Thinking and learning to think, Nathan C. Schaeffer [each kindness read aloud txt] 📗
- Author: Nathan C. Schaeffer
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In building concepts of objects in nature it would be a great mistake to begin with the word instead of the thing. Just as little as a blind man can conceive the qualities color, light, darkness, through mere words, so little can children conceive classes of objects which have never addressed the senses. Hence great stress has been laid by educational reformers upon the cultivation of habits of observation, upon the supreme necessity of teaching by the use of objects, or so-called object-lessons. First, things, then words, or signs for things, was at one time a favorite maxim in treatises on teaching. Consistent application of the maxim would have banished the dictionary from the school-room, or at least its use as a means for ascertaining the meaning of words. In consulting the dictionary for the meaning of a word, we pass not from the thing to its sign, but in the opposite direction,—that is, from the sign to the thing signified, from the symbol to the idea for which the symbol stands. The main essential in good instruction is that the words be made significant. In primary instruction this is best accomplished by passing from the idea to the word; but in advanced instruction it is of less importance whether we pass from the word to the idea or from the idea to the word. The meaning of very many words is acquired from the connection in which they are used. For the meaning of the larger number of words in our vocabulary we never consult a dictionary. The finer shades of meaning we get not from definitions, but from quotations taken from standard authors. This fact should never tempt the teacher to trust to words, definitions, and descriptions in the formation of basal concepts. He should seek to give unto himself a clear and full account of the things or ideas which cannot spring from mere words, however skilfully arranged in sentences. The music-teacher who complained of the public schools because a seven-year-old child did not grasp his meaning when he spoke of half-notes, quarter-notes, eighth-notes, sixteenth-notes, should have known that many children of that age have never been taught fractions, and that the idea of a fraction is obtained not from sounds (who distinguishes between half a noise and a whole noise?), but from objects which address the eye. Instead of complaining about the school which the pupil attended, a teacher acquainted with the mysteries of his art would have started with the comparison of things visible; and after having developed the idea of halves, quarters, eighths, sixteenths, by the division of visible objects into equal parts, he would have applied the idea to musical sounds.
In seeking to build in the mind of the learner the concepts which lie at the basis of a new branch of study, it is a legitimate question to ask by which of the gate-ways of knowledge the materials or elements for the new idea can best be made to enter the mind. At the basis of arithmetic lies the idea of number,—an idea that is evoked by the question of how many applied to a collection of two or more units. Taste and smell must be ruled out from the list of senses which can be utilized to advantage. Three taps on the desk are as easily recognized as three marks or strokes on the black-board. The sense of touch is helpful in passing from concrete to abstract numbers. To think a number when the corresponding collection of objects is not visible, but is suggested by tactile impressions, helps to emancipate the thinking process from the domination of the eye; in other words, it helps to sunder the thinking of number from a specific sense, and thus aids in the evolution of the idea of number apart from concrete objects.
As already indicated, there are some basal concepts, like that of a fraction, in the development of which only one sense can be utilized to advantage. Whilst imparting the idea of a whole number, the appeal may be to the eye, the ear, and the sense of touch; the instruction designed to impart the idea of fractions to the normal child is limited to visible objects. In the instruction of the blind the other senses are addressed from necessity. The extent to which touch can supply the function of sight is full of hints to teachers in charge of pupils possessing all the gate-ways of knowledge.
Moreover, not all units are equally adapted for imparting the first ideas of a fraction. Half of a stick is still a stick to the child, just as half of a stone is still called a stone in common parlance. The half should be radically different from the unit; hence an object resembling a sphere or a circle is best adapted for the first lessons in fractions. In teaching decimals the square or rectangle is better than the circle. It is difficult to divide a circumference into ten equal parts. On the contrary, the square is easily divided into tenths by vertical lines, and then into hundredths by horizontal lines, thus furnishing also a convenient device for the first lessons in percentage.
It is one of the aims of the training-class and the normal school to point out the best methods of developing the different basal concepts which lie at the foundation of the branches to be taught. Many of these are complex, and require great skill on the part of the teacher. The difficulty is well stated in John Fiske’s discussion of Symbolic Conceptions. He says, “Of any simple object which can be grasped in a single act of perception, such as a knife or a book, an egg or an orange, a circle or a triangle, you can frame a conception which almost, or quite exactly, represents the object. The picture, or visual image, in your mind when the orange is present to the senses is almost exactly reproduced when it is absent. The distinction between the two lies chiefly in the relative faintness of the latter. But as the objects of thought increase in size and in complexity of detail, the case soon comes to be very different. You cannot frame a truly representative conception of the town in which you live, however familiar you may be with its streets and houses, its parks and trees, and the looks and demeanor of the townsmen; it is impossible to embrace so many details in a single mental picture. The mind must range to and fro among the phenomena, in order to represent the town in a series of conceptions. But practically, what you have in mind when you speak of the town is a fragmentary conception in which some portion of the object is represented, while you are well aware that with sufficient pains a series of mental pictures could be formed which would approximately correspond to the object. To some extent the conception is representative, but to a great degree it is symbolic. With a further increase in the size and complexity of the objects of thought, our conceptions gradually lose their representative character, and at length become purely symbolic. No one can form a mental picture that answers even approximately to the earth. Even a homogeneous ball eight thousand miles in diameter is too vast an object to be conceived otherwise than symbolically, and much more is this true of the ball upon which we live, with all its endless multiformity of detail. We imagine a globe, and clothe it with a few terrestrial attributes, and in our minds this fragmentary notion does duty as a symbol of the earth.
“The case becomes still more striking when we have to deal with conceptions of the universe, of cosmic forces such as light and heat, or of the stupendous secular changes which modern science calls us to contemplate. Here our conceptions cannot even pretend to represent the objects; they are as purely symbolic as the algebraic equations whereby the geometer expresses the shapes of curves. Yet so long as there are means of verification at our command we can reason as safely with these symbolic conceptions as if they were truly representative. The geometer can at any moment translate his equation into an actual curve, and thereby test the results of his reasoning; and the case is similar with the undulatory theory of light, the chemist’s conception of atomicity, and other vast stretches of thought which in recent times have revolutionized our knowledge of nature. The danger in the use of symbolic conceptions is the danger of framing illegitimate symbols that answer to nothing in heaven or earth, as has happened first and last with so many short-lived theories in science and in metaphysics.”
The word conception as used in this quotation is synonymous with concept, but elsewhere it is also used in two other senses,—namely, to signify the mind’s power to conceive objects, their relations and classes, and to name the activity by which the concept is produced. Hence the term concept is preferred in this discussion.
To give a full account of the development of the basal concepts in the different branches of study would require a treatise on the methods of teaching these branches. All that can be attempted is to draw attention to some of the typical methods and devices adopted by eminent teachers in the development of the concepts which Mr. Fiske calls symbolic conceptions. Distance is one of the concepts at the basis of geography and astronomy. To say that the circumference of the earth is twenty-five thousand miles, that the distance of the moon from the earth is two hundred and forty thousand miles, and that the distance of the sun is ninety-two and one-half millions of miles may mean very little to the human mind, especially to the mind of a child. Supposing, however, that a boy finds a mile by actual measurement, and that he finds he can walk four miles an hour, he can gradually rise to the thought of walking forty miles in a day of ten hours, or two hundred and forty miles in the six working days of a week. In one hundred and four weeks, or two years, he could walk around the globe. To walk to the moon would require a thousand weeks, or about twenty years. It is by the method of gradual approach that concepts of great distance, of immense magnitudes, of the infinitely large and the infinitely small, must be developed. To this category belong large cities like New York and London, quantities denoting the size of the earth and its distance from the sun and the fixed stars, the fraction of a second in which a snap-shot is taken, or an electric flash is photographed; such quantities are apt to remain as mere figures or symbols in the mind of the learner unless the method of gradual approach is adopted. Starting with a town or a ward with which the pupil is familiar, several may be joined in idea until the concept of a city of fifty or sixty thousand population is reached. It takes about twenty of these to make a city like Philadelphia, and five cities like Philadelphia to make a city like London. A lesson on how London is fed will add much to the formation of an adequate idea of such a large city.[5]
An adequate idea of the shape of the earth can be formed only by gradual development.
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