Chapter IX: Johann Friedrich Herbart

(1776-1841)

Pestalozzi found the most original successor of his educational reform in the intuitive mind of Froebel; the work of education as a benevolent and intelligent assistance to the natural evolution of the child-soul was carried on further by the latter. But the successor most competent to systematize and complete his pedagogical ideas was found in the analytical mind of Herbart; Pestalozzi’s innovations in the field of elementary instruction underwent a careful working over by this keen and comprehensive intellect of thorough academic training. To bring about psychological unity and sequence in school instruction was one of the life aims of Froebel, but he stopped short at the kindergarten, and, moreover, left us no scientific theory. Herbart, on the contrary, not only aimed at the same, but worked out a system on the broadest scientific and philosophic basis which his age permitted him. According to Herbart, “to discover this sequence is Pestalozzi’s chief effort and likewise my own great ideal.” He found the solution in the principle of the A. B. C. of perception, “that grand idea of its discoverer, the noble Pestalozzi,” as he called it. But “Pestalozzi has only worked out the application of the principle within the narrow sphere of elementary instruction. It belongs, in truth, to education as a whole, though it needs for that a further development” (6: p. 178). This Pestalozzian principle, interpreted by Herbart, probably means the systematic building up of the entire mental mechanism of the pupil from its simplest and fundamental elements or constituents, in the necessary psychological order and with mathematical exactness.

These two German educators, Froebel and Herbart, who both may be called the contemporary disciples of the great Swiss reformer, have much in common in their pedagogical ideas, but they were totally different in temperament, training, metaphysical conceptions, and practical careers. They do not seem even to have known each other. Herbart reminds me, more than anyone else, of Kant, of whom he was a great admirer and to whom he seems to owe much. In his rather stoical physiognomy, in his perfect poise and well-balanced personality, in his sharp analytic intellect, in his instinct for schematic systematization and elaboration, in his comprehensive, all-sided view of problems, in his scholarly sincerity, in his combination of speculativeness and empiricism, of theoretical and practical interest, he is the second Kant in the history of philosophy. There is a still more interesting comparison. As Kant endeavored to clear away all the one-sided dogmatic views of preceding metaphysics by the standard of his analytic epistemology and to establish in their place a new system of philosophy, upon the unshakable basis of the _a priori_ categories of knowledge, so Herbart tried the same in the field of pedagogy, using his analytical psychology as the dissecting knife for the “vulgar” theories of his forerunners and the basis of his own “scientific” pedagogy. “The _a priori_ possibility of all the activities of the human mind” shows him the only means of promoting the aims and removing the hindrances of education. All the educational ideals, theories, and practices, however beautiful and ingenious they sound, must be judged by this standard. If Kant’s philosophy is the critical philosophy, Herbart’s pedagogy is the critical pedagogy. And if Kant, coming after Rousseau, succeeded in opening a new era in the schoolmen’s philosophy, so Herbart was an epoch-maker in the history of the schoolmen’s pedagogy. But the name of the father of modern education will ever remain Pestalozzi, as the honor of the creator of modern tendencies of thought will be conferred upon Rousseau instead of Kant, if one looks at things from a broad, human, cultural standpoint rather than the narrow, academic one.

Kant saw the necessity and possibility of scientific pedagogy, and had an unrealized dream of establishing a pedagogical system as the culmination of all the philosophical branches. This, Herbart worked at with painstaking effort, and thought he succeeded in it. Professor Rein is justified in saying that, “without doubt, Herbart, among all German philosophers, made the greatest and most thorough investigation in this field.... He is the only one among the original thinkers of modern times who not merely casually touched, but directed the whole force of his theoretical and practical knowledge upon the question of pedagogy” (16: p. 462). Kant recommends, in his pedagogical lectures, the establishment of experimental schools for the advancement of educational art. Herbart realized the idea by organizing a pedagogical seminary with a practice school in connection with the University of Königsberg, where he was invited in 1809 to fill the chair once occupied by Kant, and long desired by him. And to-day we see, thanks to this impetus, similar institutes established in many German universities.

A German writer has called Pestalozzi the Kant of pedagogy and didactics, but to me no one seems better to suit the name than our philosopher-pedagogist. But we must not overlook an important difference which exists between the two philosophers: Kant stood more under the influence of natural science, while Herbart remained more under the influence of the classics. So the former is the more naturalistic, and the latter more humanistic, in his educational standpoint. This may be partly due to the difference of the times in which they lived, partly to that of their training, and also of their personalities. While they resemble each other in their intellectuality, there seems to be more iron in Kant and more warmth in Herbart; certainly the latter had more appreciation of the æsthetic aspect of things than the former.

No education without instruction, no instruction without education, is the keynote of the whole Herbartian pedagogy. From Locke down, the essential trend of educational reforms has been in the direction of exalting discipline and training, natural growth and experience, thrusting instruction into the background. Not knowledge, not intellect, but the virtues, character, will, heart, man himself, was the fundamental aim of education, and instruction was accounted as only contributing to it in a secondary or tertiary way. Herbart agreed with his predecessors in seeing the main purpose of education in the formation of character; but, according to him, instruction was the chief means for attaining this end, and consequently it was the essential business of educators. To him, “to present the whole treasure of accumulated research in a concentrated form to the youthful generation is the highest service which mankind at any period of his existence can render to his successors” (9: p. 81). And herein lies the inspiration of the teacher’s calling. However, he regained this importance for the function of instruction by giving it a higher meaning than the mere imparting of miscellaneous knowledge. In order to see this we must go a little into his psychology, upon which his pedagogy rests.

The new departure which Herbart made in psychology was that he dispersed the ghost of “faculties,” which had been attributed to an entity called soul, and substituted in its place the manifold images or representations as the phenomena of our psychic life. He argues: “It is an error indeed to look upon the human soul as an aggregate of all sorts of faculties” (8: p. 15). And to reduce these to one and the same active principle is to make the theory still worse. “The soul is a simple essence, not merely without parts, but also without any kind of multiplicity in its quality” (11: p. 119).

“The soul has no innate dispositions (_Anlage_), nor faculties (_Vermögen_) whatever, either for the purpose of receiving or for the purpose of producing. It is, therefore, no _tabula rasa_ in the sense that impressions foreign to itself may be made upon it; moreover, in the sense indicated by Leibnitz, it is not a substance which includes within itself original self-activity. It has originally neither concepts nor feelings nor desires. It knows nothing of itself and nothing of other things; also in it lie no forms of perception and thought, no laws of willing and action, and not even a remote predisposition to any of these” (11: p. 120).

As to the metaphysical question, “What is the soul in its essence?” Herbart endeavors to give no answer. It “is totally unknown, and will forever remain so. It is as little an object of speculative as of empirical psychology” (11: p. 120).

Now, soul is entirely deprived of all content, qualities, attributes, and tendencies, and reduced to a sort of mathematical point, or something like the Kantian _Ding-an-sich_. It is a “_Real_,” he says. But its entity is equal to nonentity. A way is opened when he tells that there is one original power possessed by the soul. This is the reaction to external stimuli, or the power of “self-preservation,” as he calls it. By this reaction representations are produced, and when once produced they stay in the mind, ready to be reproduced and develop through the process of mutual interaction into concepts and higher forms of thought.

Thus, representations or ideas constitute the primary content of soul. However, from the contrast or counter reactions of these ideas there result secondary states, which are what we call feelings or volitions. These three phases of our soul life--ideation, feeling, and volition--“are constantly to be found in combination,” and they are together “in a constant change.” The “heart (_Gemüth_), however, has its source in the mind--in other words, feeling and desiring are conditions, and for the most part changeable conditions of concepts” (11: p. 26). The fundamental points in all this are that a soul is what it itself builds up by experience, namely, by its relation to external stimuli; that ideas constitute the primary and constant part of the soul, while feeling and volition are only the outcome of the various relations between these ideas.

Now the ultimate aim of education is the formation of character. Character means the stability of will, or “the inner freedom” of will. When will always chooses the good by its self-determination it is said to have freedom. This means that each individual act of willing works in harmony with the already existing system of wills; and in the full attainment of this freedom or harmony lies the perfection of will or character; morality means our striving toward this perfection. But, according to Herbart, the source of will is the idea. “The circle of thought contains the store of that which by degrees can mount by the steps of interest to desire, and then by means of action to volition.... The whole inner activity, indeed, has its abode in the circle of thought. Here is found the initiative life, the primal energy; ... Clearness, association, system, and method must rule here” (9: p. 213) in order to secure a free, easy, energetic, and steady activity of the will; and since meagerness of the store of ideas means meagerness of interests, of motives, consequently, of the directions of will activity, we must endeavor to enrich the circle of thought as well as to make it clear and coherent. The help we extend to this enrichment and systematization of ideas we call instruction. Our ideas come from two main sources--experience of the objective world and human intercourse. From the former develops the “empirical,” the “speculative,” and the æsthetic interests; from the latter the “sympathetic,” the social, and the religious interests. These are six divisions of interest, according to Herbart. All of these interests must be aroused and harmoniously developed in order that the child may have a rich and coherent circle of thought. This is called, in the Herbartian terminology, “many-sidedness of interest.” Many-sided interest prevents one from falling into egoism; it provides the basis for social bond and cooperation. By having a wide range of motives, and consequently a balance of the will, one will find in it a “protection in the future from the yoke of the desires and the passions. It will arm him against fortune’s changes, and will make life worth living, even when a cruel fate has robbed him of his dearest. It will guard him from all errors which spring from idleness, and will provide him with a new calling when the old has been closed to him. It will raise him to the level from which earthly possessions and the successes of worldly efforts seem but accidents which cannot touch the true self, for above them stands the moral character, grand and free” (6: p. 96). Thus, as the end of education is character, so the direct aim of instruction is many-sided interest. Consequently, instruction should be, first of all, manifold, and not one-sided. “Every avenue of approach should be thrown open.” The apperceptive capacity of the child should be moved in all directions. Of course we must accommodate the subject-matter to the great variety of endowments the child presents. “Yet while instruction must thus be differentiated, it should not be made so special as to cultivate only the more prominent gifts; otherwise the pupil’s less vigorous mental faculties would be wholly neglected and perhaps suppressed” (8: p. 42).

Instruction should always follow the gradual progress of interest in the pupil. A new apperception, a new interest is invariably to be grafted upon the already existing ones. “When interest has not been aroused, compulsory acquisition is not only worthless, leading as it does to soulless, mechanical activity, but positively injurious, because it vitiates the pupils’ mental aptitude and disposition” (8: p. 290). Not mastery of a certain skill or thoroughness in any one of the branches of knowledge, but fondness for these, accompanied by the desire to further them, is the main thing, especially in the early stages of instruction. “Interest means self-activity. The demand for a many-sided interest is, therefore, a demand for a many-sided self-activity” (8: p. 60). Herbart condemns the “_a priori_ assumptions that certain subjects must be taught.” “The intellectual self-activity of the pupil,” this is the end of “educative instruction.” “This, and not mere knowledge, any more than utility, determines the point of view with regard to the instruction material” (8: p. 97).

Attention is another aspect of interest. It “may be broadly defined as an attitude of mind in which there is readiness to form new ideas” (8: p. 62). There are two kinds of attention--voluntary or forced, and involuntary or spontaneous. The latter is “far more desirable and fruitful,” for “forced attention does not suffice for instruction, even though it may be had through disciplinary measures” (8: p. 135). The involuntary attention is again divided into the primitive and the apperceiving. “Primitive or original attention depends primarily upon the strength of the sense impressions,” and the pleasure it affords (8: p. 64). This signifies the same thing as momentary interest. We must secure this in order to render instruction effective. “_Tediousness is the greatest sin of instruction_” (5: p. 82). Apperceiving attention feeds on the primitive attention; it is the outcome of cultivated or permanent interest, and the expression of our whole accumulated experience of the world and life.

The function of instruction is, we have been told, to systematize the child’s thought as well as to enrich it. We are not only to pile up the materials in his mind, but to construct them into a solid, planful structure. Facts need a methodical treatment, Herbart claims, in order that they may ever enlarge the scope of our mental activity. This process of methodical treatment is called by the Herbartians “the formal steps of instruction.” The perception or the idea of a thing must be first made clear, then associated with the perception or the idea of other things; thirdly, systematized with the whole previous experience or stock of knowledge; and, lastly, made a living knowledge by practical application.

In the process of instruction we may distinguish three modes or phases--the purely presentative, the analytic, and the synthetic instruction. The purely preservative or descriptive method aims to produce results akin to an extension of the pupils’ range of actual experience. Although it can only be applied to concrete matters, “skill in this direction is the surest means of securing interest.” Free oral presentation produces an effect that reading never does. To secure success in this, “a cultivated style of speaking,” “adaptation of the vocabulary employed, both to the subject-matter and to the intelligence of the pupils, and adjustment of the phraseology to the pupils’ stage of culture” and careful preparation are essential requisites. The aim “should be to make the pupil realize events and objects as vividly as if they were actually present to his eye and ear” (8: pp. 107-108). But without previous experience, or at least a sufficient basis for imaginative construction on the part of pupils, this would naturally fail. Therefore we must endeavor to enlarge his apperceptive mass by the aid of frequent excursions, by plentiful exhibitions of objects and pictures, by giving the child a wide acquaintance with sense material.

Children in their natural experience or learning gather only a crude mass of facts, resulting often in a chaotic apprehension. These facts, therefore, must be worked over and rearranged in their minds in order to become true knowledge. The instruction which aims at this is called “Analytic” instruction. It is “awakening attention and reflection through instruction, or exercise in thinking”; it is a sort of mental cud of the whole stock of children’s direct and reproduced experience. It consists in pointing out the main facts of a given whole, their relations, the size, form, weight, number, attributes, uses of things, in comparing, discriminating, generalizing, and classifying them; and it may further involve the consideration of natural or artificial origin and development of things.

“Analytic instruction” must depend on the materials already existing in the pupil’s mind, and is thus limited by them. These are, of course, insufficient for the rearing of his mental structure which may serve his varied life-purposes. Something new and strange must be brought in from outside his immediate environment. This is the function of “synthetic instruction.” The quarry from which the materials come is coextensive with the cultural history of the human race, including the whole stock of literature and science. Synthetic instruction is thus cultural instruction _per se_. It “builds with its own stones,” the teacher himself determining directly the sequence and grouping of parts of the lesson. Although interest partly depends on the native capacity and inclination of the pupils, yet the choice of the subject-matter and the manner of its presentation can to a large extent determine it. “Synthetic instruction must offer subjects capable of arousing lasting and spontaneously radiating interest.... The first place belongs rather to those studies which appeal to the mind in a variety of ways and are capable of stimulating each pupil according to his individuality. For such subjects ample time must be allowed; they must be made the object of prolonged diligent effort” (8: p. 127). For the treatment of the subject the general order is, of course, “the easy before the difficult, or, more specifically, that which prepares the way, before that which cannot be firmly grasped without preliminary knowledge”; things naturally must be brought down within the reach of the pupils’ understanding, yet not made so easy as to exclude effort on his part.

But Herbart shows his genuine pedagogic insight in warning against a too strict adherence to logical sequence, or a too exacting insistence upon perfect mastery in preliminary knowledge, as “equivalent to scaring away interest.” He says:

“To make the road so level as to do away entirely with the necessity for occasional leaps, means to provide for the convenience of the teacher rather than for that of the pupils. The young love to climb and jump; they do not take kindly to an absolutely level path” (8: p. 128).

Eager as he was in his advocacy of methodical instruction, yet he did not overlook the greater importance of the pupil’s interest in the content of subject-matter taught. After calling cursory reading the worst method of beginning the study of languages, he adds:

“Even cursory reading, however, produces good results under one condition, namely, the existence of a lively interest in the contents” (8: p. 132).

As Herbart’s desire and attempt to bring about sequence and order in instruction became schematized by some of his followers, the most prominent of whom are Ziller and Rein, into “formal steps,” so his endeavor to introduce unity and harmony into education was attenuated by them into the doctrines of “culture stages” and “concentration center.” The doctrine of “culture stages” is stated by Ziller as follows:

“The mental development of the child corresponds, in general, to the chief phases in the development of mankind. It therefore cannot be better furthered than when he receives his mental nourishment from the general development of culture as it is found in literature and history. Every pupil should accordingly pass successively through each of the chief epochs of the general mental development of mankind suitable to his stage of development. The material of instruction, therefore, should be drawn from the thought material of that stage of historical development in culture which runs parallel with the present mental state of the pupil” (6: p. 122).

In accordance with this theory, Ziller selected the following topics which, he thought, would fit respectively the developmental stages of children in the eight years of the school course: (1) Epic fairy tales, (2) Robinson Crusoe, (3) History of the Patriarchs, (4) Judges in Israel, (5) Kings in Israel, (6) Life of Christ, (7) History of the Apostles, (8) History of the Reformation. And parallel to the history of the Israelites, literature taken from German history was to be taught. Not being satisfied with this artificial matching and grading, Ziller wanted further to make the above-mentioned materials the center of all instruction, connecting with them the teaching not only of language, but of arithmetic, drawing, geography, and science. With Professor Rein this idea was more reasonably modified. He also uses these historical-humanistic studies as the “concentration-center,” but other materials are only to be coördinated with them so far as possible, not entirely absorbed into them.

Instruction, although it is the main part of education, must be assisted by two other functions in order to be effective; namely, government and discipline. The function of government is to keep the pupils in order, in quiet, and in abeyance to the will of the teacher. It is mere, though necessary, preparation for instruction and discipline. It concerns itself only with the present of the pupil, while instruction and discipline look to his future. Government involves keeping children in constant occupation suitable to their age and individuality, supervision, with numerous commands and prohibitions, and certain rewards and punishments.

Instruction aims at the formation of character through the formation of a system of sound judgments and clear insights, which motivate the good will. It is discipline that completes the work of instruction by the habituation of the will in the direction of virtue. Its task is to harmonize and unify the manifold acts of will by subordinating single momentary volitions to the moral ego which is gradually to be formed in the mind of the child. As the object of instruction is to give moral illumination to the will, so that of discipline is to develop “moral strength of character.” Discipline is distinguished from government by its being chiefly concerned with inner volition, while the latter mainly deals with outward action. So it is not applied, like government, by enforcement, but consists in reciprocal personal reaction between the teacher and the pupil. Without the voluntary reaction or willing coöperation on the part of the latter, discipline is futile. Certain personal attitudes, sympathy and helpfulness on the part of the teacher, confidence and dependence on the part of the pupil, are the first requisites of training.

Thus we see that Herbart brought about, in his own way, a reconciliation between the exclusive resort to formal discipline in contempt of instruction, by means of which the source of rich and refined motives is supplied, and the over-exaltation of impartment of knowledge to the neglect of training, by which alone it becomes power and life--giving also a due importance to the preliminary and supporting function of supervision or government. In instruction itself, also, the two opposite tendencies, the humanistic and the empirical, find a higher unity. The humanistic school claimed the knowledge stored in the history and literature of the race alone as worth imparting, while the empirical asserted that the knowledge coming from immediate personal experience alone deserves the name. Herbart takes individual experience as the leading-string of instruction, and unites with it the experience of the whole human race, incorporated in culture and science.

In regard to the relation of the state and the home as educational agencies, again, he gives a harmony to the one-sided views held by his predecessors by making clear the particular positions occupied by both. The state requires from its citizens their social and professional efficiency. Hence it gives the best possible education to them to produce this efficiency. Thus, the advancement of technical knowledge and the multiplication of specialized scholarships are well secured in the hand of the state. But it is not concerned so much with the particular needs, nor the proportional development of the individual as an individual, as with his serviceability to itself in his particular line or sphere of work. “The state applies its test to what can be tested, to the outward side of conduct and of knowledge. It does not penetrate the inner life. Teachers in public schools cannot penetrate much farther; they, too, are more concerned with the sum total of the knowledge imparted by them, than with the individual and the way in which he relates his knowledge to himself” (8: p. 318).

“The family, on the other hand, interested as it is in the individual, must take the pedagogical point of view, according to which every human being is to realize the best of which he is capable. It is essential that families should grasp this distinction and accordingly, concern themselves not with the greatness of particular achievements, but with the totality of culture possible for the individual” (8: pp. 289-290). As to moral discipline, the very nature of family organism requires it to go deeper than the state does or ever can. “It is obvious, therefore, that moral education will always remain essentially a home task, and that the institutions of the state are to be resorted to for educative purposes only with a view to supplementing the home.” However, the family as it is has its drawbacks. Its life “is very often too busy, too full of care, or too noisy for that rigor which is undeniably required both for instruction and for morality. Luxury and want alike harbor dangers for youth. Consequently families lean on the state for support more than they ought” (8: p. 318).

So Herbart advocates that, “as much as possible, education must return to the family,” provided “that sound pedagogical views have been arrived at in the home and that the place is not occupied by absurd whims or half knowledge” (8: pp. 319-320). For the present the work of education should be carried on by the harmonious coöperation of the state and the family, the school and the home. Private institutions have their special place as the best experimental station for the art of education, when provided with a picked set of pupils and teachers and well-regulated environment.

“With the exception of Pestalozzi,” says Spielmann, “Herbart has exercised the most important influence upon pedagogy.” Pestalozzi gave the first impetus to “psychologizing” the process of education; Herbart, continuing this movement, tried to make a science of it, and became the father of the great school of pedagogy which bears his name, and is represented by such renowned pedagogues as Mager, Strümpell, Story, Waitz, von Sallwürk, Ziller, Vogt, Willmann, Rein, Just, Dörffell, Frölich, Leutz, Frieck, and Helm. No academic pedagogy probably has exerted such a wide and systematic influence upon the field of education, especially of school instruction, as the Herbartian school has. No such technicality and doctrination has, with the probable exception of the Froebelian pedagogy among kindergartners, ever so ruled the thought and practice of school teachers. Yet it has received at the same time a strong and healthy opposition, chiefly directed against its overdone methodization and schematization carried on by his disciples rather than by Herbart himself. “Return to Pestalozzi,” is the cry we have been hearing in some quarters from German pedagogues. But though for the impartial learner no system of pedagogy is absolutely binding authority, yet at the same time every original thinker is to be our teacher, guide, and benefactor. When we go back directly to him we find him speaking with the living power of his personal experience and insight; it is the blind followers who kill him by idolizing him.

Herbart indeed advocated making a scientific pedagogy the basis of the practice of education. Yet he admits that “long will it be before we have it, longer still before we can expect it from teachers.” Moreover, even when this is reached, “it can never be a substitute for observation of the pupil; the individual can only be discovered, not deduced” (9: p. 83). As to his own system of pedagogy, it certainly “affords an opportunity for estimating the breadth and the sphere of education and the vastness of problems lying before it” (9: p. 77), and also for seeing the exceeding complexity of every apparently simple matter in it. He and his school unquestionably deserve an important place in the history of pedagogy. But we must remember that psychology, which is, according to him, the foundation of pedagogy, has made progress by leaps and bounds since his day; that the social conditions and needs also have seen a considerable change. Therefore, to those who are disposed to linger at the starting-point of the great road opened by him, instead of marching on along it with the same eagerness and pioneering spirit which inspired Herbart himself, we offer the words which he wrote to Herr von Steiger in reference to “the most abiding of all the rules I send you”: “Remember, you must not be in the least slavishly bound by them; I mean them rather as hints” (9: p. 8).

REFERENCES

1. +Achelis, Thomas.+ Die Wandlungen der Pädagogik im 19. Jahrhundert. Cronbach, Berlin, 1901. 204 pages.

2. +Adams, John.+ The Herbartian Psychology Applied to Education. Being a series of essays applying the psychology of Johann Friedrich Herbart. Ibister, London, 1897. 279 pages.

3. +Böhmel, Otto.+ Der principielle Gegensatz in den pädagogischen Anschauungen Kant’s und Herbart’s. Koch, Marburg, 1891. 31 pages.

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6. +Felkin, Henry M.+ and +Mrs. E.+ An Introduction to Herbart’s Science and Practice of Education. Heath & Co., Boston, 1900. 193 pages.

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8. +Herbart, Johann Friedrich.+ Outlines of Educational Doctrines. Translated by A. F. Lange, annotated by C. De Garmo. Macmillan Co., London and New York, 1901. 334 pages.

9. ---- The Science of Education. Translated by Felkin. Sonnenschein, London, 1892. 268 pages.

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16. ---- Encyklopädisches Handbuch der Pädagogik. 8 vols. Beyer, Langensalza, 1895-1906. Vol. III.

17. +Sallwürk, Ernst von.+ Gesinnungsunterricht und Kulturgeschichte; zu pädagogischen Kritik. Beyer, Langensalza, 1887. 103 pages.

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