A primer of teaching practice

Front matter

€mml\ Winivmii^ %

Statg

BOUGHT WITH THE INCOME |

Preface

This little book is the outcome of many attempts to organize the preliminary professional work of Training College Students. It jdoes not offer in any sense a theory of education, its purpose is much more modest, viz., to give a first survey of the variety of activities which enter into the complex work of class teaching. The different chapters are based upon an effort to treat these activities in isolation, in the belief that the student wiU best understand his business if he attacks them one by one. In this way he feels that he is making definite forward steps, and, as lessons grow more complex, he has a basis for their intelligent appreciation and criticism. Moreover, in thinking out his own lessons, he is in a position to determine his procedure with certain principles more or less clearly in mind. As actually worked out, the topics are always illustrated by demonstrations, followed by general discussion, in which the attention of the student is directed to the particular points raised.

The book is not, of course, a substitute for the study of " special " method, where procedure is modified in accordance with the nature of the subject-matter : nor is it intended to supplant courses in psychology. It is rather a general preparation for both. We have felt it important to give the student, as soon as may be.

vi PREFACE

certain rough guides which will enable him (i) to understand the points of particular demonstrations in classroom practice, (2) to appreciate the significance of what he sees in the schools, and (3) to make it possible for him to do meaningful practical work in the professional " laboratory" of the college early in his training course.

Each of the chapters is followed by exercises which are not usually reproductive in character. They are designed rather to stimulate thought, and often raise problems and difficulties which cannot at this stage be adequately dealt with, thereby preparing the way for more systematic study and experiment It seems important constantly to bring students face to face with problems that they cannot solve. Confidence in himself is a valuable asset in a teacher, but confidence which is due to ignorance of the issues involved is, perhaps, not worth very much.

Although the book is written primarily for students in training, we hope that it may be found useful to others, Sunday school teachers for example, who are concerned directly or indirectly with teaching.

We are indebted to various friends for reading particular chapters in the book, but the attempt to treat difficult subjects simply, involves such risk of error that it seems better to take upon ourselves the whole responsibility.

J. A. G.

C. B

The University, Sheffield, April, 1911.

Contents

CHAPTER PAGE

I. The Teacher's Problem i

II. Work and Play 7

Chapter I. The Teacher's Problem

Although instruction does not cover the whole range of the schoolmaster's activities, it is chiefly as an instructor that people are accustomed to think of him ; and in this book, we shall think of the art of teaching as his chief business. But to teach is to incite to learn, and in ordinary life, we learn in a great variety of ways. Sometimes we know things because somebody has told us. If the authority in such cases is trustworthy, it is at once a quick and convenient method of acquiring knowledge. Yet what we learn in this way does not usually impress us so much as the knowledge we acquire from actual experience. People may tell us that the climate of West Africa is unhealthy, but we know it in an altogether different way if we have fought an attack of malaria. We may hear that there are dishonest people in the world, but it is when we have been cheated that we realize it most fully. A boy is told to be careful when he is dealing with strong sulphuric acid, but a drop on his finger or his clothes will be a more convincing warning. It is not easy to say exactly what the word experience covers, but we may conveniently regard it as covering the whole range of our actual contact with the world, and the people about us — the impressions they make on us, our responses to those impressions, the reaction to those responses, and so on.

But to learn everything by direct experience would take too long, to say the least of it, even if uncorrected individual experience were always thoroughly reliable. But who has not at one time or other been compelled to correct his first impressions ? Thus it would be foolish to give up the enormous advantage we have in our power of learning from the experience of others, to which we naturally resort as an indispensable means of gaining knowledge. We listen to and ask questions of others, or we go to books, whenever we want to know ; we imitate ; we make inferences ; we are insensibly influenced by the attitude of mind of those amongst whom we live.

It is the teacher's first duty to consider and to understand how, and under what circumstances, people, especially children, learn. Broadly speaking, we may say that knowledge is acquired —

1. From the impressions we receive from without.

2. From our own successes and failures in trying to give expression to our ideas and impulses.

Let us consider first the sources of these external impressions, and our attitude towards them. We may distinguish in the first place, all the impressions we consciously accept when we listen to those who are trying to teach us ; in the second place, those which are purposely sought, as when we ask questions, make

THE TEACHER'S PROBLEM 3

observations, take experimental risks, and imitate the actions of others ; in the third place, those which are forced upon us by circumstances lying outside our control (sometimes things " happen," and impress us with more or less violence, giving us lessons which never lose their effect — the burnt child always dreads the fire — and at other times we are compelled to submit to steady discipline of various kinds, which is prescribed for us by others — ineradicable habits of cleanliness, consideration for others may be fixed in this way — ) ; and, in the fourth place, there are impressions which we assimilate unconsciously, as when we spontaneously assume the manners and modes of speech of those about us, or imbibe current beliefs and prejudices, often without realizing their effect upon us, until a new environment compels us to take stock, as it were, of ourselves and the things we have been taking for granted. Snobbery, for example, may never discover itself until it comes into a liberal atmosphere.

In all these cases we have been considering external impressions as sources of knowledge. At the same time, it is important to realize that the same external happenings produce, different effects upon different individuals. The explanation of this must be reserved for the present, though it is a complication which will ever need to be taken into account in the actual practice of the schoolroom.

There remains the second group of experiences referred to above, in which our efforts at giving expression to what we think we know lead us to correct the errors and fill up the gaps of which we were till then unconscious. Expression may take many different forms, e.g. gesture, play, oral and written speech, music, as well as dramatic, organizing, constructive and thought activities of all kinds. We may think we understand the causes of the tides, but in an attempt to explain them to an inquiring friend, he asks us questions which upset our ideas and lead us to reconstruct them, or, in a vain effort to electrify a piece of damp glass by rubbing it with a silk cloth, we learn that dryness is an essential condition of success, or, as a householder, a man goes to record his vote at an election and discovers an anomaly in the electoral law, by reason of which his name is not on the register.

The teacher is concerned to consider each and all of these modes of learning, and we shall in ■succeeding sections discuss quite briefly their practical bearings.

His traditional r61e is that of direct instruction. He feels that his first business is to impart knowledge, and of necessity he makes large use of the most direct method, that of Telling, though he soon finds out that this is not the end of the matter. He has still to see that his pupils have learned what he has told them. But Telling includes narration, description, illustration, and explanation, each of which requires special consideration.

EXERCISES.

I . How did you learn : —

(a) That all is not gold that glitters ?

(6) That the prevailing wind in your town is S.W. ? (or whatever direction it may be).

THE TEACHER'S PROBLEM 5

(c) That a friend in need is a friend indeed ?

(d) That coltsfoot flowers early in the spring ?

{«) That August is not the month for bird-nesting ? (/) That it is good to sleep with windows open ? (g) That the alcohol-habit is the cause of much suffering ? (A) That it is right to give way to your elders ? (») That England is the finest country in the world ? (»') That 2 and 2 make 4 ? (k) To raise your hat when you meet a lady ?

2. What do these things mean to you, and how did they get their meaning in your mind ? — (a) The fascination of London. {d) The delights of country life. {c) Social unrest. {d) A philanthropist.

(e) Calcutta. (/) A wasp.

{g) A free-kick.

(y4) A buUy-ofr.

(2) Consols are a safe investment.

(j) A smart catch in the slips.

3. How does a child learn : —

(a) To put on his clothes ?

(p) To speak with or without a local accent ?

(c) To carry china cups carefully?

(d) To find his way to school ?

(e) To slide down the banisters ? (/) To play cricket ?

(g) To walk quietly across the schoolroom ? (A) To recognize the hoot of a motor-car ? (/) To respect his teacher ? (J) Social exclusiveness ?

4. What should be the attitude of the schoolmaster towards his boys' hobbies ? Find out which boys of twelve and upwards in the school have hobbies. Can anything be done to foster some favourite pursuit amongst the boys who have still not-found one ? How do you account for differences of this kind amongst boys ?

Chapter II. Work And Play

Your purpose is, indeed, the broad purpose of our civilization. We are seeking to make a childhood of wholesome play lead up to a mature life of wholesome work from which the spirit of play has not been altogether lost.— (E. E. Brown, Children of tJie United States.)

If you look back on your own education, I am sure it will not be the full, vivid, instructive hours of truantry that you regret; you would rather cancel some lack-lustre periods between sleep and waking in the class. — (R. L. Stevenson.)

Mr. Brown, Commissioner of Education for the United States, emphasizes a distinction between work and play, and bases upon it a view of education which it is worth while for the young teacher to consider at the very outset of his career. School time is the playtime of life, and the schoolboy is to emerge from the school ready to take up with steadily increasing seriousness of purpose a life of wholesome work, but the spirit of play is not to go altogether. The working man must have some of the play left in him.

What is the distinction between the spirit of work and the spirit of play ? Current use of the words makes it difficult to draw a very clear line of demarcation. We teach a boy to play the violin for his pleasure, the professional plays cricket for a livelihood. No lady would call knitting a game, though she would play at patience ; and strenuous as is chess, it is always a game. Boys do not play in the gymnasium, though they do in the football field ; they work at their Latin and play the piano. The distinction cannot lie in the effort called forth, for few boys fail to put more effort into football than they ever think of giving to their lessons, whether the subject be mathematics or carpentry. Nor does the difference lie in the seriousness of the undertaking. It matters not how much depends upon the result, a man still plays his game of chess, and the professional pianist " plays " for his audience, however large his fee.

In spite of the apparent confusion in our ordinary usage of the terms, the distinction seems to be a rough expression of a psychological difference which the popular mind appreciates, at any rate partially. Play is a wholehearted affair always — or we deny that the boy or the man is really playing ; work has the appearance of being forced upon us by circumstances, and we take it up with such good grace as we can. When we play, we do it out of love for the business — even the professional football player is so by his own choice — our whole self goes into it ; we are and we feel ourselves to be completely identified with the object of the game. We enjoy it therefore. The student may object that this does not apply to the pupil's early efTorts to play the violin, to which, of course, we might answer that he is only learning to play. Once the technical difficulties are overcome, his heart will get into his instrument, and he will thoroughly enjoy himself whenever he takes it up.

But we cannot insist rigidly upon this as a necessary distinction between work and play, for many would urge, very properly, that the spirit of work and of play seem to differ in a much more important respect than that which we have suggested. When we are at play the joyousness of it comes from the complete absence of responsibility. This is, of course, very often true, but no member of a football team would accept such a view of the matter. In the more developed forms of play, at any rate, there is a very considerable measure of responsibility, and, in a certain sense, it is this responsibility itself which gives a piquancy to the whole situation, and adds to its attractiveness. We may also add that many people enjoy their work, and find opportunities in it for expressing themselves in a much more perfect and worthy way than they can in playing golf

Thus whenever we try to reduce the difference between those occupations men call work and those which they call play, to exact expression, we find the utmost confusion reigns and that no fixed line of demarcation can be drawn. May it not be that, under ideal conditions, all distinction would vanish, so far at least as it was based upon the relative enjoyment of the one when compared with the other? (We might.

lo A PRIMER OF TEACHING PRACTICE

of course, continue to use the words to distinguish the more from the less serious occupations of life, and one man's play would be another man's work, as, indeed, is frequently the case now.) But this is precisely the position with the very small child, whose whole soul goes out into whatever he is engaged upon. We cannot distinguish his work from his play.

The period of immaturity is the period of play in every form of animal life. The playfulness of the puppy and the kitten never ceases to charm, and we have all remarked on the skittish frivolities of sober sheep and cattle in the halcyon days of their infancy. Once a little child can trot about and prattle, his playful activities never cease. At first, he just runs hither and thither, laughs and shouts, throws his toys about as if in sheer enjoyment of the movement. What he does has no apparent purpose ; he just follows a blind impulse to put his muscles to use. Try to teach the three-year-old child a game ; he may enter into your proposals for a very short time, though he soon grows impatient of your restrictions. Make-believe, in particular, attracts him, though make-believe is not the beginning of purposeful action. He has already mastered the art of feeding himself, he can fetch and carry in an irresponsible sort of way, but he shows a love of make-believe very early. The impulse to imitate takes powerful hold upon him. He will do all sorts of things which he sees his parents doing without in the least understanding why. He will " write a letter " long before he has any idea of what " letter "

WORK AND PLAY ii

means, and he will " read a book " in entire ignorance of what reading is. This is not " make-believe " ; it is for the child the real thing.

The characteristic feature of play is self-abandonment. In its purest form there is often complete absence of purpose in the movement it entails. As children grow older they introduce imitative action into their play, but, at first, this is very changeful and temporary. A child does not like to be the same thing for long. Minor parts are particularly objectionable to him.

In spite of its want oi organization, young children's play is of the greatest importance in the development of their minds as well as of their bodies. They learn, of course, to control and adapt their movements to particular ends ; they get their first lessons in co-operative activity in the ring games ot the nursery and the kindergarten ; they discover themselves in their imitative occupations ; in just doing what they see their elders do, they find out what they themselves are capable of, and thus their sense of personal power grows. As they grow older the co-operative idea takes a stronger hold, and their plays become organized into games in which purposes are more remote, where co-operation is essential to success, where failure is possible in spite of that, where chivalrous good temper under all circumstances is the mark of good form. All this is of the greatest possible value, jand there are very few schoolboys or schoolgirls who are incapable of entering into activities of the kind with the utmost possible zest.

The contrast between the spirit of school play and the spirit of school work is so great that a more or less well-accredited story gives the credit of the victory at Waterloo to the playing fields of Eton, and there are many parents who would choose their boy's school by its successes in cricket and football, rather than by its successes in examinations. This is not altogether due to the lighthearted thoughtlessness of parents, and, in any case, the fact is a powerful criticism of what is commonly regarded as the serious side of school life. Play has not risen to so commanding a position in the primary schools ; teachers, however, are beginning to realize not only its intrinsic value, but also how much may be learned from it in respect of school work.

In the very best of our schools the sense of relief when play time comes is sufficiently marked to strike the most casual observer. The spirit of self-abandonment which distinguishes the child at play is commonly lost when he is in school. Why ? When he is playing, he is doing things he cares about, and he will take endless pains to do them well ; when he is in school, we commonly forget the necessity of securing the goodwill of the boys, in the best sense of that word. They may " willingly " listen to our lessons, and work the related exercises as we direct them, but if the teacher leaves the room, they commonly relapse into pleasanter^activities. Even when " discipline " is stern enough to prevent this, what the children are doing is external to them ; it is forced upon them from without ; they conform, more or less cheerfully, to the necessities of the situation. If we ask them what they are doing, and why, they will tell us it is because they have to, or because their teacher wishes it, or they may vaguely say that they are learning things that will be useful to them later on. Only in the rarest cases is it just the thing they would of all things rather be doing. There the whole difficulty lies. We want children at school to be doing the things which have a meaning for them then, and which they feel have to be done at that moment. In their play the older boys and girls accept the rules of the game loyally, and within the limits thus laid down they exert themselves keenly to accomplish the aim of their team. The game gives abundant opportunity for individual excellence to assert itself, but the co-operative spirit is its dominant feature. The school lesson commonly neglects the stimulus of co-operative activity. We rigorously forbid our pupils to help each other, and take measures to make it impossible. This is artificial, and most healthyminded boys do not understand it, unless their views are warped by the attitude which makes mutual helpfulness a school crime. ,

It is unnatural to dislike work, if by work we are to understand all those activities which are connected with serious purpose. Nevertheless, it is one of the unfortunate features in the modern organization of industry, that it produces such a large number who do not enjoy their work. It is a means of livelihood, and nothing more. Even at school many have never learned that work can be a great source of pleasure.

The idea is not difficult to implant. It will come partly from the joy we show in our work as teachers ; it will never come by telling the children that they ought to take a pride in what they are doing. But most of all it will come from our skill in so arranging the activities of our pupils that every child sees the point he is making for, and the propriety of getting there himself, and doing all he can to help the others to get there also. Even those tedious exercises which are essential in the acquisition of technique will be gladly gone through if he has realized the immediate advantage which mastery of technique will bring. He will assiduously practice boating, or " shooting " a ball at the goal, in order to qualify himself for the school team, and if we can lead him to see his school work in the same light, we shall find him equally eager to achieve the necessary technical skill.

The moral of all this is, that the teacher must look upon his class as an assembly of persons, each of whom has a peculiar delight in carrying through his own plans, and is hardly less ready to engage with others in accomplishing some common end. On the other hand, they are all much less constant in doing the things which are forced upon them, often without recognizable reason. It is easy enough to " discipline " a class into meaningless activities, but we have only to compare the dull " compositions " of the ordinary schoolboy with the liveliness of his out-of-school oral communications to realize how much is lost when formally faultless work is done under the force of necessity. The outward and visible signs of resistance are not present in the classroom ; the mind machine is working with all possible smoothness, but it is just a machine producing mechanical results.

In their play, the boys take care of themselves, set their own exercises, are their own disciplinarians, accepting freely the rules of the game, and — at least, in very large measure — they are their own instructors. In school, the teacher takes care of them, puts them under rules, gives them their lessons and provides the exercises. They are under constraint all the time. It is therefore not surprising that they hail the time of freedom with joy, for then they can be themselves again. Can something not be done in the direction of helping our pupils to be themselves when they are in the classroom ? We must not, of course, abandon the seriousness of purpose which belongs to school work proper. Nor on the other hand must we look for long-continued attention to the same purpose in little children, but, as they advance in the school, their power to work for relatively remote ends increases. We suggest therefore that the teacher should always consider how far it is possible to win his class to the point of view which makes them work, as they play, in the spirit of good comradeship, and towards an end into the idea of which they can enter with the joy of anticipation.'

'The student will find some admirable examples of co-operative work described in C, A. Sggtt's 'Social Education (Ginn & Co.).

EXERCISES.

1. Why do you play football, or hockey, or cricket? Is it fe-creative activity, or is it an outlet for unspent energy? Compare your attitude towards these games with that of a small boy who plays all day long.

2. Watch a group of children in the kindergarten playing such a game as

" Little doves, you darling things.

Come spread out your pretty wings ; Fly out in the open air, food in plenty everywhere, Coo-oo-oo-oo-oo, Coo-oo-oo-oo ; " and compare the same children playing " I have something in my hand,

Can you guess what it may be ?

But I hope you understand,

You may feel (smell) but must not see." Which do they enjoy most ? Why?

3. What is your most absorbing intellectual activity? How did you acquire your zeal ?

4. Should a boy who helps another to do his arithmetic, or one who copies the work of another, be punished ? Give reasons for your answer.

5. Watch a child of four and a child«of ten in the playground with other children. Describe carefully how they employ themselves. What broad distinctions do you notice ?

6. What is the difference in the mental attitude of children at drill and at play?

7. It is often said that the product of the small village school, where one teacher has several classes in his charge, is better than that of the highly organized city school. Assuming the truth of this statement, what may be the reason ?

8. Do you know any instance of co-operative work at school ? Describe it carefully.

9. It has sometimes been said that a child is the best person to teach a child. What truth may there be in this ?

10. "Think!" "You are not thinking!" Note the frequency of this type of stimulus in the lessons you may hear. Estimate their effectiveness. Collect other examples, and say why they are so often used. Suggest a remedy.

1 1 . Read carefully and critically Tolstoy's account of his school at Ydsnaya Polydna.

12. Why did Frobel call "play" the loftiest phase of childhood ?

13. "The feeling of power is for every child a greater reward and a greater joy than any of the rewards and decorations which men devise for his encouragement in learning Yet in the child no use is made of it ; we find instead the most pitiable and unnatural substitutes employed. At best they only make the child tolerate that which their teachers wish to cram into them " (Pestalozzi, Christopher and Elizabeth). Is there any truth in this as applied to our schools to-day ? Be as specific as possible in your answer.

14. Wherein lies the difference between work and play to the boy who plays hard, works hard, and enjoys both? Does such a boy need play ?

Chapter III. Narration

What then is the education to be ? Perhaps we could hardly find a better than that which the experience of the past has already discovered, which consists, I believe, in gymnastic for the body, and music for the mind.

It does.

Shall we not then begin our course of education with music rather than with gymnastic?

Undoubtedly we shall.

Under the term music, do you include narratives, or not?

Ida

And of narratives, there are two kinds, the true and the false.

Yes.

And must we instruct our pupils in both, but in the false first?

I do not understand what you mean.

Do you not understand that we begin with children by telling them fables ? And these, I suppose, to speak generally, are false though they contain some truths ; and we employ such fables in the treatment of children at an earlier period than gymnastic exercises. — (Plato's Republic, Davies and Vaughan's translation, Bk. II. pp. 376-7.)

And it shall come to pass, when your children shall say unto you, What mean ye by this service ?

That ye shall say, It is the sacrifice of the Lord's passover, who passed over the houses ot the children of Egypt, when he smote the Egyptians, and destroyed their houses. — (Exod. XII. 26-27.)

That this may be a sign among you, that when your children ask their fathers in time to come, saying, What mean ye by these stones ?

Then ye shall answer them, That the waters of Jordan were cut off before the ark of the covenant ot the Lord . . . — (Josh. IV. 6-7.)