The Southern Literary Messenger, Vol. II., No. 8, July, 1836

In the second place, teachers are often enemies to their professional brethren in the jealousy manifested towards each other—in a restless and ill-restrained propensity to depreciate each other's qualifications, and a too frequent co-operation with the slandering part of the community, when they find the children sent to them from other schools ignorant and ill-disposed, to ascribe it all to the defective manner in which they have been taught, rather than to the real and very frequent causes of incapacity, bad temper, or bad early habits. By such practices, many foolishly imagine that they are promoting their own particular interests, when, in fact, they are deeply injuring the general interests of the whole class of teachers, by contributing to impair the public confidence in all schools whatever. For what can more effectually do this with the majority of mankind, than to hear those who set up for their instructers in morals, as well as in general science, continually finding fault with each other, or silently acquiescing in its being done by persons not of their own profession? Such conduct places them in this desperate dilemma; if what each says of every other be false, the public must think them all base calumniators: if it be true, the conclusion is inevitable that they are all incapable; and either alternative would speedily and most deservedly strip the whole of employment.

Lastly, teachers are often enemies to the public in so many particulars that I scarcely know with which to begin; not that I mean to charge them with being intentionally so—for it frequently happens with the best people in the world, that they are among the last to see their own greatest defects. Some of the faults of teachers may be considered as belonging exclusively to themselves, and for which they can find no excuse whatever in the faults of others—such, for example, as the two first enumerated. But those which I have now to expose, are so intimately blended with the faults of their employers, of their children, and of that portion of the world with which they are more immediately connected, that, like the reciprocating action of the various parts of certain mechanical contrivances, these faults must be viewed as causing each other. Thus, the parental fault of blindness to their children's defects, both natural and moral, and their consequent injustice to the instructers who ever blame or punish them, give birth to the equally fatal fault in teachers of carefully avoiding every hint of incapacity, and studiously concealing the ill-conduct of their pupils, because well aware that they probably will not be believed. If compelled to make communications on so perilous and ungrateful a subject, they are so softened and frittered away, as to produce a far less pardonable deception than entire silence, since a sensible parent would ascribe the last to its proper motive, when the glossing and varnishing process might lead them entirely astray. The same knowledge of the self-delusion, and consequent injustice of parents, leads teachers to the frequent commission of another fault, in which they often engage their particular friends as participators. At their public examinations (where they have any) they contrive a sort of Procrustes' bed, which all their pupils are made to fit, but rather by the {478} stretching than by the lopping process. This is usually managed so adroitly, that the public will see numerous goodly advertisements, with many imposing signatures, taking their rounds through all the newspapers, by which it clearly appears that every scholar in the school, however numerous they may be, even to the youngest child, performed to the entire satisfaction and admiration of all who saw or heard them. It is utterly impossible that these examinations, if fairly made, could have any such uniform and favorable result; for the difference of natural capacity alone must inevitably produce a great inequality of performance in the pupils. Every body with five grains of experience, knows that many other causes are constantly operating to increase this inequality. Such reports, therefore, of examinations, fail entirely with the reflecting, well-informed part of the community, to produce any thing but ridicule, disgust, or pity, while the ignorant and inexperienced are most unjustifiably imposed upon. The most deceived of any will generally be the parents who are absent, whose natural partiality for their own children so blinds their judgment, as to make them believe in any eulogium bestowed upon them, however extravagant. Little else is ever accomplished by these truly delusive spectacles, unless it be most injuriously to inflate the vanity of the poor pupils. The desire to be puffed in the newspapers, and talked about in public, is substituted for the love of learning for its own sake, and thereby one of the most important objects of education is greatly obstructed. _This is_, or _ought to be_, to excite in all persons under pupilage an ardent desire to gain knowledge, because they love it for itself, and for the power which it confers of promoting human happiness.

The reciprocal faults just stated in teachers and parents, co-operate, not to promote in any way, but to destroy the great ends of instruction, so far at least as they can contribute to the work of destruction. Let it not be understood, from the foregoing remarks, that I am opposed to public examinations in all schools whatever; although I certainly wish it to be understood that, as generally managed, they are worse than useless. But I do object to them altogether in schools for females—unless, among our other marvellous advances towards perfectibility, we should take it into our heads to make lawyers, doctors, statesmen, and soldiers of our daughters, instead of modest, unassuming, well-informed, home-loving, and virtuous matrons. _Then, indeed_, it will be necessary to give them that kind of early training, continually aided by public examinations at school, which will inure them to the public gaze, and enable them, in due time, to meet the searching eyes of multitudes with unabashed hardihood of countenance; and entirely divested of such a very needless incumbrance as that retiring, timid, indescribable modesty, heretofore deemed one of the most lovely, fascinating, and precious traits of the female character. I will not go so far as to assert that none can possess this trait who have been accustomed to be publicly examined—for I have the happiness to know many from whose hearts neither this ordeal, nor all the other corrupting influences of the world united, have had power to banish those admirable principles and qualities which constitute at once the most endearing ornaments and highest glory of their sex. But I _will say_, that they are exceptions, forcibly illustrating the truth of the general principle, which is, that modesty, or indeed any other good quality, _must_, in the end, be destroyed by causes continually operating to work its destruction.

Another sore evil of incalculable extent, in relation to this subject of education, is the frequent discordance between the precepts and the lessons which must necessarily be taught in all well-regulated schools, and the examples witnessed, the opinions heard, and the habits indulged in at home. This often places conscientious teachers in a most puzzling and painful dilemma, from which many shrink altogether, while others vainly endeavor to compromise the matter in such a manner, as completely to _nullify_ (if I may use a very current phrase) every effort to do good. The dilemma is, that in discharging the duty to the child, the parent, although indirectly, is unavoidably condemned, every time the teachers warn their pupils, as they continually ought to do, against any of the faults and vices most prevalent in society. Desperate, indeed, and almost hopeless, is the task of teaching, when this most deplorable, but very common case occurs. For what is the consequence of imparting virtuous principles and habits to the children, admitting the possibility of it, where none but vicious examples have been seen under the parental roof? Their eyes are inevitably opened to the wretched moral destitution of those to whom, under God, they owe their existence; and they are thus plunged into a state of perpetual suffering, if not actual misery—for the better the children become, the greater will be their distress and affliction at the condition of their parents. What fathers or mothers are there, having either hearts to feel or understandings to discern the awful responsibilities they live under in regard to their children, but must tremble at the bare thought of setting them bad examples, and thus becoming a source of double misery to their own offspring—misery _here_, even if they escape the contagion of these vicious parental practices and habits—and misery _hereafter_, should they be so deeply infected as to prove irreclaimable?

Another highly pernicious fault, of which multitudes of teachers are guilty, is continually to act as if they took upon themselves no other responsibility than that of a mere formal attendance in their schools for the number of hours prescribed, to hear prescribed lessons repeated in a parrot-like manner. Any thought of being accountable for the influence exerted in forming the characters of so many fellow-beings, seems never to enter their minds, although this is beyond all calculation the most important part of the whole process of education.

Another fault of frequent occurrence among instructers is, to have such an overweening, extravagant sense of their own dignity, as to be incessantly on the watch for offences committed against it. Thus even a single muscular contortion of a pupil's face, whether natural or accidental, and even if he be but nine or ten years old, will be construed into a most grievous and flagrant insult, not to be expiated but by some signal punishment, usually of a corporeal kind, and inflicted in such a manner as to prove that the operators are rather working off their own wrath than endeavoring to cure the scholar's defects. By this truly ridiculous sensitiveness, they are certain so to expose themselves as either to become laughing-stocks or objects of scorn and contempt to all their older scholars, or of the most {479} perfect hatred to the younger ones. In all such cases these teachers become real nuisances—for the injuries done by such conduct to the tempers of their pupils, far exceed any possible benefit they can gain at such schools.

There are some faults of teachers which greatly impair, if they do not entirely destroy, a proper subordination among their scholars. One is the want of a dignified manner, equally removed from a proud, haughty, imperious demeanor, and too much familiarity. Another is the excessive fear of offending the parents, and perhaps losing the pupils, by complaint. In every case of the kind, the child, of course, escapes all effectual reproof or adequate correction, especially if the parent be very wealthy, very weak, or extensively connected with what are usually called “_great people_.” Invidious distinctions are thus created in such schools, and the influence of all punishment is lost, even over those upon whom it may be inflicted, sometimes in double or quadruple proportions, to compensate for the omission in the cases of the favored culprits.

Another fault, little, if any less destructive of the influence which teachers should possess over their pupils, is their general carelessness in the all-essential duty of striving to convince their scholars that they are really and deeply interested, both as social beings and as christians, in leading their juvenile minds to the sublimest heights of knowledge and virtue. No instructer who fails to do this, whatever may be his or her other qualifications, can possibly succeed well in the main objects of education. They may, indeed, cram their pupils' heads with words, and even get into them a very showy stock of ideas; but in regard to the great, vital principles of human action, _piety and virtue_, these pupils will be in little better condition, as to true moral worth, than so many automata, having the power of uttering articulate sounds, and repeating what they have been taught, but devoid of all generous, benevolent, and virtuous motives of conduct. The notion constantly present to their minds will be, that they pay their money for a quantum of reluctant service, to a selfish and mercenary being, whose constant study is, to perform no more of such service than barely sufficient to secure the pupils' continuance at school, for the sake of the pecuniary compensation alone. Ought there to be any wonder if the scholars themselves, under such circumstances, contract the same selfishness, the same base love of lucre, which they find often so productive of profit, and which they believe to be the governing principle of their teacher's conduct? Should the general propensity to extravagance in the use of money, so fatally common among young people, or their better feelings imbibed at home, protect them from contracting principles similar to those of such instructers, they are in danger of adopting another opinion equally destructive of the chance of deriving intellectual or moral improvement from any school whatever. This is, a firm belief that the whole class of teachers are destitute of every thing like generous and noble sentiments, and are consequently utterly undeserving of deference, respect, esteem, or affection.

Another thing which greatly impairs the influence of teachers with their pupils, is the very common practice of giving way to their own faults and bad habits in the presence of their scholars. Those who take upon them to instruct others in practical duties, must so act on all occasions as to be able to say, “_Not only do as I tell you, but do as I do_;” for without good examples in teachers, all their precepts go for nothing, or will be obeyed from no other principle but fear.

Another fault much too common among teachers, is, that many will enter into the profession, who are exceedingly deficient in all the requisite qualifications; and whose sole object is to support themselves at other people's expense, while preparing for some other pursuit, to which the business of teaching is made a kind of convenient stepping-stone. For all the mechanic arts—even the most simple—a particular training and appropriate education is deemed essential. But for that most difficult of all arts, next to governing a nation—I mean the art of preparing youth successfully to fulfil all their various duties in life—no peculiar adaptation of talent seems ever to be looked for; no course of study or instruction, specially suited to this all important profession, is scarcely any where systematically pursued, or required. We will not trust even a tinker to mend a hole in a dish or basin, unless we believe that he has been regularly bred to his business; yet we fear not to trust both the souls and bodies of our children—both their temporal and eternal happiness—to persons of whom we often know nothing, but that they profess to teach a few sciences, a foreign language or two, and possibly some ornamental art; as if the mere professing to do these things was necessarily accompanied by the full power and skill to accomplish that infinitely greater object of all education—the forming the hearts, minds, and principles of youth, to the love of knowledge and the practice of virtue! This last all important qualification, without which every other will be unavailing, is so far from being the inseparable concomitant of what is usually called “learning,” that it is rarely ever found in those who have had no practical experience in teaching: not that practice alone will give it, for it seems to be the result of a combination of circumstances and qualities not often uniting in the same person. These are—perfect self-control—great benevolence—much forbearance—a quickness in distinguishing all the various shades and diversities of character in children—sound judgment in selecting the best means of instruction—with unwearied perseverance in applying them. Many an humble mother, who scarcely understands even the meaning of the terms grammar, science, and literature, possesses vastly more of this highly essential art, than thousands of the most erudite scholars; and are as far superior to them for all the most valuable purposes of education, as Sir Isaac Newton was to Swift's ideal clown, whom he represents as ignorantly calling this incomparable philosopher, “one Isaac Newton, a maker of sun dials.” Not that I would undervalue learning in teachers; no, very far from it, for a large portion of it is indispensable. But I mean to assert, that _there is a peculiar art of teaching_, not necessarily connected with, nor the result of, what is usually called learning. It is the art, as I before remarked, of forming the hearts, minds and principles of children, to the love of knowledge and to the practice of virtue, which mere learning can never confer. It is an art, in fact, which must have for its basis strong natural sense and feelings—a heart full of the milk of human kindness—sound, moral, and religious principles—a clear, {480} discriminating judgment, a considerable portion of scholastic learning, and some practical experience. Those alone who possess and love to exercise this art, are capable of imparting “that education which bears upon the machinery of the human mind, which is truly practical—that which breaks up the ‘fallow ground’ of the human heart—that which brings forth the fruits of intelligence and virtue.” In other words, (to borrow the language of an admirable article on popular education, in a late North American Review,) every teacher, when entering upon the discharge of his duties, should be able most conscientiously “to say with himself—‘now, _my_ business is to do what is in my power, to rear up for society intelligent and virtuous men and women: it is not merely to make good arithmeticians or grammarians, good readers or writers, good scholars who shall do themselves and me credit—this, indeed, I have to do; but it is still farther, to make good members of society, good parents and children, good friends and associates; to make the community around me wiser and happier for my living in it: my labor, in fine, must be, to ingraft upon these youthful minds that love of knowledge and virtue, without which, they cannot be happy, nor useful, nor fitted for the greatest duties; and without which, indeed, all their acquisitions will soon drop like untimely blossoms from the tree of life.’”

We bind lads to hatters, shoemakers, and tailors, to learn their trades, lest our miserable bodies and limbs should not receive their due share of decoration—nay, we often make the mere fashion of these decorations an object of the most anxious concern, of the deepest imaginable interest; while the artizans who are to adorn our minds with _their_ appropriate embellishments, are left to pick up their qualifications as they may; frequently too, they are persons without any inclination, or talents, or temper, or principles, to fit them for this all important business; and not unfrequently, with so slender a stock of the requisite knowledge and learning, as to be much more suitable subjects for _receiving_, than for imparting instruction. True it is, that such charlatans and impostors are soon found out; but they contribute greatly to degrade the profession, and do infinite mischief in other respects; for they are free to roam every where, without any testimonials of their fitness, and rarely fail to find some new field for their fatal empiricism.