Essays on the Higher Education

Title, Preface, and ToC

ON

THE HIGHER EDUCATION

BY

GEORGE TRUMBULL LADD PROFESSOR OF PHILOSOPHY IN YALE UNIVERSITY

CHARLES SCRIBNER'S SONS 1899

Copyright, 1899, By Charles Scribner's Sons.

John Wilson and Son, Cambridge, U.S.A.

PREFACE

The four essays which are now gathered into this volume were originally written for different audiences, and have already been published in different magazines. The paper on "The Development of the American University" was read before the "Round Table" of Boston, and that on "The Place of the Fitting-School in American Education" before the New England Association of Colleges and Preparatory Schools. A request from the editors of the "Andover Review" to reply to the presentation, made by a friend and colleague, of another system of higher education than that of which I was the chosen advocate, led to the article on "Education, New and Old." The occasion of its production, therefore, accounts for the more special and polemical character of the third essay. The address on "The Essentials of a Modern Liberal Education" was delivered before the Association of the Alumni of Western Reserve University at the Commencement of 1895. All four of these essays are here published with very few and unimportant verbal changes.

Since the first three of these essays were written at a period of more than ten years ago, they contain many particulars of statement which would need modification if revised in view of later facts, and some particulars of opinion which I should now express in a different way. It is gratifying to find that certain suggestions made in them as to possible remedies for then existing evils and deficiencies have been adopted and more or less successfully carried out. It is also a cause for hope that some of the mists arising from the first thawing of the fields congealed by long continued customs and traditions have begun to clear away; so that a more judicious estimate of the path which lies behind us in educational matters and of the lines of educational progress in the nearer future, can be more easily attained. But he certainly overestimates the assured and thoroughly well proven value of much that is "new" in education, and also underestimates the numerous puzzling problems which remain to be solved, the practical difficulties still to be overcome, who regards the permanent courses of the more popular or of the higher education in this country as by any means clearly marked out.

The enthusiastic advocate of what is new in educational ideas—as to subjects, methods, curricula, organization, etc.—regards it as highly unfortunate that institutions are not so plastic, so easy to change, as are ideas. The man who is wise in practical affairs, and profound in his reflections upon the truths of history, knows that, on the contrary, this abiding and relatively stable character of the institutional expression of ideas is the fortunate thing about educational, as about other forms of progress. Most fortunate of all are those institutions which change just fast and far enough to conserve the priceless lessons of the past, while unfolding constantly to receive the suggestions of the better time coming.

It is not, then, because any of the details of opinion expressed in these essays are regarded as a finality that 1 have thought it possibly worth while to publish them. As respects these very details I should still be unwilling to commit myself unalterably to any of the current conflicting opinions. And I have already indicated that the events of the last decade have modified, in ways which need not at present be discussed or even noted, what was said upon various points before the original hearers of these essays. But if they possess any value sufficient to justify calling attention to them again, collectively and in this unobtrusive way, it is because they all intend to emphasize the three following truths: First, there are some settled and permanent principles which belong to all educational systems, in all times; and we may know what these principles are. But, second, every age, and every country, has its own problems which concern the actual application of these unchanging principles, in an institutional way, to its own demands and necessities. Every age is "modern," in its own thought; but the rapidity of the current changes, and the vastness of the forces at work, create for us some especially pressing demands and peculiarly hard necessities. And, third, nothing but practical wisdom—a combination of knowledge of the values involved in the different studies and disciplines with a generous and sympathetic spirit toward each, and tact and patience in dealing with details—will solve for us, in this country and to-day, our educational problems.

GEORGE TRUMBULL LADD.

Yale University,

January, 1899.

Page

The Development of the American University

ON THE HIGHER EDUCATION

THE DEVELOPMENT OF THE AMERICAN UNIVERSITY

Neither of the two most attractive and promising methods which ordinarily lie open for the discussion of a question like this, can in the present instance be followed exclusively. These two methods may be styled the descriptive, or historical, and the speculative, or ideal. By following the first method one would be led to state what the university has been and is in this country, and in other parts of the world whose civilization most nearly resembles our own; and then to show by what modifications the institution, as it now exists, might be made what it should be. Even in this way, however, it is plain that one would have to set up some ideal standard, in accordance with which any proposed modifications should take place. In following the second method one might feel emboldened at once to state what the preva lent form of the university ought to be; but one would then have to show how our existing educational institutions may be changed in order to bring them into conformity with such an ideal standard.

Now, in this country, up to the present time, there has existed no form of an educational institution which we can call "the American university," if by this term we intend to designate something other and higher than "the American college," with its possible attachment of one or more professional schools. Any one possessed of the requisite information knows at once what is meant by the university of France, the English universities, or a German university; but no one can become so conversant with facts as to tell what an American university is. It would by no means be fair, however, to sum up the history of the development of this institution with the curt sentence: "There are no universities in America." To be sure, it is hardly twenty years since the rector of Lincoln College, Oxford (Mark Pattison), wrote: "In America scientific culture has never been introduced. It has no universities such as we understand by the term." But the same writer speaks of Yale University as "stated to be a poor and hard-worked seminary," and marvels at the extent and variety of its required curriculum. Since Mr. Pattison's writing, a large number of schools have sprung up in our West, some private and some state institutions, most of which have but veiled thinly over their deficiencies in scientific quality, equipment, and force and aim in teaching, by putting on the title of "university." Yale (and, to a greater extent, Harvard) has changed rapidly in the effort to validate this title. Johns Hopkins has made a noble start toward the realization of a high ideal, and various other institutions have given notice of their claims to be, or intentions to become, genuine universities. Still, it is scarcely less true than it was a score of years ago that, although there may be universities in America, no one can tell what an American university is.

On the other hand, there is no lack of theory and counsel as to the important inquiry, what the American university should be. Perhaps it would not be unfair to say that, as a rule, the less the amount of study which a man has given to the many difficult problems that enter into the development of the highest-class educational institutions in this country, the prompter and more certain is his response to this inquiry. Men who have a million or two of money, and who, from the training of their lives, have come to think all things—save heaven, and scarcely save that—purchasable with so goodly a sum, are peculiarly tempted to try the experiment of founding and calling by their name the one genuine and great American univer . If the general theory of the purchasableness of all things which enter into a university were true, it would still have to be said that the ordinary estimate of the amount required is inadequate. But surely, as long as the primary and indispensable prerequisite of a genuine and great university, wherever under the sky it may be located, is a body of teachers and pupils rightly trained, and united and animated by the right spirit, the actual result attainable by merely giving large sums of money will not fulfil a worthy ideal.

The speculative method, when employed by persons informed in the principles and practice of education, is, of course, far safer and more valuable than when employed by the ignorant. Yet I can never forget that institutions, unlike systems of abstract truth, are not wisely treated in the purely speculative way. A university is, at most, an institution; it is a complicated system of means through which one set of persons operates upon another set of persons for the accomplishment of certain ends. But every means must afford an answer to four inquiries: Out of what material can it be constituted? Who or what is to use it? Upon whom or upon what is it to be used? For what end is it to be used? To inquire as to what the American philosophy should be, savors of irrationality; and the inquiry would have the same savor if it took the form, What should the Scottish, or French, or German, or Sandwich-Islands philosophy be? For the only answer to all these inquiries is that philosophy is not a matter for adjustment, as a means, to national requirements, but every nation and individual that cultivates philosophy should aim at having a true philosophy. On the contrary, the inquiry, "What should the American university be?" is not an irrational inquiry, for it is an inquiry after the best means to an end. For the same reason it cannot be raised and answered as a purely speculative inquiry; since the nature of the material out of which the American university must be constituted, if it is constituted at all, imposes upon every ideal some very hard and unavoidable limitations.

Accordingly, I shall abstain as carefully from speculating about an unattainable ideal as from describing a nonentity. Since neither the historical nor the speculative method can be pursued exclusively to their final results, let us be content to go only a little way into the subject by the use of both methods. For although there is no history, as yet, of the development of the American university, there are colleges and professional schools and other institutions of the so-called higher learning in this country, and all these institutions have a tolerably rich and instructive history. If we are ever to attain a distinctive university education, such as can be properly called "American," these institutions, their existing and prospective structure and work, must be chiefly taken into our account, for they furnish the material from which, and the conditions on which, the development of the university must, for the most part, take place. If this material and these conditions are dealt with ill, no amount of talk and enthusiasm will save us from pursuing an unattainable or an unworthy ideal.

One word more should be premised upon this point. The American university must be developed on its own soil, and out of the existing materials, and under the existing conditions. It cannot be imported, or constructed de novo, as it were, from the brain and purse of any one man, or of any small number of men. "The University of Oxford," says Mr. Maxwell Lyte, "did not spring into being in any particular year, or at the bidding of any particular founder; it was not established by any formal charter of incorporation." Particular institutions bearing the name of universities may, of course, be founded in this country in a particular year, and at the bidding of a particular founder. But these will not give us the true norm or type. This will come only as the result of a living development.

Nor can I believe that it will be possible to create our university by using large importations of finished foreign goods. Would that the German model might furnish us certain of the more important and vital factors of the ideal toward which we resolve to grow! Yet the proposal at once to import largely from the methods and constitution of the German university would be likely to result in failure. There are many features of the University as already established in Germany which we should not wish to imitate if we could. The more important commendable factors—the thorough secondary education of those who matriculate, the scientific character of the teachers and the scientific and free quality of their teaching, the relative disregard for what we incline so much to overestimate, namely, the pursuits that fit directly for some form of practical life (Brodstudien)—we can gain only in time and by paying the price for them. Many things in the French university system, also, and especially what Matthew Arnold calls "too much requiring of authorizations before a man may stir," unfit it to be our model. Nor can we think of taking very freely and directly from those great English institutions of Oxford and Cambridge, to which we should most naturally look for our models. The expensive character of the education they impart, the dominance of the tutorial system in their colleges to the detriment of the university, the large amount of sinecurism which they permit and encourage, the distinction between "pass" and "honor" examinations, and between the one quarter who come to study and win prizes and the three-quarters who come chiefly to gain the social distinction of a degree,—prevent our imitating them. As to the Scotch universities, I cannot avoid thinking that following them is most of all to be deprecated. For this reason it should not escape our notice that certain modifications now taking place in the constitution and working of the American college are liable to encourage in this country some of the worst features of the Scotch universities. At present, however, it is safely within the limits of truth to say that the degree of M.A. in a Scotch university does not necessarily signify (with the exception of logic and metaphysics) so much of training or acquisition as is required for admission to a first-rate American college. To model after the Scotch universities would accordingly be to lower the college as we already have it, and not to develop the university as we should desire to have it.

The development of the American university involves the progressive settlement of two questions concerning the best general method of education, which have been of late much discussed both here and in Europe. These are, the nature and amount of choice which the person under education shall exercise as to the subjects and method of his education, and the kind and proportion of knowledges and disciplines which ought to enter into a so-called "liberal? education. In this country both these questions have generally been debated in a rather narrow way. The first has ordinarily been proposed as follows: How much of the college curriculum should be required, how much optional? The second has ordinarily been reduced to a strife over the point, whether Greek is necessary to be studied by every one who shall be entitled B.A. The limits of this paper do not, of course, permit me to elaborate and argue my opinion on either of these two questions. Nothing more than an intelligent and defensible opinion, appealing to probabilities in the light of past experience, can be gained upon such subjects of discussion. The purpose before me, however, makes it desirable that I should briefly state my opinion upon both these subjects.

The question as to the choice which the person under education shall have in the material and form of his education is one both of degrees and of expedients,—that is to say, it is a question as to how much such choice shall be allowed, and at what time it shall begin, as well as a question concerning the best means for guiding the choice and for taking the expression of it.

For the sake of convenience I will speak of the grades of education which may be secured at present in this country as four in number; these are, the primary, the secondary, the higher, and the university education, the last being understood to be in a very inchoate and unformed condition. By the primary education we will understand such as, whether gained in public or private schools, deals with the most common and elementary subjects, and is not designed in itself to fit the pupil for the higher education. By the secondary education we will understand such as is expressly designed in preparation of the higher education; this will include those courses in the best high-schools and academies which fit pupils to enter the colleges and first-rate scientific schools of the country. These latter (excluding all merely technical schools) give what is entitled to be called the "higher" education. Beyond all this lies so much of the more strictly university education as is mingled with the later years of the higher education, or is taught in so-called "graduate" courses or in professional schools, so far as the latter are conformed to the university idea. It will appear in the sequel that one difficult problem connected with the development of the American university concerns the right separation of the higher education into the two parts of which it has actually come to consist, so that, by combining one of these parts with the secondary education as it now exists, we may gain a broad and solid foundation upon which to build the university education. The university part of the higher education as it now exists will, of course, then have to be joined with the other kin elements in so-called "post-graduate" courses, so as to furnish a genuine university education in the greatest possible wealth and solidity. When this problem is practically solved, therefore, we shall have three instead of four grades of education; these will be, the primary, the secondary, and the higher or university education, but the two latter will probably have far more of significance than they now have.

Looked at in the light of the foregoing distinctions, the question of the place and amount of the pupil's choice which should enter into his education appears to me not so difficult of solution. With regard to the strictly primary education no choice whatever should be permitted, either to the pupil or to his guardian,—that is to say, I would have each youth compelled by the state to go to a certain distance along paths common to all, without permission to decide whether he will go at all, or whether, if he go, he will go by just such paths rather than others. Of course, the guardian of the pupil should have the exercise of discretion as to the mode of teaching, whether public or private, and perhaps as to the age at which the primary education shall have been accomplished. Opportunity for exceptions in the cases of the incapable or sickly should also be given. But the State should compel so much of education as seems necessary for the safe and intelligent exercise of the citizen's rights, and for his decent intercourse with his fellows. No doubt opinions will differ as to the amount and kinds of subjects which should be included in the primary education, and as to its methods, text-books, etc. But the settlement of such questions should not be left to the dull or dishonest wits of the successful politician of the ward or district; they should rather be settled by commission of the most notable experts in education, appointed for that purpose by the highest authority of the state.

The element of the pupil's choice should enter somewhat largely into the secondary education, but even here by no means in an unlimited way. In the first place, liberty of choice should be allowed in deciding whether the secondary education will be entered upon at all or not, and also, if entered upon, to what extent it will be pursued. In my opinion, also, near the beginning of the secondary education there should be given that opportunity for "bifurcation" which must certainly come at some time in the course of mental training. The principle of this bifurcation is now tolerably plain and pretty generally acknowledged. In the words of Matthew Arnold, the prime, direct aim of education is "to enable a man to know himself and the world." Corresponding to this twofold aim of education there is in most men, dormant or already dominant, one or the other of two great "aptitudes;" these are, the aptitude for the more subjective and reflective studies, and the aptitude for the studies of external observation. In other words, among youths who take to anything in the way of study, some take more naturally to letters and philosophy, and some take more naturally to physical and natural sciences. The secondary education should recognize this difference in aptitudes for one or the other part of the prime twofold aim of education. Such recognition should provide for two main courses of study, in one of which letters and the so-called humanities should predominate, and in the other mathematics and the physical and natural sciences. These courses should themselves, however, be fixed without making a frequent appeal to the choice of the pupil; they should be fixed in accordance with the world's accumulated wisdom as to the best way to teach a man "to know himself and the world," in harmony with his particular aptitude. The secondary education, in all cases where it is to lead up to a university education, should be long and thorough enough to secure what the Germans strive to secure as a preparation for their universities,—namely, the general scientific culture, or formation (allgemeine wissenschaftliche Bildung), of the pupil.

The higher or university education should permit and encourage the greatest possible freedom of choice on the pupil's part; but it should not be open (except as a matter of courtesy or privilege of visitation) to those who have not satisfactorily finished the secondary stage. To this subject, however, I shall return later.

A word is pertinent in this connection as to the much-debated question of the amount of optional courses to be allowed in the present college curriculum. The American college was formerly a secondary school, pure and simple, and properly, therefore, did not admit the university method and the university idea. The American college has now developed out of the stage in which it was strictly a means for secondary education, without having yet developed into the higher or university stage. It contains, however, certain elements of the university idea. These elements are to be welcomed as existing in the place of something better but as yet unrealizable. In so far as the college can wisely admit into itself, for a time, the elements of a university education, it may have, and should have, so-called " optional " courses. But the education which most American colleges give is still chiefly of the secondary order and kind. 'This is necessarily so, because the opportunity for such an education as should already be possessed by every candidate for matriculation in university courses cannot be obtained in this country outside of the colleges.

The chief part of the present college curriculum, therefore, cannot wisely be made optional, for it belongs on the other than the university side of the college; it belongs to the secondary education. It is an indispensable part of that training which enables the youth, where universities do exist, to exercise such choice of subjects and teachers (Lernfreiheit) as belongs to the university education. To make this part of the college education optional would not advance us one step toward converting the college into the genuine university. My objection—and it is an objection which seems to me unanswerable, except by raising greatly the standard of secondary education outside the college—my objection to making the entire college curriculum elective is the necessary sequence of the facts. The freshman in the best American college, irrespective of his age and his wisdom, whether in his own eyes or in the eyes of others, has not had (except in rare instances) a secondary education of sufficient extent or thoroughness to fit him to enjoy the privileges of the university idea. Place the average Harvard or Yale student who has just passed his entrance examinations beside the German student who has just gone through with his Abiturienten-Examen, and compare the two. The latter is greatly superior to the former in respect of "general scientific culture;" he is even superior to the average Harvard or Yale junior in this respect. However, we are rapidly approaching the time when we may make the secondary and relatively compulsory education end earlier than it now does—unless, alas! we lose our fast-ripening fruit by plucking it prematurely.

Into the question of the means by which to secure and guide the pupils' choice, I shall not attempt to enter. To permit the student who is really in the secondary stage of education to make up from term to term, or year to year, whatever potpourri he will of elective courses, is perhaps of all methods least likely to prove satisfactory. It should also be noticed that the effort to secure the right kind and amount of work in the secondary stage of education solely or chiefly by insisting upon "pass" examinations results in making "crammed" men instead of "formed" men. Perverse studet qui examinibus studet, Wolf used to declare. "The country of examinations," says M. Laboulaye, speaking of Austria, "is precisely that in which they do not work hard." But the remedy does not consist in abolishing all examinations, but rather in stimulating thorough teaching and in requiring from the pupil the preparation of daily and organically ordered tasks.

The question as to the amount and kind of knowledges and disciplines which are necessary to a "liberal education" is, both in theory and in fact, closely connected with the development of the university. No one would think of claiming that the university man ought not in all cases to be a man liberally educated. But one essential part of the idea and practice of a genuine university education is freedom of choice, on the pupil's part, as to the kind, if not the amount, of knowledges and disciplines in which he will attain his scientific culture. HH, then, any particular knowledges and disciplines are to be required as necessary for a liberal education, the enforcement of this requirement belongs to the secondary rather than to the university stage of education. In other words, if one hold that a "liberal education' should comprise a certain knowledge of, and training in, any branches of learning, one must also hold that such branches of learning should be rigidly required of the pupil in the preparatory school and early years of his college course. For, as we have seen, the preparatory school and the early years of the college course have hitherto constituted, and do still constitute, our means of secondary education in this country.

I have no hesitation in stating my conviction that a goodly amount of certain kinds of knowledges and disciplines is necessary for every education worthy to enjoy the distinction of being called "liberal." Therefore I am compelled, also, to hold that both the main courses of secondary edu should require of all their pupils at least a certain amount of particular kinds of mental acquirement and culture, as a prerequisite to entrance upon university studies. This amount should be notably greater than that now exacted for admission to our highest-class colleges. In my judgment, it should be even somewhat greater than that now attained by the average junior in such colleges.

It is at once objected, to the proposal to enforce a considerable amount of training in definite branches of learning and culture upon every pupil, that the number of modern sciences is far too great to require even a smattering of them all in the secondary education. And, it is added, a smattering of many sciences is equivalent to no science; it is even positively injurious to the mind of the learner, while the attempt to enforce it makes a potpourri of education which is quite as unreasonable as that composed for themselves by some of those pupils who enjoy the freest exercise of choice. All this and more is undoubtedly true in objection to a certain way of working the principle of compulsion through the whole of the secondary education. But I have not urged that a certain large number of particular sciences should be enforced in the secondary education of every pupil. I have only spoken of an amount and number of knowledges and disciplines which are requisite for such a secondary education as will serve for a foundation to a genuine university education. If there is any such amount and number of studies, then we cannot successfully develop the American university without settling this basis of requirement upon which the development must rest. The settlement of this question will not take place, in fact and life, through the dictum of any one man—not even though that man be learned in the theory of education or in a position favorable for forcing his convictions upon others. The settlement of this question will come only in time (and perhaps in a long time), as a growing consensus of the opinions of those most competent in such matters. The opinion which I have to express shall be modestly expressed; at most, it is only one man's opinion, except so far as it is in accord with the consensus of opinion already formed on the part of the most competent authorities.