Chapter VIII: Part 8

We saw the value of the labor-saving devices introduced by the symbols and formulas of mathematics and other sciences. Analysts carry forward long trains of thought by means of symbols whose meaning can be, but is not always, called up with the successive links of the chain of reasoning. In adding a column of figures, in solving an algebraic equation, in reading a work on higher mathematics or logic, in thinking the formulas of chemistry, physics, astronomy, etc., and in dealing with objects, forces, and relations which have been accurately and definitely quantified, the thinking may be carried forward by the use of symbols which can be interpreted and applied whenever the occasion requires, but whose meaning is not always present to the mind. In reading of things which have not been quantified, the stream of thought often flows on without images, or mental pictures, or copies of sensations. Nevertheless, the examination of any school reader or book of selections from the best literature will show how our best writers and orators appeal to the imagination, and to what a large field the method of thinking in images or mental pictures is applicable for the purpose of securing due appreciation of good literature and proper expression in oral reading.

The simplest thinking is the comparison of objects when these are present to the senses. It prevails largely in the handicrafts and in the ordinary duties of life. More difficult is the comparison of images or mental pictures of things when these are not present to the senses, but must be recalled by the memory. This thinking is essential to the appreciation of poetry, to the vivid presentation of thought, and should not be neglected by those who wish to move the multitudes with tongue or pen. “Imaging,” says Dryden, “is in itself the very height and life of poetry, which, by a kind of enthusiasm or extraordinary emotion of the soul, makes it seem to us that we behold those things which the poet paints.” Higher, from the scientist’s point of view, is the thinking in substitute symbols which stand for ideas definitely fixed or quantified. Higher still is the comparison of abstract and general ideas through expressive symbols, including their application to the problems of life; for this is the kind of thinking that characterizes the scientist and the philosopher, the engineer and the surgeon, the editor and the orator, and, in fact, all whose vocation has risen to the rank of a profession. But highest of all is the thinking which creates and invents, begetting progress in science and art, in literature and history, in government and civilization.

XV

THE STREAM OF THOUGHT IN WRITING, SPEAKING, AND ORAL READING

The highest joy is the freedom of the mind in the living play
of all its powers.

SCHILLER.

The historian Niebuhr, speaking of the historian’s vocation,
remarks that he who calls past ages into being enjoys a bliss
analogous to that of creating. With still more truth may we
say of that mind which is able, in the conscious awakening of
all its powers, to give full and satisfactory utterance to its
thick-coming thoughts, that it enjoys the joy of a creator. If
there is one bright particular hour in the life of the educated
man, in the career of the scholar, it is that hour for which
all other hours of student-life were made,—that hour in which
he gives original and full expression to what has been slowly
gendering within him.

SHEDD.

Unless a man can link his written thoughts with the everlasting
wants of men so that they shall draw from them as from wells,
there is no more immortality to the thoughts and feelings of
the soul than to the muscles and bones.

BEECHER.

XV

THE STREAM OF THOUGHT IN WRITING, SPEAKING, AND ORAL READING

[Sidenote: The first speech.]

Eventful in his career is the day on which a young person speaks in public for the first time. His hands and arms are in his way; his lower limbs quake; his lips and throat feel dry and parched; the vocal organs refuse to obey his bidding; he experiences other discomforts which he cannot explain and which are due to embarrassment and nervousness. What is worst of all, he cannot tell what has gone wrong in his mind. If his speech was committed, the memory fails to recall some word or sentence that seems absolutely essential to the sequence of thought. If he speaks extemporaneously, the stream of thought stops flowing, or turns back in eddies, or perhaps spreads out over all the land instead of moving towards the proper goal. In fact, all these annoyances have their fontal source in the mind, in a play of emotions in which stage-fright is the principal element. To this young man some trusted friend should whisper, “Take courage;” for if ever in his life a young man needs encouragement it is when he makes his first speech or preaches his first sermon.

[Sidenote: Public speakers are made, not born.]

Public speakers are made, not born. Native talent is helpful, but not all sufficient. Most of the obstacles to success disappear as soon as one has learned to think on his feet; that is, to control the stream of thought when facing an audience.

[Sidenote: Dangers of fluency.]

There are, of course, exceptions to all rules. Some young men possess an amount of self-confidence which is proof against embarrassment. Such youth are sometimes gifted with a flow of words that is fatal to ultimate success. It enables them to fill time without previous preparation. Bautain describes a “fatal facility a thousand times worse than hesitation or than silence, which drowns thought in floods of words, or in a torrent of copiousness, sweeping away good earth and leaving behind sand and stones alone. Heaven keep us from these interminable talkers, such as are often to be found in southern countries, who deluge you, relatively to anything and to nothing, with a shower of dissertation and a down-pouring of their eloquence. During nine-tenths of the time there is not one rational thought in the whole of this twaddle, carrying along in its course every kind of rubbish and platitude. The class of persons who produce a speech so easily and who are ready at the shortest moment to extemporize a speech, a dissertation, or a homily, know not how to compose a tolerable sentence; and I repeat that, with such exceptions as defy all rule, he who has not learned how to write will never know how to speak.”[40]

No one stands in greater need of the discipline derived from the use of the pen than those who overflow with words and sentences. Their dearth of ideas can be remedied in no other way. The sentence which escapes from the lips is fleeting and soon forgotten. The sentence in black and white, which stares you in the face from the written page, can be read and re-read until its lack of sense and its wealth of nonsense and absurdity grow too glaring to be endured. Paragraph after paragraph can thus be tested, condensed, and stuffed full of meaning. This discipline ultimately enables a fluent talker to speak with force and to the point, because it gradually transforms his habits of thinking, deepening the stream of thought and enabling it to carry craft too weighty to be borne by a shallow stream.

[Sidenote: Hesitating speakers.]

The person who is afflicted with hesitation and embarrassment also stands in sore need of the discipline of writing. In the solitude of the home one can take time to find and fix the right word, to weave it into sentences that stand the test of grammar, logic, and rhetoric, and to arrange a line of thought from which everything irrelevant is excluded. Embarrassment vanishes with the advent of the feeling that one has something to say. The growth of language, which invariably accompanies the evolution and clarification of thought, corrects hesitation. Soon the hands drop to the side or obey the will in gesture, and the feeling of ease begins to color the delivery. Nothing more beneficial can happen to a young preacher than the call to preach the same discourse a number of times in succession, each time to a different audience. Repetition will make him a master of the train of ideas, improving his phraseology, and deeping the stream of thought. Who has not watched with delight the improvement in the presentation of a lecture heard from the same lips half a dozen times in succession? The change for the better was due to the deepening, straightening, and improvement of the channel in which the stream of thought seems to flow.

[Sidenote: Writing.]

If a student several times each month during a college course writes out and fixes a line of argument for a debate, he can acquire the power to fix and retain the thoughts as fast as he writes. The habit of memorizing the words is, of course, pernicious, because it is apt to make him the slave of his manuscript, to destroy his freedom in meeting the blows of an antagonist, and to divest him of the glow of feeling and animation which gives force to the delivery while the mind is engaged in the elaboration of the argument. The sequence of ideas rather than of words should be fixed in the mind, very much as the student of Euclid fixes in his mind, not the words, but the ideas which constitute the chain of proof. This kind of practice gives a young speaker the sense of security without destroying his freedom in modifying the line of thought while standing upon his feet.

[Sidenote: Criticism.]

From this point of view the folly of much criticism in teaching is very apparent. The current of thought is frequently interrupted by drawing attention at the wrong time to mistakes in grammar and errors of pronunciation. The proper time for such criticism is after the movement of thought has reached the goal; and even then the critic should not call attention to too many defects at one time; otherwise the effect will be to discourage and bewilder the pupil.

[Sidenote: The thought.]

The stream of thought is the most essential thing in writing, speaking, and oral reading. The management of face and hands and feet, the postures of the body, and the vocal utterance should, of course, not be neglected. The intelligent counsel of a good friend is needed to point out mannerisms and eccentricities. The practice prescribed by a wise teacher is helpful in pruning the delivery of defects and harmful habits which are sure to grow where attention to the thought sinks the delivery into the subconscious realm. Nevertheless, the main thing in writing and speaking is the stream of thought. A profound truth was stated by the Kentucky backwoodsman, who said that he would have it in him to become as great an orator as Henry Clay, were it not that he found himself lacking in two things: Whenever a favorable opportunity for a great speech presented itself he never knew _what to say_ nor _how to say it_. The how is more easily acquired than the _what_. Both should receive attention, from the kindergarten to the university. The getting of something to say is invention. It is the one thing in which special teachers and special courses give least help. The power of invention is acquired by years of effort and discipline. Tributaries from many sources must pour into the stream of thought before it becomes full, copious, and capable of carrying great thoughts, or of supplying the motive power for great undertakings.

[Sidenote: Hinderances.]

In writing nothing should be allowed to interfere with the stream of thought. Some can write in the midst of noise. Others must seek silence and solitude. Gifted men like Horace Greeley can write in the cars, upon the knee, anywhere. Habit has much to do with the art of composing. In any event, the stream of thought must be kept flowing. In so far as the rules of grammar, logic, rhetoric have become unconscious guiding principles, they do not interfere with the evolution of thought. In so far as they absorb the attention and hinder the flow of thought, they should be cast to the winds during the first glow of writing. Better think of these during the process of rewriting, polishing, and correcting.

So great a thinker and successful a writer as Charles Darwin makes the following suggestive statement concerning his own methods of composing:

[Sidenote: How Darwin composed.]

“There seems to be a sort of fatality in my mind, leading me to put at first my statement or proposition in a wrong or awkward form. Formerly I used to think about my sentences before writing them down; but for several years I have found that it saves time to scribble in a vile hand whole pages as quickly as I possibly can, contracting half the words; and then correct deliberately. Sentences thus scribbled down are often better ones than I could have written deliberately.”[41]

No one should speak as he writes, nor should any one write as he speaks. Few men are satisfied with the stenographic report of a speech, exactly true to the language at the time of delivery. A reporter who cannot make a speech read better, without changing the line of thought, than if it were printed exactly as spoken is not a master of the art of reporting. Written discourse abounds in longer sentences, in more involved constructions, in forms of diction which please the eye, but are too cumbersome for the voice and the ear. The public speaker is prone to use short, simple sentences in which the subject of the sentence does not pass out of the mind before the predicate is reached. His style abounds in questions which arrest the attention of the hearer; if necessary, he indulges in colloquial expressions to which the ears of the hearer are accustomed, thereby bringing himself nearer the common people.

[Sidenote: Fox’s opinion.]

[Sidenote: Written discourse.]

Upon a speech delivered in the British Parliament high praise was bestowed in the hearing of Mr. Fox. “Does it read well?” he inquired. “Yes, grandly,” was the reply. “Then,” said he, “it was not a good speech.” It may be difficult to point out exactly wherein speaking differs from writing so far as the stream of thought is concerned; yet one feels the difference. Austin Phelps shows the difference by using an extract from an essay on the “End of God in Creation:”

“What was the final cause of creation? The transition from the unconditioned to the conditioned is incomprehensible by the human faculties. What that transition is, and how it could take place, and how it became an actualized occurrence, it is confessed on all hands are absolutely incomprehensible enigmas. We cannot reasonably imagine, then, that, if we are thus ignorant of the nature and mode of this stupendous fact, we can nevertheless comprehend its primitive ground, can explore its ultimate reasons, can define its final motive. Nor can we think to unveil the infinite soul at that moment when, according to our conceptions, the eternal uniformity was interrupted and a new mode of being, absolutely unintelligible to us, was first introduced. We cannot think to grasp all the views which were present to that soul, extending from the unbeginning past to the unending future, and to fathom all its purposes, and to analyze all its motives. If anywhere, we must here repel everything like dogmatic interpretation of the phenomena, and admit whatever is put forth only as conjectural in its nature, or, at all events, partial, and belonging far more to the surface than to the interior of the subject.”

[Sidenote: Example of spoken discourse.]

One can easily see how ill adapted to oral delivery these sentences are. Phelps throws the same leading thoughts and succession of thoughts into a form adapted for public speaking:

“Why did God create the universe? Creation is incomprehensible to man. What is creation? How was it possible? How did it ever come to be? I cannot answer. Can you? Every man of common sense confesses his ignorance here. But if we are ignorant of what creation is, and how it is, can we imagine that we understand why it is? Shall we think to unveil the mind of God in the stupendous act? That moment when God said ‘Let there be light’ was a moment of which we can know nothing but that ‘there was light.’ Shall we think to see all that God saw? Can we look through the past without beginning, and the future without end, and fathom all His purposes and all His motives? Can we, by searching, find out God? If we must repel assertion anywhere, we must do so here. Whatever we may think, it is but little more than guess-work. At the best it can be but knowing in part. The most we can know must be on the surface. It cannot penetrate to the heart of the matter.”[42]

[Sidenote: Two kinds of style.]

The plan of writing down a line of discussion helps to clarify the thought. Casting aside the manuscript as soon as the sequence of ideas is fixed in the mind emancipates the speaker from the written page. Several years of practice develop two kinds of style, one adapted for writing, the other for speaking. After this stage of development is reached, it may be no longer necessary to formulate on paper every line of argument. Nevertheless, the pen cannot be laid aside entirely without detriment to the quality of the thought and the effectiveness of oral discourse.

[Sidenote: Dictating.]

Everything calculated to interfere with the stream of thought should, so far as possible, be eliminated from the act of composing. Some men find the pen an irksome drain upon their energy and vitality. Their thought moves faster than they can write. The employment of a stenographer aids them in the work of composing. The danger against which they must guard is a growing dislike to the use of the pen, and a deterioration of their style resulting in the obliteration of the difference which distinguishes effective speaking from successful writing.

[Sidenote: Lectures and orations.]

There is a radical difference between a lecture and an oration. Public speaking which partakes of the nature of the lecture, aiming primarily at instruction or the communication of knowledge, may be assisted by experiments, by maps, charts, and pictures upon the screen, by specimens and models designed to throw light upon the theme under discussion. Public speaking which partakes of the nature of oratory, its aim being to move the will to action, is generally limited in the appliances it can utilize, and in the way it must appeal to the hearer. It must not exhaust the attention of the hearer by consuming his time in the establishment of principles, and in showing, by lengthy details, how results are obtained. Far better is it to cite authorities, to quote their language if necessary, and to make the application to the case in hand. In referring to recognized standards, like a dictionary, a treatise on law, or the Sacred Scriptures, it is always best to quote the exact words. This is also more appropriate on the written page than a reproduction of the thought in inferior forms of statement. In public speaking, however, the original statement may be too involved, and a breaking up into shorter, simpler sentences may aid the forward movement of the stream of thought. The first aim of the speaker is to be understood. If he fails to reach the understanding, he can neither persuade nor convince, nor spur the will to action.

[Sidenote: Starting in too high a key.]

There is another limitation to the kind of public speaking which partakes of the nature of oratory. The idea which the speaker seeks to have realized in the vote, or verdict, or conduct of others, must be carried back to the necessary ideas of the hearer. The full discussion of this peculiarity in the stream of thought belongs to treatises on rhetoric. Such a discussion can be found in Theremin’s Rhetoric, translated by Shedd. Suffice it to say that the recognition of this principle makes the speaker a more thoughtful man. It causes him to rely for the effect he seeks to produce upon solid and sterling qualities rather than showy rhetoric. It tends to make the stream of thought flow deeper, fuller, yet clearer and with more power. Any interference with the stream of thought while the speaker is before the audience may be disastrous. The crying of a child, or an outburst of feeling in the audience, or some other mishap may disconcert his mind. Legouvé tells how the world-renowned advocate, Berryer, lost a very good cause by unconsciously starting his speech in too high a key. “His temples soon felt the unusual fatigue of the larynx; from the temples it passed to the brain; the strain being too great, the brain gave way; the thought became confused, and the language disarranged and indistinct.” He broke down in open court because he never thought of descending from the lofty perch on which his voice started at the beginning of his plea. Legouvé claims, and the experience of many speakers confirms the claim, that the abuse of the high notes has not infrequently affected injuriously the orator’s very flow of thought.

[Sidenote: The three generals.]

Three generals made stump speeches on a joint trip during the last Presidential campaign. One day the name of the candidate of the other great political party was mentioned, when there was a perfect storm of applause in the gallery. A second reference elicited similar applause, and the disconcerted general, who had bravely faced the enemy on the battle-field, took his seat. The next general, walking on a crutch, came forward, and requested that all who had been sent to disturb the meeting should rise. Ho one moved. He exclaimed, “There are some cowards here.” Then he asked that all who had come to listen and learn should rise. Everybody rose. He exclaimed, “There are some liars here.” Next he announced that any one attempting to disturb the meeting would be pitched out of doors, the general on the crutch declaring he would lead the attack. Soon a man arose as if to ask a question. Whereupon a big burly policeman threw the fellow out, and there was no further outside interference with the stream of thought in the mind of speaker or listeners. The man on the platform always has the advantage over disturbers in the audience, provided he is master of his faculties, full of resources, and quick at repartee.

[Sidenote: The schools of France.]

[Sidenote: The reading lesson.]

The schools of France have been quoted to show the uselessness of exercises in oral reading. As in other things, so in school matters, distance lends enchantment to the view. Legouvé, in his lectures on the “Art of Reading,” mentions with approval that in the great Republic of North America reading aloud is justly considered one of the very first elements of a child’s education, whilst in France, reading aloud does not reach even the sorry dignity of a diverting art, but is regarded as a curiosity, a luxury, often something hardly better than a pretension.[43] This was written several decades ago, and may not be just to the French nation at this time. The value of oral reading depends upon the way in which it is done. If it amounts to no more than calling words and parrot-like imitation of the teacher’s manner of reading, the exercise is a waste of time. The mastery of the new words and of the thought embodied should precede the attempt to read a lesson aloud. The mastery of the words involves ability to recognize them at sight, to pronounce them with fluency and ease, and to spell them by letter and by sound. It implies both a knowledge of their meaning and ability to use them in a sentence. An average series of readers has a vocabulary of five thousand words. The meaning of all these words may be known at sight, but ability to use them by tongue or pen is quite another thing, the vocabulary of most persons being not much in excess of a thousand words. The thought can be mastered by an exercise in silent reading, followed by the oral and written reproduction of the lesson. The mastery of the thought is a condition of proper vocal utterance.

[Sidenote: Acting and reading.]

[Sidenote: Reading and talking.]

There is a difference between acting and reading. The actor endeavors to speak and act after the exact manner of the character whom he impersonates. The reader aims to suggest the thought instead of imitating the original actors. An actor will go through the motion of stabbing or shooting an enemy; the reader simply aims to suggest the thought of what was done. Exercises in breathing, gesture, tone, pitch, cadence, voice may be needed for the sake of correcting defects; nevertheless, everything connected with oral reading should turn on and culminate in the stream of thought. If anything else is made the object of chief regard, the main purpose of oral reading is lost. It furnishes an excellent test by means of which the teacher can determine whether the pupil understands what he reads or is merely calling words after the manner of a parrot. To correct the unnatural tones acquired in the school-room, the pupil is wisely exhorted to read as he would talk. In the effort to develop a style of reading exactly like talking, some teachers ruin their natural way of talking and reading. In conversation, they talk as if they were trying to read. While reading, they seem to be trying to talk. The human voice is so made that it puts the quotation marks to selections recited from memory and to sentences read from a manuscript or book. As a rule, a person can read best what he himself has written; yet his voice tells whether his sentences and thoughts are framed and evolved at the moment of delivery, or taken from a manuscript prepared beforehand. As a matter of fact, no one can read as he talks or speaks. A blindfolded listener could tell when Spurgeon was reading or speaking. The same was true of Charles Sumner, and of every other great speaker America has produced.

[Sidenote: Abiding thoughts.]

To think the best thoughts of the best men is the privilege of him who can read. To plant these thoughts in other minds by reading aloud is a noble achievement. To give in speech something from our own resources that others shall treasure is nobler still, because it links our life with the creative workers of the world. But noblest of all is it to write what shall be read by our own and future generations, in our own and other lands, as a source of light and life, of uplift and enjoyment. The worst punishment that can befall a human being is to be cut off from participation in the movement of the race towards greater well-being and perfection. One naturally desires to employ his gifts and powers for the benefit of mankind. The stream of thought determines what we shall accomplish. If others are to be benefited by our thinking, they must think our thoughts. The stream of our thought must carry ideas of interest and value to them, ideas they will care to get and keep. If our thinking is busy with things of transient interest, transient will be our influence over others. If our thought is to abide, it must deal with verities of eternal moment to humanity, with the works of Him who made the heavens and the earth, with the truth of Him who is “the same yesterday, to-day, and forever.”

XVI

KINDS OF THINKING

“What we want is not the example of Democritus, who put out
his eyes that, ceasing to read, he might think the more; or
the example of Pythagoras, who devoted his evenings to solemn
reflections on the events of the day. We want men and women of
all-round activities who will set apart an hour for thought’s
own sake, and thus fulfil the exhortation of a wise man whose
practice it was to ‘sort his thoughts and label them.’”

T. S. KNOWLSON.

“People read a great deal more than they used to do,—there
is more to be read,—but they think less. The chief danger of
to-day is that of intellectual apathy. Life is so complex, the
struggle for existence is so keen, and pleasures of various
kinds so cheap and abundant, that men and women seem to live
entirely on the surface of things. What we need is a call to
independent thought.”

IBID.

XVI

KINDS OF THINKING

[Sidenote: Equivocal terms.]

[Sidenote: The term _thinking_.]

[Sidenote: Kinds of thinking.]

As was pointed out in the first chapter, the word _thinking_ has several meanings. One can hardly write or speak on education without using the word in more senses than one, and it is not always convenient to break the line of thought or discussion by indicating with a definition the meaning intended. This is a violation of Pascal’s rule, that no terms in the least obscure or equivocal shall be used without defining them. Pascal possessed one of the most remarkable intellects the world has ever known. His style has been described as a garment of light. Few thinkers have attained, to an equal degree, clearness of expression and perfect grasp of the truth. Nowhere are these qualities more essential than in lectures and treatises on teaching. It is a misfortune that so useful a word as _thinking_ should ever be ambiguous. The use of equivocal terms leads to misunderstandings in theory and faults in practice. The advantage of technical terms lies in the fact that after they have been clearly defined they can always be used in the same sense. The disadvantage in the use of technical terms is that they convey no meaning to minds unfamiliar with the terminology of the specific science to which they belong. Hence the best thinkers cannot escape the necessity of employing words in current use to convey their thoughts. As soon as words pass into common parlance they acquire a variety of meanings and of shades of meaning. The thought of a people is always more or less in advance of their vocabulary; the same word must be used in several meanings, because no other term equally simple and convenient can serve as a substitute. No one, for instance, can write or speak in the English language without using the word _is_ in both its figurative and its literal sense. The connection must show what signification is intended. The same remark applies to the word _thinking_. The connection must show whether it is used in the colloquial sense of guessing, or in the logical sense of a comparison of two ideas through their relation to a third, or in the broader sense of imaging, reflecting, and reacting upon what one reads or hears, or in a still broader sense, to designate any form of mental activity. Since the popular mind employs the word as a general term to cover the entire intellectual life, it is convenient to specify kinds of thinking by the use of adjectives like independent, loose, continuous, organic, technical, scientific, and other qualifying phrases. Inasmuch as these distinctions are made for the purpose of characterizing differences observed in the thought-processes of the maturer life for which our pupils are to be trained, it is helpful to glance at them for the purpose of seeing the bearing of what we do at school upon habits of thought beyond the school.

[Sidenote: The independent thinker.]

What is meant by an independent thinker? Evidently one who is not indebted to others for the inferences which he draws or the conclusions at which he arrives. Many practices at school are subversive of habits of independent thinking. The assignment of lessons of such length and difficulty that the weaker pupils must rely upon their stronger classmates for help, or resort to “coaches, keys, and ponies” for assistance, makes them helpless instead of self-reliant, and cultivates the memory at the expense of the understanding. The lessons should be graded so as to beget the sense of mastery. Every difficulty that is overcome by a pupil’s own efforts tends to develop in him an ambition to conquer other difficulties. Few, if any, joys can be compared with the ecstatic joy of victory. Moreover, it should be the aim of the teacher to beget in the pupil a love of truth more potent and profound than reverence for a favorite authority. On the contrary, the feeling of independence and the desire of distinction by differing from other people may grow into a passion. This seldom does much harm in the case of an editor or a professor. If you give either of them leave to criticise and to print, he is well satisfied. If he is elected to a board of managers or the national assembly, his critical faculty and his fondness for finding fault and thinking differently from other people may make him a hinderance to the leaders, who must get things done, or cause him to stand apart, like Ewald, in the German Reichstag, as a one-man party, whose views must be ignored on all questions requiring prompt action or immediate decision. To counteract this tendency in a youth of strong personality, it is difficult to devise anything better than the moulding supremacy of class-spirit, the chastening influence of a contest in the literary society, and the relentless lessons which a boy gets on the play-ground when he will not play because the game does not go his way. Independence of thought in the quest of truth, on the one hand, and concert of action for the public good, on the other, are two of the most useful lessons to be learned at school. At this point there is room for a kind of child-study apart from a syllabus of set questions, and leading to results which cannot be tabulated in statistics or averages. The average in such cases is untrue as a guide, and may be utterly subversive of correct habits of thinking, or the correct method of dealing with the individual. To give enough optional or specific work for the brightest, and not too much general or required work for the slowest, is an ideal hard to realize in the assignment of work, and yet of supreme importance in the endeavor to develop habits of independent thinking.

[Sidenote: Independent thinking and popular government.]

There is great need for independent thinking under a system of popular government, especially on the part of those who exercise the elective franchise. In the modern caucus or convention one man often does the thinking for the rest. “If he is the man whom I follow, I call him my leader. If he is the man whom you follow, I call him your boss.” When the leader or boss is not sufficiently sure of his ability to bind the others by his orders, those who have a following are invited to a conference, at which a line of action is agreed upon to relieve the multitudes of the trouble of thinking. A delegate who was giving very vociferous vent to his feelings was rebuked by a colleague, saying, “Just think where you are.” He replied with more emphasis than elegance, “I was not brought here to think, but to shout.” Independent thinking is as hard work as the average man cares to do. He craves a guide, an authority to relieve him of the trouble of thinking for himself. Outside of their particular vocation or profession it is absolutely necessary at times for the strongest intellects to accept the conclusions of other thinkers. The man who has been successful at making money, and who finds that his thinking in financial matters is trustworthy, often makes himself obnoxious by assuming that his opinions and conclusions should be accorded equal weight in every other sphere of human activity. There is no better place to teach the individual his limitations without destroying his independence as a thinker than the atmosphere of a great university.

The dependent thinker is aptly described by a writer in _Leisure Hours_ in the following language:

[Sidenote: The dependent thinker.]

“It is sometimes amusing to hear a man of this order coming out strongly with opinions which he would have you believe are thoroughly independent and original, but which you can trace directly to the source from which he got them. You could indicate those sources if it were not uncivil to do so, very much as a shrewd but not very well-behaved old gentleman is said to have indicated at church, in a tone sufficiently loud to be heard by the clergyman and the congregation, too,—which was especially galling,—the authors to whom the said clergyman had been indebted for his sermon, ‘That’s Sherlock; that’s Tillotson; that’s Jeremy Taylor.’ ‘I tell you what, fellow, if you don’t hold your tongue, I’ll have you turned out of church.’ ‘That’s his own.’”

The men who must depend upon others to do their thinking for them deserve pity and commiseration. The bureaus which thrive by furnishing essays and orations for commencements, sermons for special occasions, and even for the regularly recurring Sunday services, show how often our schools make their pupils dependent instead of self-reliant. On being cast upon the sea of life, their minds resemble a craft which has lost its rudder; they drift with wind and tide, uncertain where they shall land. Their thinking is not grounded on first principles; hence their minds reflect transient views on every question. The strong personality in the sunlight of whose influence they happened last to bask moulds their opinions and directs their intellectual life until they move into the sphere of new influences, constantly resembling those whom Randolph of Roanoke stigmatized as dough-faces because their votes were under the control of party leaders and were cast regardless of their convictions of right.

[Sidenote: Continuous thought.]

The men whom the world reveres as great thinkers have been distinguished by their ability to give continuous thought to whatever engaged their serious attention. Newton claimed that he made his discoveries by always thinking about them. His biographers relate how he would for hours remain seated upon his bed, half dressed, absorbed in thought, forgetful of his surroundings. Stories of the absent-mindedness of Socrates, Sydney Smith, Neander, Edison, and many others who attained eminence as philosophers, authors, or inventors, are interesting indeed, but they throw no light upon the way in which these men acquired their marvellous powers; they merely show a capacity for focussing all the energies of the soul upon one point to the exclusion of sense impressions from without. It is very certain that men who excel in any line of work acquire habits of concentrated and continuous thought in one direction. Very different from these are the mental habits of the boy and the average man. A writer in _Cornhill Magazine_ describes their intellectual activity as follows:

“The normal mental locomotion of even well-educated men and women (save under the spur of exceptional stimulus) is neither the flight of an eagle in the sky, nor the trot of a horse upon the road, but may better be compared to the lounge of a truant school-boy in a shady lane, now dawdling passively, now taking a hop-skip-jump, now stopping to pick blackberries, and now turning to right or left to catch a butterfly, climb a tree, or make dick-duck-drake on a pond; going nowhere in particular, and only once in a mile or so proceeding six steps in an orderly and philosophical manner.”

[Sidenote: Loose thinkers.]

[Sidenote: Organic thinking.]

The thoughts of some men resemble mosaic work. Each part is beautiful in itself, but has no inner connection with those next to it. Men of this class are called loose thinkers; it is always difficult to retain what they say. The thinking of a totally opposite class of men resembles the growth of an organism. They start from a germinal idea, which, like seed sown into good soil, begins to grow, throwing out parts which have inward connection and which together constitute an organic unity. In a machine any part can be replaced by another. In the organism no such substitution is possible. For each organ bears a life relation to the whole, and if it is wanting the unity of the organism is destroyed. Organic thinking gives the hearer the feeling that the several parts and inferences of a discourse are evolved from his inner consciousness. Having had the germ-idea in his mind, he feels as if he had held all it involves; the speaker supplied the conditions of development as the sun supplies warmth for vegetable growth. The effect of such thinking is irresistible. The branches of study which thus grow out of a fundamental idea, and show the inner relation between the subjects not as a mere sequence, but as a living organic relation, have an educative value which cannot be too highly prized. The organic thinker, if he makes himself understood, has the audience on his side; and his cogency can seldom be refuted except by showing either that his germinal idea is wrong or that his conclusions have no connection with his premises.

[Sidenote: Harris on stages of thinking.]

Dr. Harris has drawn attention to three stages of thinking. He claims that in the first stage things are regarded as the essential elements of all being, that in the second the mind discovers relations,—truly essential relations,—and that in the third stage the mind thinks the self-related. “Self-relation is the category of the reason, just as relativity is the category of the understanding, or non-relativity (atomism) the category of sense-perception.” Theoretically this distinction is important as giving us a rational basis for the knowledge of God as revealed to man. Practically, every child thinks the idea of God. Where the study of science or philosophy leads to atheism, the wish is always father to the thought.

[Sidenote: Technical and scientific thinking.]

Clifford has made a distinction between technical and scientific thinking. The former enables one to do with skill and accuracy what has been done heretofore. The latter partakes of the nature of prophecy or prediction. He claims that scientific as well as merely technical thought make use of experience to direct human action, but that while technical thought or skill enables a man to deal with the same circumstances he has met before, scientific thought enables him to deal with circumstances different from any he has met before. In his opinion, scientific thought is human progress itself. An example or two can best be given in his own language.

“If you make a dot on a piece of paper, and then hold a piece of Iceland spar over it, you will see not one dot, but two. A mineralogist, by measuring the angles of a crystal, can tell you whether or not it possesses this property without looking through it. He requires no scientific thought to do that. But Sir Rowan Hamilton, the late Astronomer Royal of Ireland, knowing these facts, and also the explanation of them which Fresnel had given, thought about the subject, and predicted that by looking through certain crystals in a particular direction we should see not two dots, but a continuous circle. Mr. Lloyd made the experiment and saw the circle, a result which had never been even suspected. This has always been considered one of the most signal instances of scientific thought in the domain of physics. It is most distinctly an application of experience gained under certain circumstances to entirely different circumstances.”[44]

Clifford compares two well-known achievements in the domain of astronomy which help to set the distinction between technical and scientific thought in a still clearer light:

“Ancient astronomers observed that the relative motions of the sun and moon recurred all over again in the same order every nineteen years. They were thus enabled to predict the time at which eclipses would take place. A calculator at one of our great observatories can do a great deal more than this. Like them, he makes use of past experience to predict the future; but he knows of a great number of other cycles besides the one of nineteen years, and takes account of all of them; and he can tell about the solar eclipse of six years hence, exactly when it will be visible, and how much of the sun’s surface will be covered at each place, and to a second at what time of the day it will begin and finish there. This prediction involves technical skill of the highest order, but it does not involve scientific thought, as any astronomer will tell you. By such calculations the place of the planet Uranus at different times of the year had been predicted and set down. The predictions were not fulfilled. Then arose Adams, and from the errors in the prediction he calculated the place of an entirely new planet that had never yet been suspected; and you all know how the new planet was actually found in that place. Now this prediction does involve scientific thought, as any one who has studied it will tell you. Here, then, are two cases of thought about the same subject, both predicting events by the application of previous experience, yet we say one is technical and the other scientific.”[45]

[Sidenote: Science as knowledge of things in their causes and relations.]

The foregoing distinction may be valuable in the training of university students whose career is to be that of original research and discovery, but it has very little value for teachers in schools of lower grade. For ordinary purposes, science is the knowledge of things in their causes and relations. If the teacher begets the habit of asking why, and makes the pupils dissatisfied with simply knowing the how and the what, he has gone far towards making them thinkers in the scientific sense of the word.

How shall the knowledge of things in their causes and relations be attained? The mind first thinks things as isolated units apart from and without reference to other things. Under the impulse to know it resolves the thing into its elements or constituent parts, and then puts them together in a more complete idea of each thing as a whole. The boy whose curiosity impels him to take apart a watch or clock is following the bent of the mind to proceed analytically. If he does not try to put the pieces together, so that the reconstructed whole will keep time as before, he needs stimulus in the direction of synthetic thinking. Soon his interest in time-pieces leads him to detect similarities between American watches and those made in Switzerland, and he learns to classify time-pieces, to see a multitude of details and peculiarities at a glance, one characteristic or peculiarity bringing to his mind the distinctive parts and construction of every watch in a given class. From the way in which a given watch keeps time, he draws inferences in regard to the entire class. This is inductive thinking. From the conclusions he has framed, he makes up his mind as to the new watch which the jeweller offers him for sale. He is now thinking deductively.

[Sidenote: Distinction between laws and causes.]

From thinking things as units, the mind passes to thinking the relations of things. The adaptation of means to ends in play, in ministering to bodily wants, occupies the mind in very early stages of thinking. The gifts of the kindergarten appeal to this tendency in the mind, and help to develop it into habit and faculty. Design and its execution, means and end, the tool and its use, the raw material and the purpose for which it is to be used, thought-material and the essay in which it is to be formulated,—these are so many ways of thinking things or ideas in their relations. Not only may a relation become a distinct object of thought, but relations between relations, classes of relations,—for instance, in simple and compound proportion,—can thus be made to stand apart before the mind as distinct objects of thought. The most important of all these relations is that of cause and effect. How things come to be, their origin and development, the forces that make them what they are, are the questions of profound and abiding interest to the scientific mind. Laws are often spoken of as if they were causes. A law is a generalized statement of an invariable sequence of things or motions of things. We sometimes personify these sequences, and speak of them as if they were forces in nature. The laws are personified, as if they were conscious beings demanding obedience, and inflicting punishment for disobedience. The consciousness of the personification is lost, and then along with spelling nature with a capital letter, we fall into the mistake of making laws stand for the Maker and Creator of all things. Furthermore, it is very important to distinguish the ground of knowledge from causes that are operative in the world outside of mind. The rain of last night caused the streets to be muddy; but the condition of the streets, an effect of rainfall, may be the ground of our knowledge that it must have rained last night. The fact that the earth is flattened at the poles, or, in other words, that its curvature is less at the poles than at the equator, explains the fact that degrees of latitude get longer as we approach the poles. The former is the cause, the latter is an effect. But the mind drew the former as an inference from the determination of degrees of latitude by actual measurement. The effect became the ground of knowledge. Frequently the cause is known or inferred from its effect. That which is causal in the world of mind is effect in the world outside of mind; and that which is effect in nature becomes the ground of knowledge in the processes of thought. From this point as vantage-ground, we spy the land in which thinking becomes knowing.

XVII

THINKING AND KNOWING

When a man’s knowledge is not in order, the more of it he has
the greater will be his confusion of thought. When the facts
are not organized into faculty, the greater the mass of them
the more will the mind stagger along under its burden, hampered
instead of helped by its acquisitions.

H. SPENCER.

That knowledge cannot be gained without more or less of correct
and prolonged thinking is a practical maxim which no one would
be found to dispute. But that there is much knowledge which
does not come by _mere_ thinking is a maxim scarcely more to
be held in doubt. Thinking is, then, universally recognized
as an important and even necessary part of knowing; but it is
not the whole of knowing. Or, in other words, one must make
use of one’s faculties of thought as an indispensable means
to cognition; but there are other means which must also be
employed, since it is not by thought alone that the human mind
attains cognition.

LADD’S “PHILOSOPHY OF KNOWLEDGE,” page 130.

XVII

THINKING AND KNOWING

One morning a teacher was awakened by a noise, the like of which he had never heard and hopes never to hear again. It was unlike anything in his former experience. Soon he began to distinguish the hissing of steam and the moaning of men, but the cause was still a mystery. Later, he learned that the blast furnace in the neighborhood had exploded, and that several men were killed and others had been seriously injured by the explosion.

[Sidenote: Interpretation of sense-impressions.]

The cause of the noise could not be inferred, because there was nothing in his former experience with which it could be compared. The escaping steam and the voices of the suffering workmen were recognized because they could be interpreted in the light of what he had seen and heard before. In order that any one may derive definite knowledge from sense-impressions, there must be something in past experience to give meaning to the new experience.

Observation that issues in knowing is coupled with a process of thought in which the new perception is linked to the ideas which the mind brings to the perception. In other words, observation always involves the element of thinking; without thinking, sense-impressions cannot give us knowledge.

Knowing is impossible without thinking, and yet not all thinking gives ripe to knowing. What is the relation between the two?

[Sidenote: What is knowledge?]

Knowledge has been defined as firm belief in what is true on sufficient ground. The explanation of this definition which Locke gives is well known to every student of philosophy. “If any one is in _doubt_ respecting one of Euclid’s demonstrations, he cannot be said to _know_ the proposition proved by it; if again he is fully _convinced_ of anything that is not true, he is mistaken in supposing himself to know it; lastly, if two persons are each _fully confident_, one that the moon is inhabited, and the other that it is not (though one of these opinions must be true), neither of them could properly be said to _know_ the truth, since he cannot have sufficient _proof_ of it.”[46]

[Sidenote: Belief.]