helpful to set forth clearly the important distinction between thinking in things and thinking in symbols; to point out their relative value in mental development; and to fix their place in a rational system of education.