Training teachers of Romance Languages

Thus we see that, with the addition here and there of an extra course (where the college is not up to the standard as we have outlined it), and an added stress on the advanced linguistics, the present curriculum in Romance apparently provides an excellent working basis. If properly carried out—and the success of all teaching depends of course ultimately on the teacher—it ought to fulfill all legitimate needs, so far as the strictly collegiate aims are concerned.

A word is now in order as to its fitness for those students who are planning to take Romance as a profession. Normally these students would coincide with those who are taking up "special honors" in Romance languages; and for the latter group most of our colleges now make special provision—in the form of "independent work done outside the regular courses in the major subject and at least one other department during the junior and senior year (Wisconsin)," or as Amherst states it, "special work involving collateral reading or investigation under special conditions." In general, this gives the candidate certain professional options among the courses listed (in cases where the college is part of the university) as "primarily for graduates." In this way the student is able to add to his "major" such subjects as Old French (Chicago), Introduction to Romance Philology (Columbia), Practical Phonetics (Chicago), a Teachers' Course (Wisconsin), etc. Personally I am of the opinion that the day has passed when any of our graduates who has not at least a Master's degree in Romance should be recommended to a teaching position. But evidently any such hard and fast rule is bound to be unfair, especially since a large percentage of our students is compelled to earn a living immediately upon graduation. Thus here again—as in the elementary courses as now given in the colleges—we are confronted with a makeshift which only time and continued effort can correct. In the meantime the value of such professional courses depends to a very marked degree upon the success with which they can be carried out where they are counted toward a higher degree (M.A. or Ph.D.) the difficulty is not so great, since their introductory nature is self-evident; but where they conclude, so to speak, the student's formal training the difficulty of making them "fit in" is often sadly apparent. At any rate, in this borderland between cultural and professional studies, where the college is merging with the university or professional school, the necessity for the able teacher is a paramount issue. If the transition is to be successful, the obligation rests upon the teacher so to develop his subject that the specializing will not drown out the general interest but will inform it with those values which only the specialist can impart.

Final contributions of Romance Languages to the American college student

And now as to our final consideration: What particular advantages have the Romance tongues to offer as a college subject? An obvious advantage is: an understanding of foreign peoples. The Romance languages are modern. They are spoken today over a large part of the habitable globe. We stand in direct relations with those who speak them and write them. Above all, a large share of the world's best thought is being expressed in them. The point requires no arguing, that translations cannot take the place of originals: traduttore traditore, says an excellent Italian proverb. If we are really to know what other nations think,—whether we accept or reject their thought makes little or no difference here,—we can do so only by knowing their language. And the better we know it, the greater our insight will be. To speak at least one foreign language is not only a parlor accomplishment: it is for whoever is to be a citizen-of-the-world a necessity. There is a Turkish proverb that he who knows two languages, his own and another, has two souls. Certainly there is no better way to approach a nation's soul than through its language. But, in the second place, the Romance tongues have certain artistic qualities which English in a great measure lacks. The student who has intelligently mastered one of them has a better sense of form, of delicate shades of expression, and—if the language be French—of clarity of phrase: what Pater termed nettete d'expression. He learns to respect language (as few Americans now do), to study its possibilities in a way which a mere knowledge of English might never have suggested, and to appreciate its moral as well as its social power: for French forces him to curb his thought, to weigh his contention, to be simple and clear in the most abstruse matters. In a famous essay on the Universality of French, Rivarol said: "Une traduction francaise est toujours une explication."

And lastly, in themselves and in the civilizations they stand for, the Romance tongues are the bridge between ourselves and antiquity. Since the decline in the study of Greek and Latin, this is a factor to be seriously considered. It is the fashion today to berate the past, to speak of the dead hand of tradition, and to flatter ourselves with the delusion of self-sufficiency. To be sure, the aim of education is never to pile up information but to "fit your mind for any sort of exertion, to make it keen and flexible." But the best way to encompass this is to feed the mind on ideas, and ideas are not produced every day, nor for that matter every year, and luckily all ideas have not the same value. There are the ideas of Taine, of Rousseau, of Voltaire, of Descartes, of Montaigne, of Ficino, of Petrarch, of Dante, of Cicero, of Aristotle, of Plato; and in a moment I have run the gamut of all the centuries of our Western civilization. Who will tell me which ideas we shall need most tomorrow? Evidently, we cannot know them all. But we can at least make the attempt to know the best. And incidentally let it be said that he who professes the Romance tongues can no more dispense with the Classics than the Classics can today afford to dispense with Romance: French, Italian, and Spanish are the Latin—and one might add the Greek—of today. But to return to our theme: to deny our interest in the past is to throw away our heritage, to sell our mess of pottage to the lowest bidder. If the Romance languages have one function in our American colleges, it is this: To keep alive the old humanistic lesson: nihil humani a me alienum puto; to the end that the modern college graduate may continue to say with Montaigne: "All moral philosophy is applied as well to a private life as to one of the greatest employment. Every man carries the entire form of the human condition. Authors have thitherto communicated themselves to the people by some particular and foreign mark; I ... by my universal being, not as a grammarian, a poet, or a lawyer." The college course in the Romance languages should prepare for a profession, but it must first help to prepare thinking men and women.

WILLIAM A. NITZE University of Chicago

Footnotes:

[85] The quotation is from Emerson, Nominalist and Realist.

[86] I make no attempt in this article, written before 1917, to treat actual teaching conditions: the premises are too uncertain.

[87] The above statistics are from C. H. Handschin, The Teaching of Modern Languages in the United States, Washington, 1913, pages 40ff.

[88] I cite the following figures: (a) Entrance: Harvard 16-1/2, Amherst 14, Wisconsin 14, Columbia 14-1/2, Colorado 15, Illinois 15, Chicago 15; (b) Collegiate Degree: Harvard 17-1/2 "courses," Amherst 20 "courses," Wisconsin 120 "credits," Columbia 124 "points," Colorado 120 "hours of scholastic work," Chicago 36 "trimester majors." It is certainly desirable that our colleges adopt some uniform system for the notation of their courses. Johns Hopkins, at least, is specific in explaining the relationship of its "125 points" to its "courses"; see page 262 of the University Register, 1916.

[89] At Chicago exactly 1/4 or "at least 9 coherent and progressive majors" must be taken in "one department or in a group of departments." But Chicago also requires a secondary sequence of at least 6 majors; Columbia requires three years of "sequential study—in each of two departments." Illinois, "a major subject (20 hours)" and "an allied minor subject (20 hours)."

[90] An excellent manner of procedure is that outlined by Professor Terracher in his interesting article in the Compte rendu du Congres de Langue et de Litterature Francaise, New York (Federation de l'Alliance Francaise), 1913.

[91] From Johns Hopkins University Circular, No. 151.

[92] It will be noted that throughout the amount offered in Spanish exceeds that in Italian. This is to be expected in view of the boom in Spanish studies. Moreover, most colleges now allow two units of entrance credit in Spanish, and 7 and 8 above, under Harvard, are half courses. Columbia is, I believe, the only college accepting 2 units of entrance credit in Italian; but I have not examined the catalogues of all our colleges.

[93] Publications of the General Education Board, 3, 1916, page 13.



XXII

THE TEACHING OF GERMAN

Our aim

The mechanical achievements of the nineteenth and twentieth centuries have obliterated geographical distances. The contact between nations, intermittent in former ages, has become a continuous one. It is no longer possible to ignore great cultural forces in foreign nations even temporarily—we may repudiate or appreciate them, as we see fit, but we should do so in a spirit of fairness and understanding, and not in ignorance.

This, however, is not possible unless those who are to become leaders of the people are intimately familiar with those treasure chests of the nations that contain the true gems of racial spirit more abundantly than even art or literature, history, law or religion, stored up in the course of hundreds and thousands of years—the nations' languages. It is the clear duty of the college to instill, through the right way of teaching foreign languages, a cosmopolitan spirit of this character into the growing minds of our young men and women, after the secondary school has given them the first rudiments of knowledge and cultural training.

According to one's point of view, there is as much to be said in favor of the classical as the modern languages. Without doubt, their growing neglect in our institutions of learning is deeply to be regretted; however, its causes do not concern us here directly. The study of modern languages is, relatively speaking, so manifestly in the ascendency, that a return to the emphasis that was formerly laid upon Latin and Greek is hardly imaginable. The choice between several modern languages must very largely be determined by personal preferences and purposes. So much, however, can safely be said, that an intelligent reading knowledge of German and French is the least that should be expected of a college graduate. For, while in theory the humanistic importance of modern language study is the same for all languages, it rises, in practice, proportionately with the cultural level of the foreign nation—German and French obviously taking the lead in this regard.

Place of German in the college curriculum

I am optimistic enough to assume it to be generally granted that the study of a foreign language ought to be started early in life—say, at the age of twelve. While hardly challenged in theory, this desirable condition is far from being carried out in practice. Probably the time will never come when colleges will be able to dispense with elementary courses in modern foreign languages—not only for those who enter without any linguistic preparation, but also, and perhaps preeminently, for students who are taking up a second foreign language in addition to the one (or two) started in the preparatory school. Thus, the starting point of the modern language course in college is easily fixed: it must begin at the very rudiments of the language. Nor is it difficult to state, in general terms, the purpose of the most advanced work of the undergraduate curriculum: it must consist in adequate linguistic skill, literary knowledge and feeling, and cultural understanding to such an extent that the college graduate who has specialized in German may safely be intrusted with the teaching of German in secondary schools. At least, this holds good for the majority of institutions; a small number of colleges devote their whole effort to cultural training, and some of the larger institutions, particularly in the East, find it possible to postpone most of the professional preparation to a period of graduate work. But on the whole the average well-equipped college includes the training of teachers as one end of its foreign-language work. Ordinarily, such mastery of the subject as would prepare for teaching cannot be gained within the four years' college course. Rather, it might be said to require the average equivalent of something like six college years, with the understanding that not much more than one fourth of the student's time be devoted to German. This implies that only under uncommonly favorable conditions should students be encouraged to specialize in a foreign language that they begin on entering college.

Organization of the German course

Thus, the peculiar conditions of modern language instruction bring it about that a discussion of its organization in college must deal with a six years' course: elementary instruction must be offered to those entering without any knowledge of German; courses of a sufficiently advanced character must be provided for those who enter with three or four years of high-school German; and there must be advanced work for students who intend to make the study and teaching of German their life's work.

In this six years' college course three divisions are clearly distinguishable: an elementary division devoted to such linguistic training as will enable a student to read with fair ease texts of moderate difficulty; an intermediate group during which literary and cultural appreciation should be developed, and an advanced group intended for the professional preparation of prospective teachers of German. These three divisions may be approximately equal, so that each of them covers about two years, with four or five hours a week. For graduation, all students should be required to present the equivalent of the first period for two languages (either classical or modern), one or both of which might with advantage be absolved in high school. The second division should be required of all students for at least one foreign language. Colleges of high standing may find it possible to exceed these requirements; no college should remain below them.

The first or elementary division should, at least for one foreign language, be finished before the student is admitted to the college. All that can reasonably be expected from this part of the work is a study of the elements of grammar, the development of a good pronunciation, a fair working vocabulary, and some ability to read, speak, understand, and write German.

The second group should include, in the main, reading courses to introduce the student to what is best in German literature, but no general theoretical study of the history of literature need be contemplated. Besides, it must offer such work in speaking and writing as will develop and establish more firmly the results gained in the first two years, and an appropriate study of German history and institutions. Each of the three aims might be given about one third of the time available, but they may overlap to some extent. Thus, writing and speaking can be connected with each of them, and historical readings and reports may furnish a part of language practice.

The third group, intended for the training of teachers, must contain a course in the method of modern language teaching (connected with observation and practice), an advanced grammar course, and courses in the phonetics and historical development of the German language. These courses are indispensable for teachers, but will also be of advantage to students not intending to teach.

The elementary group

The first group is frankly of high school character. It is best to admit this fully and freely, and to teach these courses accordingly. Through greater intensity of study (more home work and longer class periods), the work of three or even four high school years may be concentrated into two college years, but the method cannot differ essentially. The way of learning a new language is the same, in principle, for a child of twelve years and a man of fifty years; in the latter case, there is merely the difficulty to be overcome that older persons are less easily inclined to submit to that drill which is necessary for the establishment of those new habits that constitute Sprachgefuehl. It is a fallacy that the maturer mind of the college student requires a more synthetic-deductive study of the language than that of the high school student.

It is sad but true that many college teachers are more reactionary in questions of method than the better class of high school teachers. The claim that elementary work in college requires a method different from that used in the high school is one symptom of this, and another symptom of the same tendency is the motto of so many college teachers that there is no "best method," and that a good teacher will secure good results with any method. At the bottom of such phrases there is usually not much more than indifference and unwillingness to look for information on the real character of the method at which they are generally aimed: the direct method. The regrettable superficiality appearing in the frequent confusion of the "direct" with the "natural" method is characteristic of this. I am, of course, willing to admit that what nowadays is termed the "direct method" is not the best way possible, but that it may and will be improved upon. However, it is not one of many methods that, according to circumstances, might be equally good, but it represents the application of the present results of psychological and linguistic research to the teaching of languages and distinctly deserves the preference over older ways.

The first demand of the direct method is the development not only of a fair but of a perfect pronunciation—not so much as the independent aim, but as an indispensable condition for the development of Sprachgefuehl. It is immeasurably easier to obtain good pronunciation from the start than to improve bad pronunciation by later efforts. In the teaching of pronunciation a slight difference in the treatment of children of twelve years and of college students might be granted: young children are generally able to learn the sounds of a foreign language by imitation; students of college age can hardly ever do this well, and careful phonetic instruction is absolutely necessary with them. Whoever wishes to keep aloof from phonetic terms may do so; but not to know or not to apply phonetic principles is bad teaching pure and simple. The use of phonetic transcription, however, is a moot question. Its advantages are obvious enough: it insures a clear consciousness of correct pronunciation; it takes up the difficulties one by one: first pronunciation, then spelling; it safeguards greater care in matters of pronunciation in general. The objections are chiefly two: economy of time, and the fear of confusion between the two ways of spelling. The writer admits that until a few years ago he was skeptical as to the value of phonetic transcription in the teaching of German. But the nearly general recognition of its value by the foremost educators of European countries and the good results achieved with it by teachers of French in this country caused him to give it a trial, under conditions that afforded not more than an average chance of success. The result was greatly beyond his expectations. Neither he nor, as far as he knows, any of his colleagues would contemplate abandoning phonetic script again. Without wishing to be dogmatic, I believe that this at least can be asserted with safety: on purely theoretical grounds, no teacher has a right to condemn phonetic transcription; those who doubt its value should try it before they judge.

In the writer's opinion it is best not to use any historical spelling at all during the first six or eight weeks of college German. If the confusing features of traditional orthography are eliminated during this period, it will be found that there results not a loss, but an actual gain in time from the use of phonetic script. Nor does the transition to common spelling cause any confusion. The less ado made about it, the better. It is a fact of experience, that students who have been trained in the use of phonetic script turn out to be better spellers than those who have not—simply because this training has made them more careful and has given them a clearer conception of the discrepancy between sound and letter.

That elementary grammar should be taught inductively is true to an extent, but often overstated. It is true for the more abstract principles, such as the formation of the compound tenses, the formation and the use of the passive voice, and so on. But attempts at inductive teaching of concrete elements of mechanical memory, such as the gender and plural of nouns, or the principal parts of strong verbs, are a misunderstanding of the principles of induction. It goes without saying that thorough drill is much more valuable than the most explicit explanation. It holds good for college as well as for high schools that there is but very little to "explain" about the grammar of any language. Unnecessary explanations rather increase than remove difficulties.

The use of English

The use of English is another debated question. As far as the teaching of grammar is concerned, it is unessential. If inductive drill takes the place of explanations and abstract rules, the question is very largely eliminated from practical consideration. In those very rare cases when theoretical discussions might seem desirable, it does not make much difference whether a few minutes a week are devoted to English or not. The question assumes greater importance when the development of the vocabulary is considered. In this, there are three fairly well-defined elements to be distinguished. The first vocabulary, say, of the first two or three months should be developed by concrete associations with objects and actions in the classroom; the use of the vernacular has no justification whatever during that time—not on account of any objection to an occasional English word or phrase, but simply because there is no need of it, and every minute devoted to German is a clear gain. After this, the vocabulary should be further developed through the thorough practice of connected texts. If they are well constructed, the context will explain a considerable portion of the words occurring; those that are not made clear through the context form the third division of the vocabulary and can without hesitation be explained by English equivalents. In general, the principle will go rather far that the use of an occasional English word is entirely harmless, but that English sentences should as much as possible be avoided in elementary work. Connected translation, both from and into English, must absolutely be excluded from the first year's work, for the chief purpose of this year is not only the study of grammar and the development of an elementary vocabulary, but, even more than that, the cultivation of the right attitude toward language study. Reading should be our chief aim, and speaking a means to that end, but the student must be trained, from the very beginning, to understand what he is reading rather through an intelligent grasp of the contents than by fingering the dictionary. In this way he will become accustomed to associating the German sentences directly with the thought expressed in them, instead of indirectly through the medium of his native tongue.

A great deal of misunderstanding is frequently involved in the emphasis laid upon speaking. There can hardly be a more absurd misinterpretation of the principles of the direct method than for college teachers to try to "converse" with the students in German—to have with them German chats about the weather, the games, the political situation. This procedure is splendidly fit to develop in the students a habit of guessing at random at what they hear and read—a slovenly contentedness with an approximate understanding. Both teacher and students should speak and hear German practically all the time. But this should be distinctly in the service of reading and grammar work, containing almost exclusively words and forms that the student must know, not guess at.

At the end of the first year a college student ought to have mastered the elements of grammar and possess good pronunciation and an active vocabulary of about six hundred or eight hundred words. If the second year is devoted to further drill on grammatical elements and to careful reading, its result ought to be the ability to read authors of average difficulty at a fair speed. During the first year all reading material should be practiced so intensively that an average of a little more than a page a week is not exceeded materially; but toward the end of the second year a limit of six or eight pages an hour may well be reached. By this time, translation into good English begins to be a valuable factor in the achievement of conscious accuracy; but it must under no circumstances be resorted to until the students have clearly obtained the habitual attitude of direct association between thought and sentence.

It is little short of a misfortune that there exists no adequate German-German dictionary (such as La Rousse's French dictionary). It would not be very difficult to write such a book, but until we possess it the irritating use of German-English dictionaries and vocabularies will be a necessary evil.

The hardest problem of the second year—and this is progressively true of more advanced work—is the uneven preparation of the students. In large colleges it will often be feasible to have as many sections as possible at the same hour, distributing the students in accordance with their preparation. Where this is not possible, special help for poorly prepared students is generally indispensable.

The literature group

The literature group is as distinctly of college character as the elementary group is admittedly high school work. It is here, in fact, that the best ideals of the American college find the fullest opportunity. This is true both for the teacher and for the student. In the elementary group, pedagogical skill and a fair mastery of the language are the chief prerequisites of a successful teacher. In the second group, other qualities are of greater importance. While a certain degree of pedagogical skill is just as necessary here as there, it is now no longer a question of the systematic development of habits, but of the ability to create sympathetic understanding, idealism, depth of knowledge, and literary taste—in short, to strive for humanistic education in the fullest sense of the word. This is true not only for colleges with a professedly humanistic tendency; the broadening and deepening influence of foreign language study is nowhere needed more urgently than in technical and other professional colleges.

Speaking and writing must no longer stand in the center of instruction in the courses of the second group, but their importance should not be underrated, as is done so frequently (it is a fact that students often know less German at the end of the third year in college than at the end of the second year). At least during the first year of this group, a practice course in advanced grammar, connected with composition, is absolutely necessary. The grammatical work should consist in review and observation, supported by the study of a larger reference grammar (e.g., chapters from Curme's grammar, to introduce the students to the consistent use of this marvelous work). In composition, free reproduction should still be the main thing, but independent themes and translation from English into German—which would be distinctly harmful in elementary work—are now valuable exercises in the study of German style. It would be wholly wrong, however, to make linguistic drill the Alpha and Omega of this part of the college course. The preparatory years should have laid a sound basis, which during the college work proper should not be allowed to disintegrate, but the fact should not be lost sight of that the cultural aim must be stressed most in the second group.

To reach this aim, a familiarity with the best works of German literature is the foremost means. German literature affords a scant choice of good and easy reading for the elementary stage: Storm, Ebner-Eschenbach, Seidel, and Wildenbruch are justly favorites, but absurdities like Baumbach's Schwiegersohn are, unfortunately, still found in the curriculum of many colleges. In contrast with the small number of good elementary texts, there exists an abundance of excellent material for the second group. Aside from the classical poets, the novelists Keller, Meyer, Fontane, Raabe; the dramatists Hebbel, Grillparzer, Kleist, Hauptmann; poems collected in the Balladenbuch or the Ernte present an inexhaustible wealth, without our having to resort to the literary rubbish of Benedix or Moser or the sneering pretentiousness of Heine's Harzreise.

The details of organization will vary greatly for this group, according to special conditions. But in general it may be said that during the first year of this period about two hours a week should be devoted to the continuation of systematic language practice as outlined above, and three hours to the reading of German authors for literary purposes. Nor should this consist in "reading" alone. Reading as such should no longer present any difficulty, if the work of the elementary group has been done well. Special courses should be devoted to the study of the modern German novel, the drama, and the lyrics, and to individual authors like those mentioned. In these detached literature courses the principal endeavor must be to help the students to understand and feel, not so much the linguistic side of the texts read, as the soul of the author, and through him the soul of the German nation. Reading must become more and more independent, the major part of the time in class being devoted to the cultural and aesthetic interpretation of what has been read at home. It is evident that in this, the most important part of the German college work, all depends upon the personality of the instructor: literary and human understanding cannot be instilled into the student's mind by one who does not possess them himself, together with a love for teaching and the power to create enthusiasm.

All other requirements must be subordinate to this—even the instructor's mastery of the language. No doubt, in theory it would be most desirable that German be the exclusive language of instruction throughout; but in literary courses practical considerations will so often speak against this, that no sweeping answer to this question seems possible. For the chief aim must not be overshadowed by any other. If poor preparation on the part of the students or a deficient command of the language on the part of the instructor makes it doubtful whether the cultural aim can be attained, if German is the language of instruction, English should be used unhesitatingly. This implies that for this part of the work an instructor with a strong personality and an artistic understanding, although lacking in speaking knowledge, is far preferable to one who speaks German fluently but cannot introduce his students to the greatness of German literature and the spirit of the German people.

On the other hand, written reports in literary courses should always be required to be in German; it is also a good plan to devote a few minutes of each period to prepared oral reports, in German, on the part of the individual students. Where systematic practice in the colloquial use of the language is desirable for special reasons, a conversation course may be established in addition to the main work, but literary courses are not the place for starting conversational practice with classes that have been neglected in this respect during their preparatory work.

The second year of the literary group should offer a choice between two directions of further literary development: about three hours of each week should be devoted either to a course on the general history of German literature, or to the intensive study of one of the greatest factors in German literature—such as Goethe's Faust. In large institutions both courses can probably be given side by side, the students taking their choice according to their preference, but in most colleges an alternation of two courses of this kind will be preferable.

The method of instruction is determined by the students' preparation and the teacher's personality, in literature courses more than anything else. Obviously, lectures (in German, where circumstances permit), extensive, systematic reading, written reports, and class discussion are the dominating features of such courses.

Some knowledge of German history and institutions is an indispensable adjunct of any serious work in German literature. Probably in all colleges such instruction will be incumbent upon the German departments, and it is rarely possible to combine it with the course on the general history of German literature. Therefore, a special course in German history and institutions should be offered during the second year of the literature group.

The professional group

The work of this group may overlap that of the second group to a considerable extent, in the sense that courses in both groups may be taken at the same time. The professional preparation of a teacher of German should include: a thorough knowledge of the structure of the German language, an appreciative familiarity with German literature, and a fair amount of specialized pedagogical training. The study of literature cannot be different for prospective teachers from that for all other types of college students, and, therefore, belongs to the second group. But their knowledge of language structure, though not necessarily of a specialistic philological character, must include a more detailed knowledge of German grammar, a familiarity with technical German phonetics, and at least an elementary insight into the historical development of the language. In addition to suitable courses in these three subjects, a pedagogical course, dealing with the methods of modern language teaching, and connected with observation and practice teaching, must be provided for. Where the previous training has been neglected, a course in German conversation may be added; but, generally speaking, this should no longer be necessary with students in their fifth or sixth year of German instruction. Wherever this need exists, the system of instruction is at fault.

Conclusion

Incomplete though this brief outline must necessarily be, the writer has attempted to touch upon the most important phases of the students' development of linguistic, cultural, and, where demanded, professional command of German. Little has so far been said concerning the college teacher. The strong emphasis placed upon the direct method in this article should not be misinterpreted as meaning that a fluent command of the spoken language is a conditio sine qua non. Nothing could be farther from the truth. First of all, the necessity of the exclusive use of the direct method exists obviously only in the elementary group. In this group, however, "conversation" in the generally accepted sense of the word should not be attempted—it will do more harm than good. The constant practice in speaking and hearing should be so rigidly subservient to the interpretation and practice of the texts being read and to grammatical drill, that only a minimum of "speaking knowledge" on the part of the teacher is unavoidably necessary; his pronunciation, of course, must be perfect. However desirable it may be that a teacher should know intimately well the language he is teaching in college, there are other requirements even higher than this; they are, in the first group, energy, thoroughness, and pedagogical skill, coupled with an intelligent understanding of the basic principles of the direct method; in the second group, literary appreciation and a sympathetic understanding of German thought, history, and civilization; and, for the third group, elementary philological training, theoretical as well as practical acquaintance with the needs of the classroom, and a long and varied experience in teaching. Rarely will all three qualifications be combined in one person, nor are such fortunate combinations necessary in most colleges. A wise distribution of courses among the members of the department can in most cases be effected in such a way that each teacher's talents are utilized in their proper places.

E. PROKOSCH



PART FIVE

THE ARTS

CHAPTER

XXIII THE TEACHING OF MUSIC Edward Dickinson

XXIV THE TEACHING OF ART Holmes Smith



XXIII

THE TEACHING OF MUSIC

Music a comparatively recent addition to the college curriculum

There is perhaps no more direct way of throwing a sort of flashlight upon the musical activity in the colleges of America than the statement that a volume of this kind, if prepared a dozen years ago, would either have contained no chapter upon music, or, if music were given a place at all, the argument would have been occupied with hopes rather than achievements. Not that it would be literally true to say that music was wholly a negligible quantity in the homes of higher education until the twentieth century, but the seat assigned to it in the few institutions where it was found was an obscure and lowly one, and the influence radiating therefrom reached so small a fragment of the academic community that no one who was not engaged in a careful, sympathizing search could have been aware of its existence. It was less than twenty years ago that a prominent musical journal printed the very moderate statement that "the youth who is graduated at Yale, Harvard, Johns Hopkins, Brown, Dartmouth, Bowdoin, Amherst, Cornell, or Columbia has not even a smattering of music beyond the music of the college glee and mandolin club; and of course to cultivate that is the easiest road to musical perdition." One who looks at those institutions now, and attempts to measure the power and reach of their departments of music, will not deny the right to the satisfaction which their directors—men of national influence—must feel, and would almost expect them to echo the words of ancient Simeon. The contrast is indeed extraordinary, and, I believe, unparalleled. The work of these men, and of others who could be named with them, has not been merely development, but might even be called creation. Any one who attempts to keep track of the growth of musical education in our colleges, universities, and also in the secondary schools of the present day, will find that the bare statistics of this increase, to say nothing of a study of the problems involved, will engage much more than his hours of leisure. Music, which not long ago held tolerance only as an outside interest, confined to the sphere of influence of the glee club and the chapel choir, is now, in hundreds of educational institutions, accorded the privileges due to those arts and sciences whose function in historic civilization, and potency in scholarly discipline and liberal culture, give them domicile by obvious and inalienable right.

History of the subject of music in the American college curriculum

The first university professorships in music were founded at Harvard in 1876, and at the University of Pennsylvania at about the same time. Vassar College established musical courses in 1867, Oberlin in 1869. Harvard took the lead in granting credit for certain courses in music toward the degree of A.B. in 1870.[94] Progress thereafter for many years was slow; but in 1907 investigation showed that "approximately one half the colleges in the country recognize the value of instruction in music sufficiently to grant credit in this subject."[95] Since this date college after college and university after university have fallen into line, only a few resisting the current that sets toward the universal acceptance of music as a legitimate and necessary element in higher education. The problem with the musical educators of the country is no longer how to crowd their subject into the college preserve, but how to organize its forces there, how to develop its methods on a basis of scholarly efficiency, how to harmonize its courses with the ideals of the old established departments, and now, last of all, how to bring the universities and colleges into cooperation with the rapid extension of musical practice, education, and taste which has, in recent days, become a conspicuous factor in our national progress.

Changing social ideals responsible for the new attitude toward the study of music in colleges

An investigation into the causes of this great change would be fully as interesting as a critical examination of its results. The limits of this chapter require that consideration be given to the present and future of this movement rather than to its past; but it is especially instructive, I think, to those who are called upon to deal practically with it, to observe that the welcome now accorded to music in our higher institutions of learning is due to changes in both the college and its environment. In view of the constitution and relationships of our higher schools (unlike those of the universities of Europe), any alteration in the ideals, the practical activities, and the living conditions of the people of the democracy will sooner or later affect those institutions whose aim is fundamentally to equip young men and women for social leadership. It is unnecessary to remind the readers of such a book as this of the marked enlargement of the interests of the intelligent people of America in recent years, or of the prominent place which aesthetic considerations hold among these interests. The ancient thinker, to whom nothing of human concern was alien, would find the type he represented enormously increased in these latter days. The passion for the release of all the latent energies and the acquisition of every material good, which characterizes the American people to a degree hitherto unknown in the world since the outburst of the Renaissance, issues, as in the Renaissance, in an enormous multiplication of the machinery by which the enjoyment of life and its outward embellishment are promoted. But more than this and far better—the eager pursuit of the means for enhancing physical and mental gratification has coincided with a growing desire for the general welfare;—hence the aesthetic movement of recent years, and the zeal for social betterment which excludes no section or class or occupation, tend to unite, and at the same time to work inward and develop a type of character which seeks joy not only in beauty but also in the desire to give beauty a home in the low as well as in the high places. Whatever may be one's view of the final value of the recent American productions in literature and the fine arts, the social, democratic tendency in them is unmistakable. The company of enthusiastic men and women who are preaching the gospel of beauty as a common human birthright is neither small nor feeble. The fine arts are emerging from the studios, professional schools, and coteries; they are no longer conceived as the special prerogative of privileged classes; not even is the creation of masterpieces as objects of national pride the pervading motive;—but they are seen to be potential factors in national education, ministering to the happiness and mental and moral health of the community at large. It was impossible that the most enlightened directors of our colleges, universities, and public schools should not perceive the nature and possibilities of this movement, hasten to ally themselves with it, and in many cases assume a leadership in it to which their position and advantages entitled them.

The educative function of music

The commanding claims which the arts of design, music, and the drama are asserting for an organized share in the higher education is also, I think, a consequence of the change that has come about in recent years in the constitution of the curriculum, the methods of instruction, the personnel of the student body, the multiplication of their sanctioned activities, and especially in the attitude of the undergraduates toward the traditional idea of scholarship. The old college was a place where strict, inherited conceptions of scholarship and mental discipline were piously maintained. The curriculum rested for its main support upon a basis of the classics and mathematics, which imparted a classic and mathematical rigidity to the whole structure. The professor was an oracle, backed by oracular textbooks; the student's activity was restricted by a traditional association of learning with self-restraint and outward severity of life. The revolutionary change came with the marvelous development of the natural sciences, compelling radical readjustments of thought both within and without the college, the quickening of the social life about the campus, and the sharp division of interest, together with a multiplication of courses which made the elective system inevitable. The consequence was, as President Wilson states it, that a "disintegration was brought about which destroyed the old college with its fixed disciplines and ordered life, and gave us our present problem of reorganization and recovery. It centered in the break-up of the old curriculum and the introduction of the principle that the student was to select his own studies from a great variety of courses. But the change could not, in the nature of things, stop with the plan of study. It held in its heart a tremendous implication;—the implication of full manhood on the part of the pupil, and all the untrammeled choice of manhood. The pupil who was mature and well-informed enough to study what he chose, was also by necessary implication mature enough to be left free to do what he pleased, to choose his own associations and ways of life outside the curriculum without restraint or suggestion; and the varied, absorbing life of our day sprang up as the natural offspring of the free election of studies."[96]

The development of emotions as well as the intellect a vital concern of the college curriculum

Into an academic life so constituted, art, music, and the drama must perforce make their way by virtue of their appeal to those instincts, always latent, which were now set in action. Those agencies by which the emotional life has always been expressed and stimulated found a welcome prepared for them in the hearts of college youths, stirred with new zests and a more lively self-consciousness. But for a time they met resistance in the supremacy of the exact sciences, erroneously set in opposition to the forces which move the emotions and the imagination, and the stern grip, still jealously maintained, of the old conception of "mental discipline" and the communication of information as the prime purpose of college teaching. The relaxation came with the recognition of aesthetic pursuits as "outside interests," and organization and endowment soon followed. But a college art museum logically involves lectures upon art, a theater an authoritative regulation of the things offered therein, a concert hall and concert courses instruction in the history and appreciation of music. And so, with surprising celerity, the colleges began to readjust their schemes to admit those agencies that act upon the emotion as well as the understanding, and the problem how to bring aesthetic culture into a working union with the traditional aims and the larger social opportunities of the college faced the college educator, and disturbed his repose with its peremptory insistence upon a practical solution.

Problems in teaching of music in the college

Although the question of purpose, method, and adaptation presents general difficulties of similar character in respect to the college administration of all the fine arts, music is undoubtedly the most embarrassing item in the list. In this department of our colleges there is no common conviction as to methods, no standardized system; but rather a bewildering disagreement in regard to the subjects to be taught, the extent and nature of their recognition, the character of the response to be expected of the student mind, and the kind of gauge by which that response shall be measured by teachers, deans, and registrars. In the matter of literature and the arts of design, where there is likewise an implicit intention of enriching aesthetic appreciation, an agreement is more easily reached, by reason of their closer relationship to outer life, to action, and the more familiar processes of thought. Few would maintain that the purpose of college courses in English literature is to train professional novelists and poets; the college leaves to the special art schools and to private studios the development of painters, sculptors, and architects. What remains to the college is reasonably clear. But in music, on the contrary, the function of the college is by no means so evident as to induce anything like general agreement. Should the musical courses be exclusively cultural, or should they be so shaped as to provide training for professional work in composition or performance? Should they be "practical" (that is, playing and singing), or simply theoretical (harmony, counterpoint, etc.), or entirely confined to musical history and appreciation? Should credits leading to the A.B. degree be given for musical work, and if so, ought they to include performance, or only theory and composition? Should musical degrees be granted, and if so, for what measure of knowledge or proficiency? One or two Western colleges give credit for work done under the direction of private teachers in no way connected with the institution:—is this procedure to be commended, and if so, under what safeguards? Should a college maintain a musical "conservatory" working under a separate administrative and financial system, many or all of whose teachers are not college graduates; or should its musical department be necessarily an organic part of the college of arts and sciences, exactly like the department of Latin or chemistry? If the former, as is the case with many Western institutions, to what extent should the work in the music school be supervised by the college president and general faculty; under what limitations may candidates for the A.B. degree be allowed to take accredited work in the music school? What should be the relation of the college to the university in respect to the musical courses? Is it possible to establish a systematic progress from step to step similar to that which exists in many of the old established lines? What should be the relation between the college and the secondary schools? Should the effort be to establish a continuity of study and promotion, such as that which exists in such subjects as Latin and mathematics? Should the college give entrance credits for musical work? If so, should it be on examination or certificate, for practical or theoretical work, or both? Should the courses in the history and appreciation of music be thrown open to all students, or only to those who have some preliminary technical knowledge?

These are some of the questions that face a college governing board when music is under discussion—questions that are dealt with on widely divergent principles by colleges of equal rank. Some institutions in the West permit to music a freedom and variety in respect to grades, subjects, and methods which they allow to no other subject. The University of Kansas undertakes musical extension work throughout the state. Brown University restricts its musical instruction to lecture courses on the history and appreciation of music. Between these extremes there is every diversity of opinion and procedure that can be conceived. The problem, as I have said, is twofold, and so long as disagreement exists as to the object of collegiate musical work, there can be no uniformity in administration.

In a university the problem is or should be somewhat more simple, just as there is a more general accord concerning the precise object of university training. In place of the confusion of views in regard to ideals and systems and methods which exist in the present-day college, we find in the university a calmness of conviction touching essentials that results from the comparative simplicity of its functions and aims. A conspicuous tendency in our universities is toward specialization; their spirit and methods are largely derived from the professional and graduate schools which give them their tone and prestige. They look toward research and the advancement of learning as their particular raison d'etre, and also toward the practical application of knowledge to actual life and the disciplining of special faculties for definite vocational ends.[97] Since our universities, unlike those of Europe, consist of a union of graduate and undergraduate departments, any single problem, like that of music, is simplified by the opportunity afforded by the direct passage from undergraduate to graduate work, and the greater encouragement to specialization in the earlier courses. A graduate school which admits music will naturally do so on a vocational basis, and the question is not of the aim to be sought, but the much easier one of the means of its attainment, since there is no more of a puzzle in teaching an embryo composer or music teacher than there is in teaching an incipient physician or engineer.

It seems to me that the opportunity before the university has been stated in a very clear and suggestive manner by Professor Albert A. Stanley of the University of Michigan: "If in the future the line of demarcation between the college and the university shall cease to be as sinuous and shadowy as at present, the university will offer well-defined courses in research, in creative work, possibly in interpretation—by which I do not mean criticism, but rather that which is criticized. [Professor Stanley evidently refers to musical performance.] The college courses will then be so broadened that the preparatory work will of necessity be relegated to the secondary schools. This will impose on the colleges and universities still another duty—the fitting of competent teachers. Logically music will then be placed on the list of entrance studies, and the circle will be complete. The fitting of teachers who can satisfy the conditions of such work as will then be demanded will be by no means the least function of the higher institutions. There will be more and more demand for the broadly trained teacher, and there will be an even greater demand for the specialist. By this I mean the specialist who has been developed in a normal manner, and who appreciates the greater relations of knowledge and life."[98]

Problems in teaching of music in secondary schools are intelligently attacked

There is no question that the future of music in the colleges will greatly depend upon the developments in the secondary schools. If the time ever comes when the administrators of our public school system accept and act upon the assertion of Dr. Claxton, United States Commissioner of Education, that "after the beginnings of reading, writing, and mathematics music has greater practical value than any other subject taught in the schools," the college will find its determination of musical courses an easier matter than it is now. Students will in that event come prepared to take advantage of the more advanced instruction offered by the college, as they do at present in the standard subjects, and the musical pathway through the college, and then through the university, will be direct and unimpeded. Although such a prospect may seem to many only a roseate dream, it is a safer prophecy than it would have appeared a half-dozen years ago. The number of grammar and high schools is rapidly increasing in which the pupils are given solid instruction in chorus singing, ensemble playing, musical theory, and the history and appreciation of music; and in many places pupils are also permitted to carry on private study in vocal and instrumental music at the hands of approved teachers, and school credit given therefor. So apparent is the need of this latter privilege, and so full of fine possibilities, that the question of licensing private teachers with a view to an official recognition of the fittest has begun to receive the attention of state associations and legislatures. It is impossible that the colleges should remain indifferent to these tendencies in the preparatory schools, for their duty and their advantage are found in cooperating with them. The opportunity has been most clearly seen by those colleges which have established departments for the training of supervisors of public school music. Such service comes eminently within the role of the college, for a disciplined understanding, a liberal culture, an acquaintance with subjects once unrecognized as related to music teaching, are coming to be demanded in the music supervisor. The day of the old country-school singing master transferred to the public school is past; the day of the trained supervisor, who measures up to the intellectual stature of his colleagues, is at hand. So clearly is this perceived that college courses in public school music, which at first occupied one year at the most, are being extended to two years and three years, and in at least one or two instances occupying four years. And the benefit is not confined to the schoolroom, for an educated man, conscious of his peculiar powers, will see and use opportunities afforded him not merely as a salaried preceptor but also as a citizen.

Vital function of music in college curriculum is emotional and aesthetic

To revert to the difficulties which the college faces in adjusting musical courses to the general scheme of academic instruction: it is clear that these difficulties lie partly in the very nature of musical art. For music is not only an art but a science. It is the product of constructive ingenuity as well as of "inspiration"; its technique is of exquisite refinement and appalling difficulty; it appeals to the intellect as well as to the emotion. And yet the intellectual element is but tributary, and if the consciousness willfully shuts its gates against the tide of rapture rushing to flood the sense and the emotion, then in reality music is not, for its spirit is dead. What shall be done with an agency so fierce and absorbing as this? Can it be tamed and fettered by the old conceptions of mental discipline and scholastic routine? Only by falsifying its nature and denying its essential appeal. Some colleges attempt so to evade the difficulty, and lend favor, so far at least as credit is concerned, only to the theoretical studies in which the training is as severe, and almost as unimaginative, as it is in mathematics. But to many this appears too much like a reversion to the viewpoint of the mediaeval convent schools which classed music in the quadrivium along with arithmetic, geometry, and astronomy. Neither the creative power nor the aesthetic receptivity is considered in such courses as these, and the spirit of music revolts against this confinement and gives its pedantic jailers no peace.

The practical course as disciplinary as the theoretical

Shall practical courses in playing and singing be accepted? Now the objection arises that any proficiency with which a student—at least a talented one—would be satisfied, entails hours each day of purely technical practice, involving little of the kind of mental activity that is presupposed in the tradition of college training. Those institutions that have no practical courses are logical, at all events, and seem to follow the line of least resistance. But the opposition against the purely theoretical side of musical culture will not down, and the "practical" element makes steady headway as the truth shines more dearly upon the administrative mind that musical performance is not a matter of mechanical technique alone, but of scholarship, imaginative insight, keen emotional reaction, and interpretation which involves a sympathetic understanding of the creative mind. The objection to practical exercise dwindles as the conception of its nature and goal enlarges.

Lack of college-trained teachers adds to difficulty of recognizing music as a college subject

Another hindrance presents itself—not so inherent in the nature of the case as those just mentioned—and that is the lack of teachers of music whose educational equipment corresponds in all particulars to the standard which the colleges have always maintained as a condition of election to their corps of instructors. That one who is not a college graduate should be appointed to a professorship or instructorship in a college or university might seem to a college man of the old school very near an absurdity. Yet as matters now stand it would be impossible to fill the collegiate musical departments with holders of the A.B. degree. The large and increasing number of college graduates who are entering the musical profession, especially with a view to finding a home in higher educational institutions, is an encouraging phase of present tendencies, and seems to hold out an assurance that this aspect of the college dilemma will eventually disappear.[99] It is possible, however, that the colleges may be willing to agree to a compromise, making a distinction between the teachers of the history and criticism of music and those engaged in the departments of musical theory and performance. Certainly no man should be given a college position who is not in sympathy with the largest purposes of the institution and able to contribute to their realization; but it must be remembered that broad intelligence and elevated character are to be found outside the ranks of college alumni, and are not guaranteed by a college diploma.

Teaching of the history and appreciation of music

Amid the jangle of conflicting opinions in regard to courses and methods and credits and degrees, etc., etc., one subject enjoys the distinction of unanimous consent, and that is the history and appreciation of music. This department may stand alone, as it does at Brown University, or it may supplement theoretical and practical courses; but there seems to be a universal conviction that if the colleges accept music in any guise, they must use it as a means of enlarging comprehension and taste on the part of their young people, and of bringing them to sympathetic acceptance of its finest manifestations. It seems incredible that a college should employ literature and the fine arts except with the fixed intention of bringing them to bear upon the mind of youth according to the purpose of those who made them what they are in the spiritual development of humanity. Even from the most rigid theoretical and technical drill the cultural aim must not be excluded if the college would be true to itself; how much more urgent is the duty of providing courses in which the larger vision of art, with the resultant spiritual quickening, is the prime intention! President Nicholas Murray Butler, in his address of welcome to the Music Teachers' National Association at their meeting in New York in 1907, struck a note that must find response in the minds of all who are called upon to deal officially with this question, when he recognized as a department of music worthy of the college dignity "one which is not to deal merely with the technique of musical expression or musical processes, but one which is to interpret the underlying principles of musical art and the various sciences on which it rests, and to set out and to illustrate to men and women who are seeking education what those principles signify, how they may be brought helpfully and inspiringly into intellectual life, and what part they should play in the public consciousness of a cultivated and civilized nation."

Emphasis on appreciation rather than technique

The first step in understanding the part which the principles of music should play in the consciousness of a civilized nation is to learn the part they have played in history. A survey of this history shows that all the phenomena of musical development, even those apparently transient and superficial, testify to a necessity of human nature, an unappeasable thirst for self-expression. In view of the relationship of musical art to the individual and the collective need, it is plain that musical history and musical appreciation must be taught together as a supplementary phase of one great theme. And, furthermore, this phase is one that is not only necessary in a complete scheme of musical culture, but is also one that is conveyed in a language which all can understand. It is significant of the broad democratic outlook of our American institutions of learning, in contrast to the universities of Europe, that the needs of the unprepared students are considered as well as the benefit of those who have had musical preparation, and the mysteries of musical art are submitted to all who desire initiation. Too much emphasis cannot be laid upon this wise and generous attitude toward the fine arts which is maturing in our American colleges; by which they demonstrate their belief in the power of adaptation of all manifestations of beauty to the condition of every one of intelligence, however slight the experience or limited the talent. There are, unquestionably, certain puzzling difficulties in imparting an understanding of musical structure and principles to those who have not even a preliminary smattering of the musical speech, but the experiment has gone far enough to prove that music, with all its abstruseness, complexity, and remoteness from the world of ordinary experience, has still a message so direct, so penetrating, so human and humanizing, that no one can be wholly indifferent to its eloquence when it comes through the ministry of a qualified interpreter.

The properly trained college teacher of music

A qualified interpreter!—yes, there's the rub. Only a few years ago men competent to teach the history and philosophy of music in a manner which a college or university could consistently tolerate, were almost non-existent, and even today many colleges are out of sheer necessity giving over this department to men of very scanty qualifications. Few men have faith enough to prepare for work that is not yet in sight. Then with the sudden breaking out of musical history and appreciation courses all over the country, the demand appeared instantly far in excess of the supply. The few men who had prepared themselves for scholarly critical work were, as a rule, in the employ of daily newspapers, and the colleges were compelled to delegate the historical and interpretative lectures to those whose training had been almost wholly in other lines of musical interest. No reputable college would think for a moment of offering chairs of political science, or general history, or English literature to men with so meager an equipment. There is no doubt that the disfavor with which the musical courses are still regarded by professors of the old school is largely due to the feeling that their musical colleagues as a rule have undergone an education so narrow and special that it keeps them apart from the full life of the institution. That this is the tendency of an education that is exclusively special, no one can deny. It is equally undeniable that such an education is quite inadequate in the case of one who assumes to teach the history and appreciation of music. This subject, by reason of the multifarious relations between music and individual and social life, demands not only a complete technical knowledge, but also a familiarity with languages, general history, literature, and art not less than that required by any other subject that could be mentioned. The suggestion by a French critic that a lecturer on art must be an artist, a historian, a philosopher, and a poet, applies with equal relevance to a lecturer on music.

It is only fair to the musical profession to say that its members are as eager to meet these requirements as the colleges are to make them. If music still holds an inferior place in many colleges, both in fact and in esteem, the fault lies in no small measure in the ignorance on the part of trustees, presidents, and faculties of the nature of music, its demands, its social values, and its mission in the development of civilization. With the enlightenment of the powers that control the college machinery, encouragement will be given to men of liberal culture and scholarly habit to prepare themselves directly for college work. The hundreds of college graduates now in the musical profession will be followed by other hundreds still more amply equipped as critics and expounders. The natural place for the majority of them, I maintain, is not in the private studio or newspaper office, but in the college and university classroom.

There is no reason in the nature of things why our colleges and universities should not also be the centers of a concentrated and intensive activity, directed upon research and philosophic generalization in the things of music as in other fields of inquiry. For this they must provide libraries, endowments, and fellowships. Such works as Mr. Elson's History of American Music, Mr. Krehbiel's Afro-American Folksongs, and Mr. Kelly's Chopin as a Composer should properly emanate from the organized institutions of learning which are able to give leisure and facility to men of scholarly ambition. The French musical historian, Jules Combarieu, enumerates as the domains constantly open to musical scholarship: acoustics, physiology, mathematics, psychology, aesthetics, history, philology, palaeography, and sociology.[100] Every one of these topics has already an indispensable place in the college and university system—it is for trained scholarship to draw from them the contributions that will relate music explicitly to the active life of the intellect.

But not for the intellect only. Here the colleges are still in danger of error, due to their long-confirmed emphasis upon concepts, demonstrations, scientific methods, and "positive" results, to the neglect of the imagination, the emotions, the intuitions, and the things spiritually discerned. "The sovereign of the arts," says Edmund Clarence Stedman, "is the imagination, by whose aid man makes every leap forward; and emotion is its twin, through which come all fine experiences, and all great deeds are achieved. Youth demands its share in every study that can engender a power or a delight. Universities must enhance the use, the joy, the worth of existence. They are institutions both human and humane."[101]

The test of effective teaching of music in the college: Does it enrich the life of the student through the inculcation of an aesthetic interest?

Institutions which exclude the agencies which act directly to enhance "the joy and the worth of existence" are universities only in name. Equally imperfect are they if, while nominally accepting these agencies, they recognize only those elements in them which are susceptible to scientific analysis, whose effects upon the student can be tested by examinations and be marked and graded—elements which are only means, and not final ends. The college forever needs the humanizing, socializing power of music, the drama, the arts of design, and it must use them not as confined to the classroom or to any single section of the institution, but as the effluence of spiritual life, permeating and invigorating the whole. In the mental life of the college there have always ruled investigation, comparison, analysis, and the temper fostered is that of reflection and didacticism. Into this world of deliberation, routine, mechanical calculation, there has come the warm breath of music, art, and poetry, stirring a new fire of rapture amid the embers of speculation. The instincts of youth spring to inhale it; youth feels affiliation with it, for art and poesy, like nature, are ever self-renewing and never grow old. It works to unify the life of the college whose tendency is to divide into sealed compartments of special intellectual interests. It introduces a life that all may share, because men divide when led by their intellects, they unite when led by their emotions. Among the fine arts music is perhaps supreme in its power to refine the sense of beauty, to soften the heart at the touch of high thought and tender sentiment, to bring the individual soul into sympathy with the over-soul of humanity. It is this that gives music its supreme claim to an honored place in the halls of learning, as it is its crowning glory.

The whole argument, then, is reduced to this: that with all the scientific aspects of the art with respect to material, structure, psychological action, historical origins and developments and relations, of which the college, as an institution of exact learning, may take cognizance, music must be accepted and taught just because it is beautiful and promotes the joy of life, and the development of the higher sense of beauty and the spiritual quickening that issues therefrom must be the final reason for its use. At the same time it must be so cultivated and taught that it will unite its forces for a common end with all those factors which, within the college and without the college, are now working with an energy never known before in American history for a social life animated by a zeal for ideal rather than material ends, and inspired by nobler visions of the true meaning of national progress.

Among the worthy functions of our colleges there is none more needful than that of inspiring ardent young crusaders who shall go forth to contend against the hosts of mediocrity, ugliness, and vulgarity. One encouragement to this warfare is in the fact that these hosts, although legion, are dull as well as gross, and may easily be bewildered and put to rout by the organized assaults of the children of light. So may it be said of our institutions of culture, as Matthew Arnold said of Oxford, that they "keep ever calling us nearer to the true goal of all of us, to the ideal, to perfection—to beauty, in a word, which is only truth seen from another side."

EDWARD DICKINSON Oberlin College

Footnotes:

[94] Arthur L. Manchester: "Music Education in the United States; Schools and Departments of Music." United States Bureau of Education Bulletin, 1908, No. 4.

[95] Papers and Proceedings of the Music Teachers' National Association, 1907; report by Leonard B. McWhood.

[96] The Spirit of Learning, Woodrow Wilson: in Representative Phi Beta Kappa Orations, edited by Northup, Lane and Schwab. Boston, Houghton Mifflin Company, 1915.

[97] I wish to safeguard this statement by saying that I have in mind not the more conservative universities of the East, but the state institutions of the Middle and Western commonwealths. In speaking of universities as compared with colleges I am also considering the graduate and professional departments. It is difficult to make general assertions, on such a subject that do not meet with exceptions.

[98] Papers and Proceedings of the Music Teachers' National Association, 1906.

[99] There is an interesting statistical article on the college graduate in the musical profession by W. J. Baltzell in the Musical Quarterly, October, 1915.

[100] Music; its Laws and Evolution: Introduction. Translation in Appleton's International Scientific Series.

[101] The Nature and Elements of Poetry, page 5.



XXIV

THE TEACHING OF ART

Art instruction defined

In this chapter an attempt is made to set forth the aims, content, and methods of art instruction in the college. In this discussion the word "college" will be regarded in the usual sense of the College of Liberal Arts, and art instruction as one of the courses which lead to the degree of bachelor of arts.

There is no term that is used more freely and with less precision than the word "art." In some usages it is given a very broad and comprehensive meaning, in others a very narrow and exclusive one. The term is sometimes applied to a human activity, at other times to the products of but a small part of that activity—for example, paintings and statuary.

In this chapter the term will be used in accordance with the definition evolved by Tolstoi, who says: "Art is a human activity, consisting in this, that one man consciously, by means of external signs, hands on to others feelings he has lived through, and that other people are affected by these feelings, and also experience them."[102] The external signs by which the feelings are handed on are movements, as in dancing and pantomime; lines, masses, colors, as in architecture, painting and sculpture; sounds, as in music; or forms expressed in words, as in poetry and other forms of literature. The external signs with which art instruction in the college deals are lines, masses, and colors. This discussion, therefore, treats of instruction in the formative or visual arts, which include architecture, painting, sculpture, decoration, and the various crafts, in so far as they come within the meaning of the definition given above.

Instruction in art should be an integral part of a liberal education

Concerning the nature of art and the purpose of art instruction in the college, there is so much misunderstanding that it will be well to make an attempt at clarification. Art is too commonly regarded as a luxury—a superfluity that may serve to occupy the leisure of the well-to-do—a kind of embroidery upon the edge of life that may be affixed or discarded at will. Whereas, art is a factor that is fundamental in human life and development, a factor that has entered into the being of the race from the dawn of reason. Its products, which antedate written history by thousands of years, form the most reliable source of information we possess of the habits and thoughts of prehistoric man. It has been the medium of expression of many of the choicest products of human thought throughout the ages. These products have been embodied in forms other than that of writing. Its functions are limited neither to the citizen, the community, nor the country; they extend beyond national bounds to the world at large. Art belongs to the brotherhood of man. It is no respecter of nationalities. It is obvious that in a general college course, a study of the religious, social, and political factors in civilization that does not include art among these factors is incomplete.

The question under discussion concerns the teaching of art to the candidate for the bachelor of arts degree, and this question will be solely kept in view. Since, however, graduates in science, engineering, law, medicine, etc., are not exempt from the needs of artistic culture, they too should have at least an effective minimum of art instruction.

Art a social activity

Art is recognized as a social activity. It enters largely into such practical and utilitarian problems of the community as town planning and other forms of civic improvement. As workers in such activities, college graduates are frequently called to serve on boards of directors and committees which have such work in charge. To most of such persons, education in art comes as a post-collegiate activity. Surely the interests of the community would be promoted if the men and women into whose hands these interests are committed had had some formal instruction in art during their college years.

If by practical education we mean training which prepares the individual for living, then the study of an activity that so pervades human life should be included in the curriculum of even a so-called practical college course. Art education has a more important function than to promote the love of the beautiful, to purify and elevate public taste, to awaken intellectual and spiritual desires, to create a permanent means of investing leisure. Important as all these purposes are, they are merely a part of a larger one—that of revealing to the student the relationship of art to living.

Flexibility of art expression determines flexibility of art instruction

Art expression has the quality of utmost flexibility. This flexibility appears also in art instruction, and it is for this reason that in no two institutions of higher learning is the problem of art instruction attacked in the same way. There is, consequently, a great diversity in the types of art courses, even in the college.

The flexibility of art instruction is both advantageous and embarrassing. It is an advantage in that it can be adapted to almost any requirement. It can be applied to the occupations of the kindergarten, or it can be made an intensive study suitable for the graduate school. But this very breadth is also a source of weakness in that it tends to divert the attention from that precision of purpose which all formal instruction should have, however elementary or advanced. It is apt to be too scattering in its aims. It is not easy to determine exact values either in the subject studied or in the accomplishment of the student. Estimates in art are, and should be, largely a matter of personal taste and opinion. They are not infrequently colored by prejudice, especially where the judgment of producing artists is invoked. This, again, is as it should be. An artist who assumes toward all works of art a catholic attitude, weakens that intensity of view and of purpose which animates his enthusiasm. It can easily be understood that to a larger extent than in other subjects the nature and scope of art instruction depends upon the personality of the instructor.

Values of art instruction

The flexibility to which we have adverted adapts art instruction to diverse educational aims.

In that it can be made to conduce to accurate observation of artistic manifestations, and to logical deduction therefrom, it may be given a disciplinary purpose. In its highest development, to which only the specially gifted can attain, the ability to observe accurately and to deduce logically demands the most exacting training of the eye, of the visual memory, and of the judgment. As an example of the exercise of this sort of discipline we may cite Professor Waldstein's recognition of a marble fragment in the form of a head in the Louvre as belonging to a metope of the Parthenon. When, after Professor Waldstein's suggestion of the probable connection, a plaster cast of the head was taken to the British Museum and placed upon the headless figure of one of the metopes, the surfaces of fracture were found to correspond.[103] The most useful application of this ability lies in the correct attribution of works of art to their proper schools and authorship. Signor Morelli in his method of identification used a system that is almost mechanical, yet the evidence supplied by concurrence or discrepancy of form in the delineation of anatomical details was supplemented by a highly cultivated sense for style, for craftsmanship, and for color as well as by an extensive historical knowledge.

In that art instruction cultivates taste and the appreciation of works of art, it has a cultural purpose. By many persons it is assumed that this is its sole value.

In that it serves to illuminate the study of the progress of civilization, it has an informative purpose.

In that it enables the technical student to correlate his work with that of past and present workers, it aids in the preparation for professional studies.

Difference between technical and lay courses in art one of emphasis

Art has been defined as "the harmonic expression of the emotions."[104] Accepting this definition as a modified condensation of Tolstoi's definition, it is clear that in a work of art two separate personalities are involved—that which makes the expression, and the other to whom the expression is addressed; thus, there are artists on the one hand, and the public on the other. Since we shall have to speak of two distinct classes of students,—namely, those who are in training as future artists (as architects, painters, sculptors, designers, etc.), and those who are taking courses in the understanding or appreciation of art,—it will be convenient in this discussion to refer to the former as art students and to the latter as lay students.

Formal art instruction has been offered by colleges to both these groups. It is evident that for the training of the art student emphasis must be placed upon the technique of creative work, whereas for the lay student emphasis must be placed upon the study of the theory and the history of art. It would seem, however, that these two methods are not mutually exclusive; nor should they be, for the art student would surely gain by a study of the principles of art and its history, while the lay student would profit by a certain amount of practice directed by an observance of the principles.