The centennial of the University of Virginia, 1819-1921 the proceedings of the Centenary celebration, May 31 to June 3, 1921 |
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| V. | V. The Collegiate Alumni |
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 | THE FOURTH DAY The centennial of the University of Virginia, 1819-1921 |  |
V. The Collegiate Alumni
THE ACADEMIC SCHOOLS OF THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA
By William Harrison Faulkner, Ph.D.
In the time at my disposal, it is naturally impossible to give anything
like a history of a century of development in the academic schools of the
University. Nor can I consider the response in their growth to external
conditions. I must limit myself to discussing what seem to me the internal
causes affecting this development. These internal causes can be studied
most systematically in the varying requirements for graduation and degrees.
From this standpoint our discussion may be divided into five periods, viz.:
1. The Period of Jeffersonian Ideals, 1825-1831.
2. The Period of the Master of Arts of the University of Virginia, 18311890.
3. The Period of Transition, 1890-1900.
a. To the Undergraduate College.
b. To the Graduate School.
4. The Period of Full Undergraduate Growth and Development, 19001921.
5. The Period of Future Graduate Growth, 1920-
The original Enactments of the Visitors, written by Jefferson and
printed in 1825 (before the faculty had been installed), are, as it were, the
Jeffersonian constitution of the University, under which its great founder
expected it to function and develop. The distinctive and even revolutionary
characteristics of this constitution are, first, the independence, the
autonomy, of the individual school; second, the advanced nature and the
extensive character of the instruction to be given; and third, the freedom of
the individual student to select any course or courses for which he might be
prepared. Under this constitution the University was a federation of sovereign
and allied institutions rather than a single organism. In matters of
discipline only and in the conferring of diplomas did the federal law take
precedence of the rights reserved to the states. With the one exception of
the School of Law, the head of a school was the sole and final arbiter as to
the guiding principle.
In the list of subjects to be taught in the individual schools, one is
immediately struck both by the advanced and specialized nature of the
courses to be offered and by the broad conception of the field of learning
allotted to each school. In the schools of Ancient and Modern Languages
were to be taught not only the language and literature, but also the history
and geography, the political and social institutions, the economic conditions,
ancient and modern, of the nations whose languages were studied,—as a
matter of fact, philology in its widest sense. The school of Natural Philosophy
was to give instruction in the whole realm of modern physics, and in
mechanics, geology, mineralogy, botany, and astronomy, that of Mathematics
in all branches of Pure and Applied Mathematics, including surveying,
engineering, and navigation. The school of Moral Philosophy comprised
not only Logic, Ethics, Psychology and Metaphysics, but also
courses in Criticism, Belles Lettres, and Political Economy. The School of
Chemistry was most restricted in its field, being limited to Chemistry and
Materia Medica, the latter, however, being especially for students of medicine.
As is well known, Jefferson's original complete plan included a system
of state-supported commonschools, a group of ten state colleges, and the
University as the apex of his pyramid. When it became evident that circumstances,
political, social, and economic, made impracticable the carrying-out
of the whole scheme, the University alone was retained. The
pyramid was to begin with the apex, the educational arch with the keystone.
Whether such topsy-turvy architecture possessed a validity in the
world of ideas, failing it in the realm of space, time alone could show. In fact,
for over two generations the history of academic schools is that of a constant
effort to build downward, to adapt themselves to a very slowly growing foundation
and thus save the structure from the usual fate of castles in the air.
For Jefferson, uninfluenced by his failure to establish state colleges as
feeders, adhered to the university conception of the institution, as distinguished
from the collegiate; rather a university of instruction, however,
than of research.
And here I feel I must attempt to clear up what seems to me an almost
universal misunderstanding. The freedom in choice of courses given the
individual student was not the so-called elective curriculum, later appearing
as a revolutionary innovation in undergraduate colleges. It was a necessary
concomitant of the University as distinguished from the colleges,—the
Lehrfreiheit of the student as a complement to the Lehrfreiheit of the
professor. Jefferson cannot be called the inventor, or, as some would put it,
the instigator, of unrestricted election in undergraduate education.
Nor was his university, as has sometimes been asserted, a university
![illustration](https://iiif.lib.virginia.edu/iiif/uva-lib:180669/full/!1600,1600/0/default.jpg")
The Lawn and Cabell Hall from Top of Rotunda
of Doctor and of Graduate. Though not so limited in the Enactments,
the Doctor's diploma was from the beginning restricted to graduates in all
the courses applying to the practice of medicine, and so does not concern us
here. The degree of Graduate in its original application has been frequently
misunderstood. It was not given to any student who merely attained
the first division (the term "passed" is of much later origin) in a senior
course in any school, or in all the courses in the school. This merely qualified
the student as an applicant for candidacy for the degree. The degree
was conferred on the basis of a special examination for graduation. The
scope of these examinations is described in the faculty minutes, and in
addition the actual examination given is outlined in presenting the report
on each individual candidate to the faculty. The examination oral and
written covered every phase of the subject and is essentially the rigorosa of
the German Ph.D., rigorously interpreted. Moreover the original Enactments
provided: "But no diploma shall be given to anyone, who has not
passed such an examination in the Latin Language as shall have proved him
able to read the highest classics in that language with ease, thorough understanding,
and just quantity. And if he be also prepared in Greek, let that
also be stated in the Diploma." The reasons given for this are interesting
as indicating Jefferson's conception of "a well-educated man," and also
what his opinion of any elective system which omitted Latin and Greek
would have been. The regulation continues: "The intention being that
the reputation of the University shall not be committed but to those who,
to an eminence in some one or more of the sciences taught in it, add a proficiency
in those languages which constitute the basis of a good education
and are indispensable to fill up the character of a `well-educated man.' "
This practically amounted to requiring of a graduate in any school or the
recipient of any diploma the completion of Senior Latin and, by implication,
also of Senior Greek. We shall see that it was so interpreted in the case
of each graduate with diploma (including M.D.'s) until the establishment of
the M.A. degree. We shall also see that the graduates of this first period
did not apply for candidacy for the degree until they had attained the first
division in the senior course of the school for two sessions, and that each of
them had regularly won previous to the conferring of the degree similar
distinction at intermediate and final examinations in course in four other
schools, including Latin and, in all cases but one (Grad. in Chem.), also
Greek. By subsequent enactment (April, 1828), the faculty added an
English Examination, to be required of all candidates. This consisted of a
composition of not less than twenty-five lines, on some subject from the
course in which the candidate applied for graduation, and of an examination
in syntax and orthography. It was held before the entire faculty. The
years, and actually was not. Such a degree was what we think of as a
Ph.D., minus a dissertation or thesis. The latter was required only of the
doctors of medicine, and included also the public defense of the thesis, if
the candidate was called on.
Let us see now the working out of these three characteristics of a
university in application to contemporary conditions. Mr. Gilmer had
been eminently successful in his hunt for "characters of the first order."
No new institution of the time could have shown a more competent faculty.
And this faculty proceeded rigorously to put into effect the constitution
drawn up for its guidance and control. The autonomy of the individual
school and the academic freedom of instruction caused no trouble. Quite
otherwise the academic freedom of the student. It became almost immediately
evident that only a few students of exceptional ability and
unusual advantages in preparatory education were willing or able to profit
by university instruction and academic freedom, if success in examination is
a criterion of such profit. The number of students attaining distinction in
examinations in course was very small year by year, and after three sessions
only six made application for the degree of Graduate in a School.
An examination of the record of these first graduates of the University
will show how strictly the stated requirements for graduation were observed
and also the advanced nature of the examinations for graduation. May 31,
1828 was set as the last day on which application for degrees might be made.
The nine applicants (three for M.D.) were examined in English the same
day. All were accepted, though one was recalled and reëxamined, as there
seemed some doubt as to his qualification. The examinations for graduation
began on the fourth Monday in June and the results were reported
to the faculty and the degrees conferred on the 14th and 17th of July. Four
examinations of two hours each were held in Greek: two in writing, on
Euripides, Herodotus, Thucydides, and Xenophon, and on Greek prosody,
especially the trochaic, iambic, and anapæstic of tragedy; two on Greek
history, geography, and philology; and an oral on Xenophon. The two
examinations on Mathematics were held on separate days and consisted
of questions selected from one hundred examples from Peacock's Collection
of Examples in Differential and Integral Calculus, and of questions chosen by
the faculty from La Place's Traité de Mécanique Céleste and from Coddington's
Optics. The two examinations in Chemistry of two hours each
covered the following topics: the Rationale of all Chemical Operations; the
Elements of Practical Chemistry, more particularly with respect to the use
of Tests and Apparatus; Nomenclature; Laws of Composition; Applications
of Chemistry; History of the Science. In addition the candidates in
Chemistry were required to furnish a week before examination a written
upon, the existing theories respecting them, and to write by dictation upon
subjects connected with Chemical Technology. Each candidate had attained
eminence for two sessions in the senior course of the school in which he
graduated. In addition each had passed on four other senior courses. These
in every case included Senior Latin, and in every case but one Senior Greek.
This then was the academic degree system in theory and practice until
the M.A. was instituted. I have gone into it in some detail, because the
three principles involved: the autonomy and independence of the individual
school; the high standard for graduation with almost exclusive emphasis on
the senior courses; and the freedom in choice of studies allowed to the
student, dominated the development of the academic courses for nearly
three quarters of a century and influences it strongly even to-day.
It had become evident that the degree of Graduate in a School either
could or would be sought by only about one student in twenty. In 1828,
the year in which these first diplomas were conferred, began in the faculty
the discussion of a more general and coördinated degree. Three years later
the Master of Arts of the University of Virginia was superimposed on the
degree of Graduate. From the scanty records available of the discussion
preceding the recommendation of the degree, the faculty seems to have
intended by it to obviate the disadvantages of study without fixed plan—in
other words, to supply a curriculum. The degree of Graduate in a School, as
originally conferred, was beyond the powers of nine out of ten of the students.
This new degree required graduation in all six schools, a total of eight senior
courses, as Latin and Greek were both required in Ancient Languages, and
one Romanic and one Germanic tongue in Modern Languages. As three
schools a year had already become the standard maximum of work undertaken
by each student, the degree could not be taken in less than three
sessions, and then only if the student entered prepared to take senior courses
in all subjects but one.
At first there was no abatement in the difficult standard of graduation
in the individual school, except that Latin was no longer rquired as a
qualification for the diploma. The distinction between examinations for
graduation and examinations for distinction was still made. In addition,
the candidate had also to stand before graduation a general examination in
all courses required for the degree, and show by examination a satisfactory
knowledge of English, and also to prepare a graduation essay or thesis.
These last three requirements, however, were gradually relaxed in severity
and finally abolished.
There still remained, however, the most striking characteristic of the
degree,—the almost exclusive emphasis placed on the senior courses. This
seems to have had two effects,—disregard of the educational importance of
required in the higher ones as the number of academic schools increased.
Prior to the period of the development of the sciences as educational
subjects, only two additions were made to Jefferson's original six academic
schools. From the beginning the University had been subject to criticism
because it offered no specific instruction in English and General History.
Jefferson probably considered that History would be sufficiently provided
for in the schools of Ancient and Modern Languages, and that the courses
in Latin and Greek would afford adequate training in English composition
while the course in Anglo-Saxon would teach the history and development
of the language. From the beginning, however, the faculty imposed an
additional English requirement. Finally in 1856-57, the establishment of
the School of History and Literature was announced, with that most versatile
of scholars, George Frederick Holmes, as Professor. At first, the
instruction was for the most part in English Composition, with lectures on
Literature, but gradually, the interest of the head of the school shifted to
General History and Sociology, with consequent change in the courses offered.
Its courses were not listed among those required for the M.A. until after
1856, so that the requirements of the degree remained unchanged until then.
The second new school made no increase in the courses given. By
1857 the number of students in Latin and Greek was so great as to be beyond
the strength of a single professor, even with two or three assistant-instructors.
In 1858, therefore, Basil L. Gildersleeve was elected Professor
of Greek, and the School of Greek created as an independent school. The
precedent thus established, that the creation of a new professorship meant
the establishment of a new independent school, was closely adhered to until
1905. The logical development of Jefferson's broadly conceived academic
schools would have been the creation of professors of individual subjects in a
school, without further subdivision. This departure seems to the writer
to have been unfortunate. It weakened the individual school. It led to
lack of coördination in the programmes, both undergraduate and graduate,
subsequently established. And the principle of the independence and equal
importance of the academic schools, now applied to what should have been
minor subdivisions, produced an impossible multiplication of subjects
required for the "old M.A," and even for the first real undergraduate degree
established, so that freedom of election amounted to little more than a
choice (frequently unwise) of the chronological order in which the required
courses could be taken.
In connection with the School of Greek comes the first indication that
the degree of Graduate in a School was no longer the highest conception of
specialized academic study. In 1859-60, the School of Greek announces
the formation of "a post-graduate department, in which graduates and
with Greek literature under the personal direction of the Professor. The
course embraces such of the higher Greek classics, as are unsuited, either by
form or by subject, for the general instruction: e.g.: Æschylus (sic),
Aristophanes, Aristotle, Hesiod, Pindar, Theocritus." Seven graduates in
Greek of the previous session entered it, among these Launcelot M. Blackford,
later the most distinguished preparatory-school principal of the South,
and H. H. Harris, afterward Professor of Greek in Richmond College.
When the close of the Civil War allowed the wounded veteran to return to
the University, Professor Gildersleeve resumed the post-graduate course.
It continued to enroll from half a dozen to a dozen graduates annually, and
was, so far as I have been able to discover, the first graduate course, in the
modern sense, offered in an American university. In 1867 a similar "postgraduate
department" in the School of Latin was announced by Professor
William E. Peters.
In spite of its long history and the fanatic reverence shown it, even
by those students who could never hope to obtain it, "the old M.A." did
not fulfill the purpose with which the faculty established it, nor was it suited
to educational needs. It was too general for graduate work and yet the
courses required were too advanced for the great mass of academic students.
By depreciating the esteem in which the degree of Graduate in a School was
originally held, it lowered the high standard of graduation in the individual
school, without producing, in compensation, courses suited to the great
majority of the students. Finally, it was so difficult that scarcely one
student out of twenty could ever hope to obtain it or actually did. In
consequence the other nineteen lacked, while students, the sense of organic
connection with the University which a candidate for a degree has; were
without the added incentive to successful work which this gives; saw no
especial academic inducement for more than a session or two of study;
and, leaving without a degree, had not, as alumni, that feeling of continuing
membership in the living organism of the University which a degree gives.
The faculty was not unaware of these defects. In 1848 it established
a B.A. degree, but one that shows how difficult it was to break with the
tradition of the overweening importance of the senior courses, especially in
Latin and Greek, and the independence and equal sovereignty of the academic
schools. It required graduation in all but two schools and a proficiency
in the junior courses of the remaining two, and was therefore almost as difficult
as the M.A. Despite this it seems to have been regarded as a contemptible
consolation prize. At any rate, few students ever applied for it.
After the Civil War, during the period in which schools of Biology and
Agriculture, Analytical and Industrial Chemistry, and Geology were
established, repeated efforts were made to break from the "old M.A.'s"
at one time three in addition to the B.A.,—were instituted. None "took,"
so to speak. All suffered the fate of the first B.A. The addition of new
schools, with new M.A. courses, as they had now come to be called, only
increased the impracticability of the Master of Arts degree.
Despite this, the development of the University continued, a development
that must be attributed to the ability, scholarship, and personality of
the individual professors rather than to any coördinated educational plan.
Nor were these qualities confined to the lecture-room. Two of the faculty
became, through their books, great popular educators. The names of
McGuffey and Holmes carried the reputation of the University into almost
every primary school in the country. In addition to this, Professor Holmes
quickly became one of the most prolific and versatile of publicists, his versatility
being only equaled by the soundness and depth of his scholarship.
Dr. Mallet began the publication of those articles which were to make his
name familiar to every chemist, while Professor Schele de Vere's publications
in linguistics and etymology gave the University international standing in
these rapidly developing sciences, and Courtenay's Calculus was long a standard
work in this branch of mathematics. To the weight of scholarship and
learning in these and other members of the faculty was added the energizing
force of the strong and distinctive personality of each individual.
Nor would I imply that the great mass of academic students, who went
away without degree, were on this account uneducated. Their training
had resembled that which one acquires in the contacts of real life in the
world rather than the coördinated discipline of a curriculum. They had
been educated by personalities rather than subjects. And the man who had
"had" "old Pete" or Colonel Venable or Basil Gildersleeve, or Dr. Mallet or
Professor Smith may have failed on Latin, Mathematics, Greek or Physics,
but he had learned something that none of these subjects alone could have
taught him. Moreover, the students of this middle period, particularly in
the ante bellum decade, had an intellectual stimulus, which their present
successors seem to me to have lost They belonged to a governing class,—
an aristocracy, if you will. Almost without exception, each one could look
forward, in one way or another, to direct power in political life. Their reading,
as shown in the library records, their work in the literary societies, even
their daily conversation, so far as we have record of it, reflects this. In
this respect they resembled rather the students of Oxford and Cambridge,
those universities of English diplomacy and statesmanship, than the student-body
of the modern American college. Their history in after life shows that
education and leadership are not matters of a degree.
The twenty years, approximately 1870-90, closing the life of the old
M.A., are characterized by certain salient features. First, the growth
shifting of emphasis from Latin and Greek to Modern Languages, English,
and History. With each professorship a new school was established,—
independent and of equal importance with its sister sovereignties. The
M.A. was thus threatening to topple over from its own weight. Finally,
after a long and acrimonious conflict with alumni, the faculty recommended
in 1890 its abolition. In its place were instituted a new B.A., requiring
passing on nine intermediate courses, classified into groups of related subjects,
and a new M.A., conferred on B.A.'s who passed on four additional
senior courses. For the first time in the history of the University the distinction
was made between undergraduate and graduate courses, and the
foundation laid for a college.
At first, as was to be expected, the new baccalaureate degree was
strongly influenced by the conception of the importance and comprehensive
character of the work of the individual school. The small number of
courses required for it, as compared with baccalaureate degrees in other
colleges, was based on the assumption that concentration on three subjects
in a single session was better educationally than to cover the same ground in
each subject in two sessions, at the rate of from five to six courses a year.
Experience proved, however, that this was a mistake, and in 1911 all the old
intermediate courses (now designated B courses) except those in laboratory
sciences, were divided into B1 and B2 courses of a year each. The baccalaureate
degree thus became the normal 60 session-hour degree of the
standard American college, and the differentiation between the College and
the Graduate school was fully established.
During this period of transition,—indeed at its very beginning,—an
addition of transcendent importance was made to the number of academic
schools: the foundation in 1892 of the Linden Kent Memorial School of
English Literature, with Professor Charles W. Kent as its first professor.
The school of English, established in 1882, had not been a success, and the
undergraduate students were without systematic training in English composition
and Rhetoric and Modern English Literature. To a group of
alumni, who knew Dr. Kent and most of whom were students under him, it
is not necessary to emphasize the astounding development in these allimportant
subjects, that is due to his scholarship, educational statesmanship,
unremitting industry, high standard of work, and enthusiastic and
inspiring personality.
With the differentiation of undergraduate from graduate courses
begins also the period of close connection between the University and the
public-school system of the state, dreamed by Jefferson but so long denied
fruition. Its first sympton was the institution and growth of so-called A1
courses in foreign languages, English, and Mathematics, to fill in the gap
B.A. courses in the University. From this time on the coördination between
the state's secondary and higher education gradually becomes perfected.
In one particular, however, the 60-hour baccalaureate degree from 1911
still showed the influence of the independence and equal importance of the
individual academic school of the old M.A. Each school, new or old, desired
and frequently claimed, directly or indirectly, equal representation in the
degree programme. This led to such multiplication of small groups of
required subjects that the student's election of studies amounted to not much
more than a choice of the chronological order in which the required subjects
might be taken. This defect has been removed by the new baccalaureate
programme, effective next session, which provides for fundamental subjects
in the first two sessions, free election during the last two, and for concentration
by requiring that the candidate shall have completed in one
school a C course to which six hours, or two B courses, are prerequisite.
In conclusion I would sum up by saying that we have freed ourselves
from the mere letter of the original Enactments, but have remained true to
their spirit. After a century the apex of the pyramid has not been lowered
but has built downward to a firm foundation, the keystone has developed the
arch. And the result is not a dead structure, but a living organism, capable
of almost infinite growth.
A prophet is notoriously without honor in his own country. From
prophecy I would therefore refrain. I would state only what seem to me the
two general problems which the academic schools must now face and solve:
first, the evolution of some plan, which will give both stimulus and recognition
to the undergraduate student of unusual ability and special intellectual
interests: something in the nature of the Honors Schools at Oxford; and
second, the development of the graduate department, with its masters' and
doctors' degrees, into a great fountain-head of scholarship and productive
research, in keeping with the ideal of our great founder.
In the papers to be read before the separate sections, I feel sure we may
hope to find the method of approach and solution of these two problems.
I. The Language and Literature Group
THE PRESENT CRISIS IN MODERN LANGUAGE INSTRUCTION
By Robert Herndon Fife, Ph.D., Columbia University
The bromidic remark, heard very often three years ago, that "things
will never be the same after the war" has proved as true a prediction in the
field of modern language instruction as in other fields. The war seemed at
first to bring an immense increase of interest in our subject. For the first
its sharp linguistic divisions and rivalries. To hundreds of thousands of
young Americans, French ceased to be a memory of the school bench or an
unreal tradition of something far off and unknown and became the daily
speech of comrades in trench and field and of a citizenry bound to ourselves
in the daily routine of a common cause. German, somewhat more often
heard here as a living language, and consequently more vital to us, was no
longer merely the vernacular of handworker or cheese-and-butter merchant,
but became the expression of the spirit, living in the mouth of prisoner or
captor, of a nation in arms, seeking to destroy our ideals. Italian and Polish,
Russian and Bohemian, Servian and Roumanian and Greek, all shot into
reality and half a dozen more tongues forced themselves as living organisms
into the consciousness of the youth of America, which up to that time had
scarcely dreamed of their existence.
The first result of all this was to demonstrate how insufficient and unpractical
our instruction in the modern languages had been. Young men
and women, who had spent precious years in the acquisition of what they
fondly imagined was a practical knowledge of the French language, found
themselves face to face with Frenchmen and unable to understand the first
word or express the most urgent want, and even months of intercourse
with the people of the country was insufficient to do more than supply the
means of conveying the simplest daily needs, because of the lack of a proper
basis of training in idiom and vocabulary.
One immediate consequence of the declaration of war was a tremendous
growth of interest in the language of the associated nation on whose soil
the western front was drawn. In camp and cantonment, in school and club
the size of the classes in French depended only on the number of available
teachers. These teachers were often blind leaders of the blind; but if they
had been the most expert of their profession, the conditions under which
they had to work could have made anything like real success out of the
question. For it now became generally clear, something which of course
was known already to the trained teacher, that the use of a modern language
for any practical purpose is an art which, to be acquired successfully,
needs the plasticity of youth and a perseverance and method which the
crowded months of the war could not admit. The urgent days of the
struggle and of repatriation of the forces did little more for the study of the
foreign modern languages than to show the defects in our system.
This revelation of defect was, however, of sanitary value, for it came at
a time when America's changed position as a result of the Great War put a
practical knowledge of the modern languages among the absolute imperatives
of national security. Whatever currents may flow on the surface of
the political waters, however politicians who have been washed to the top
short-sighted selfishness with smug platitudes about America's national
interests, the intertwining of our affairs with those of Europe cannot be
undone. Economic forces as irresistible as those geological changes that
come with the cooling of the planetary crust have set us down among
Frenchmen and Italians and Germans and Poles and Czechs and Russians
and have made us industrially dependent on these peoples. Heretofore it
has been simply the bonds of a common civilization that have held us to the
Continent, and these have been drawn mainly through England. From
now on it is the life cords of economic preservation and national development
which unite our banks and farms and factories to the capitals and
commercial centers of every European country. We have recently witnessed
the effort, more or less disguised, of both former associates and foes
to make America out of its wealth pay the cost of the outbreak of European
jealousy and ambition. We may rest assured that unless we are fully
equipped for defense in the field of international finance and commerce, we
shall not only find ourselves paying the German indemnity and rebuilding
France but left behind in the planetary race for commerce which is even now
being staged.
Unfortunately also, the war has brought about changes in modern
language instruction which have left us poorly prepared to face the present
crisis. German has been very largely driven from the schools. This came
as a result of conditions which brought us into the conflict and through the
impulsive character of our national temperament; but the consequences
have been none the less destructive and from the standpoint of national
strength deplorable, for in 1917 German was, as a rule, the best taught of the
foreign languages and as a branch of secondary school and collegiate instruction
was in many parts of the country on the way to develop a methodology
of teaching at least on a par with that of the better English schools
and not far below that of the Continental schools themselves. French
was immediately lifted into a position of tremendous importance, with the
resulting overcrowding of classes. Teachers, whose sole equipment consisted
of some knowledge of the French verbs and the buoyant disposition
that came with the outburst of national enthusiasm, were put in charge of
classes where overcrowding would have made success impossible under the
most experienced instructor. Spanish, which five years ago was scarcely
known as a high school subject in the New England, North Atlantic, and
Middle Western states has, through the indifference of school directors and
as a result of an unheard-of propaganda, been given an importance among
school subjects which is far out of proportion to its cultural and scientific
value, and in most sections of our country in no relation whatever
to its commercial significance. As a matter of course, no consideration
Many men and women, formerly efficient teachers of German, have become
inefficient and discouraged teachers of Spanish. While it must be said of
these that they have at least had some general pedagogical experience in
modern language instruction, which may in part compensate for an ignorance
of Spanish, a great number of the newly recruited teachers of Spanish
lacks even this asset.
It would be bad enough if we had simply destroyed our former values.
We have done more. We have shaken the confidence of school superintendents
and the public generally in the teaching of the modern languages.
From every side comes the statement that pupils are discouraged and
unwilling to continue the subject, that school principals have either reduced
the already insufficient time assigned to the modern languages or threaten
to eliminate them altogether, that school committees are not sympathetic,
that parents are restive and want to see their children taught something
where demonstrably useful results may be obtained.
It must be said that the attitude of certain modern language teachers is
not of a character to recommend the subjects which they represent. At a
time when the value of violent and persistent propaganda has been demonstrated
to a sufficiency in every country in the world, the modern language
teacher has not failed to note the lesson and has cried his wares with an
insistency that does credit to a commercial age. The German teacher, to
be sure, has been under the shadow; but with the coming of technical peace
he may be trusted to rush to the fore with the others. In the meantime the
representatives of French have found conditions most favorable. The
Spanish and Latin propagandists have fought merrily over the bones of
German instruction and proclaimed the value of their substitute with
unhalting voice. The advocates of Russia were warming up for an advance
on the schools in 1917, when certain events in St. Petersburg brought their
advance to a sudden halt. Italian has a small but vociferous band of devotees.
Brazilian trade,—or its promise,—brought Portuguese to the fore
in certain cities, while the nationalistic urge from Ireland and commercial
prospects in the Orient have led to an enthusiastic demand that the schools
teach Gaelic and Chinese. In the larger cities of the East there are signs
that Poles and Czechs and Jugo-Slavs look yearningly toward a share in the
modern language programs of the schools supported by public funds.
Under these circumstances it is inevitable that the public mind should
be greatly confused as to the purpose of modern language study. The
nationalistic propaganda which the war has so much intensified fills the air
with its watchwords and seeks to make a battle-ground of our American
schools. Even those who should be able to take an expert and objective
view of education are often unclear in their own minds as to the object of
taught, so that the average teacher is left without any proper idea of purpose
and method. School committees and school principals, all too ready to
yield to local political and quasi-political pressure, are without direction or
leadership and swing with the emotional currents of the day. In view of this
chaotic condition, it may be proper in the few minutes remaining to me to
formulate some ideas on this matter. Aside from the importance of the
national crisis, there are two considerations which make the discussion of the
problem peculiarly proper on this occasion. First, the great interest which
Mr. Jefferson took in instruction in the modern languages both at William
and Mary and at this institution, which was the first in America to teach the
modern languages as carefully as the classical; and, secondly, the distinguished
position which the graduates of this University have taken in the
service of the nation. It is from this standpoint, that of service to the
country rather than that of benefit to be derived by the individual, that
the subject should be viewed in the present crisis.
From this viewpoint, then, there are three purposes from which the
study of modern languages derives importance: for trade and commerce,
for scientific research, and for national culture. I need make no apology
at the present time for placing the cultivation of our national trade in the
first position, since through its success alone can the national bases of wealth
and progress be made permanent. It is not necessary to point out that the
time has passed when we can hope to be self-dependent, either as an industrial
nation or as a producer of raw materials. It is well known that even
before the war the United States was organized industrially to a point where
foreign markets had become a necessity for our factories, and the years from
1914-1918 speeded up this organization until not merely the prosperity,
but even the solvency of great communities in the New England and North
Atlantic states and the Middle West depend on gaining foreign markets.
It is also too well known to repeat that the war has made us a creditor
nation, something which creates an entirely new dependency on the maintenance
of intimate relations with Europe and the Orient. In the race for
the world's business we shall now have to strike into a faster pace than
that which marked our easy-going methods of seven or eight years ago.
This is perfectly clear to those who will look across the two oceans and see
how the nations of the world are stripping themselves for the conflict.
The knowledge of foreign languages was not the least of the assets which
Germany possessed before the war and by means of which she was able to
elbow her way into the front rank of exporting nations after 1895. That
is a lesson which England especially has learned from her rival. The
appointment of a committee to investigate modern studies, by Mr. Asquith
in 1916, and its important report show how fully the eyes of the British had
enjoyed in this field before the war. Unless American banks and exporters
and importers can find young Americans who have laid at least a sound basis
for the command of the leading languages of commerce, they will have to
entrust their trade commissions and trade secrets to foreigners. In the race
for primacy in trade the two great rivals whom we shall meet in every market
are the British and Germans, both of whom have through their geographical
position superior advantages in learning modern languages. We
must not be deceived by the fact that we enjoy for the present advantages in
capital and the disposal of raw materials. The time is not distant when
American business will have to meet the foreign trader on a battle-ground
where educational equipment will count as heavily as material assets.
The second great national demand in modern language instruction
comes in the field of scientific research. Both in the natural sciences and
the human sciences America has to create and maintain the bases
of national greatness. In the steel industry, in textiles, in the chemical
trades and in every branch of electrical technique and agricultural chemistry
and biology, an up-to-date knowledge of the languages of the other
great producing nations is in a new sense a part of the alphabet of the
scientist. The war has made the sciences more truly international than ever
and has welded into an indissoluble union laboratory experiment and
national production, both agricultural and industrial. No nation can
afford to rest its knowledge of what is being accomplished in foreign laboratories
to any great extent on the circumlocutory methods of translation.
Its scholars, down to the last laboratory assistant, must be trained in at
least the chief languages of research. If this is true of the physical scientist,
it is equally true of the historian, the economist, and the philosopher. The
possibilities of national culture and the ability for leadership depend on the
ability to take part in the great international exchange of ideas with those
nations which aspire to leadership in civilization.
National greatness depends not only on factory and farm, on scientist's
laboratory and scholar's study. It depends also upon the ability of
the great mass of educated men and women, especially such molders of
public opinion as clergymen, journalists, and political leaders, to share
at least to some extent, in the culture of other peoples. Some one has said
that while training makes men better citizens, culture makes them better
men. No nation, least of all America, can live to itself. We believe ourselves
engaged in the creation of a peculiar and original type of national
culture, but the whole basis for it in school and college is that European
culture from whose loins our own has sprung. In this sense our national
history is the prolongation of the history of England, Holland, France,
Germany, Italy, and Spain, and to some extent of the Scandinavian North.
and Goethe. Our drama is sprung from the stock of the English stage,
from Shakespere to Shaw, but also from the French realists and Ibsen
and Hauptmann. Our novel traces a long line of ancestors, which include
not only Fielding and Thackeray, but also Cervantes and Mérimée. No
American national culture is thinkable that does not rest on what is best and
most characteristically national in the civilization of Western Europe,
none that does not keep step with the philosophical, political, and economic
theory and the belletristic literature of the great peoples across the Atlantic.
The question as to the choice of modern languages for study in the
American schools and colleges is not one that can be decided a priori.
America is large and the various contacts with its continental and trans-marine
neighbors make varying demands on its business and professional
life. A very strong reason for the study of Spanish exists in the Gulf States
and Southwestern states. The importance of the Oriental trade makes it
advisable to give especial attention on the Pacific coast to the languages of
the Far East. Nevertheless, for the great bulk of American youth the question
has to be decided on broadly national grounds, with a full consciousness
of the great significance of the decision. As a rule our schools can offer no
more than two foreign languages and they do well, indeed, if they can give
efficient instruction in these. In comparison with this last consideration, the
quality of instruction, all others are of secondary importance. It is much
better to do French or German well, for instance, than to try to do French and
German, or French, German and Spanish, as has been tried in many poorly
equipped schools. It must be remembered that while each language has
concrete values and peculiar charm, when a choice is made, regard must be
had to all the factors of national service that have been outlined above.
Thus, while Italian ranks very high for the student of literature and perhaps
also of the theory of the State, its value in other fields is in so far negligible
that it cannot come into consideration where the limit is two languages for
the average high school boy or college boy. It must be emphasized also
that our schools and colleges teach a European history and civilization and
that we live to a great degree from a foreign trade that is in the main European,
though increasingly Latin-American and Oriental. In the economy of
educational life we are driven to confine ourselves to those languages which
open widest the door to all sides of business and cultural possibilities.
For purposes of general culture French stands first for the American
student as for the youth of every people in Europe. The justice of this is so
generally recognized by all who have any knowledge of the history of
Europe since the Crusades and of present-day European conditions that it
seems unnecessary to enlarge upon it. In assigning the second position from
this standpoint, one might select Italian, but for one very important consideration.
culture of Western Europe, German plays the same rôle to the East of the
Rhine and north of the Alps. For centuries even those nations which, like
the Poles and Czechs, have been in arms against the German advance have
depended upon Germany as their medium of communication with Western
Europe for all branches of culture as well as for business. The same is true,
though to a less degree, of the Scandinavian peoples, and to an even greater
extent of the peoples of the Eastern Baltic and Russia. To their own
immense and significant contributions to physical and historical theory and
economic theory and also to those of their neighbors to the East and North
the Germans open a door which must of necessity pass through Central
Europe. From the Scandinavian tier of states, Ibsen and Björnson and
Strindberg and such moderns as Bojer and Nexö and Lagerlöf found their
way into world literature first through German translations. The same
is true of Tolstoy and Gorki and Sienkiewicz and of dozens of minor novelists,
dramatists, poets, and essayists of the Scandinavian and Slavic world, many
of whom would remain unknown outside their own vernacular but for the
busy German translators.
In the field of science the same is true. Here only two languages really
come into consideration, German and French: the latter through the accomplishment
of its scholars in the fields of the mathematical and historical
sciences, medicine and philosophy; the former through its philosophers,
chemists, physicists, biologists, geologists, and mineralogists. Here again
German plays a significant and indispensable rôle as the intermediary between
West and East. For instance, all of the states that came into existence
as a result of the dissolution of the Austrian Empire and the plucking
off of parts of old Russia have been for many years busily engaged in the
development of their own national culture. The universities at Warsaw and
Cracow and Lemberg, at Dorpat, Prague, Agram and Budapest are centers of
a throbbing national culture that regards the national language as its most
cherished and distinguished asset emblem. Many of these universities
have made in the past important contributions to the world's store of
science and it is probable that under the present conditions these contributions
will be greatly increased. For centuries, however, the Slavic and
Hungarian scholars have depended on German to make their discoveries
known to the western world. It is not presumable that it can ever be otherwise,
for whatever political ties may bind these peoples to England and
France, the bases of their scientific and business life rest on an ancient bilingual
tradition, in which German holds its place as the Koiné of Eastern
Europe.
The gradation series of importance for general culture for American
students then reads, in my opinion, French, German, Italian, Spanish.
be reversed. In neither field does Spanish play an important part.
Conditions are, however, different when we consider the position of
America in the field of commerce. Here indications point to a relatively
diminishing importance for French as compared with the other languages.
Here Spanish makes a far stronger claim to consideration, for the spread
of the study of Spanish since the war rests on a solid basis, though perhaps
not so broad a one as its more vociferous advocates claim. Its importance
to be sure, lies mainly in the future, but that there is an immense and hitherto
undreamed-of responsibility both politically and commercially in our
relation to the countries to the south of us is one of the results of the falling
of the scales from our eyes that came after 1914. That we were once blind
in this direction does not, however, excuse us for becoming blind in another
direction, for blind we shall surely be if we permit ourselves, in view of the
present disorders in Russia and Central Europe, to overlook what a great
share of our national prosperity depends on the trade of the part of the world
whose Koiné is German. In general, in the choice of the language to be
studied for commerce, some regard must be had to regional considerations.
For the New England and North Atlantic and North Central tier of states,
the Central and Eastern European markets are of the greatest significance,
and even for the cotton-producing states of the South the finger of necessity
points in that direction.
It is far from my purpose to be dogmatic or to do more than to seek to
lay before you the present condition of affairs in modern language instruction
and what seem to be the fundamental bases upon which reconstruction
must rest. In this hour of our national history, when so much
depends upon the discovery of means of economic relief and cultural development,
the country needs no ex parte statements or a priori conclusions.
What it does need desperately is a broad survey of the situation by patriotic
men, among whom ought to be included not merely modern language experts
but practical educationalists and men of affairs, who shall go deeply into the
reasons and methods of modern language study in America and prepare a
program that puts the needs of public service in the foreground.
THE DEMAND FOR TEACHERS OF FRENCH AND SPANISH
By H. Carrington Lancaster, Ph.D., Johns Hopkins University
When I was asked to come here to-day and offer some constructive criticism
in order to show how the University would best fulfil its function in
regard to the teaching of French and Spanish, I felt somewhat overwhelmed
by the thought that the institution where I learned to appreciate this field
of knowledge should turn to me for suggestions concerning it. But I soon
you have been sending out and that I am now called back to headquarters
merely to report on conditions as I have found them. What you prefer to
hear from me must be the conclusion to which I have come as a result of
finding myself at one of those cross roads in academic life where students
come to prepare themselves for the profession of scholar and teacher; and
college presidents to fill up gaps in their faculties.
From the outlook that I get from that observation post I have no hesitation
in saying that the great need of the profession just now is student raw
material of the quality that is produced here at Virginia. This has not
always been the case, for there was a time when our greatest need was of
another sort. But in recent years opportunities for graduate study in the
Romance languages have been greatly improved. Universities are better
equipped in books and scientific journals. The intercollegiate library loan
helps to supply the books that many institutions cannot buy. There is a
far greater variety of specialists than formerly in the various fields. There
are more numerous reviews in which they can publish their work. Opportunities
for study abroad have increased decidedly. When I was a student
it was rarely, if at all, that a man went to Europe on a traveling or research
fellowship. Now there are special organizations that provide scholarships
generously and many universities have traveling fellowships of their own.
Moreover French and Spanish scholars are more ready to coöperate
with us than they used to be. American exchange professorships, clubs like
the American University Union in Paris, and most of all the war itself have
helped to bring us all together. Proposals are now pending that may
enable Americans to study for the doctorat-ès-lettres.
In our own Universities, as well as in the French, Romance philology
and medieval literature are no longer taught to the exclusion of modern
literature, so that another reason that may formerly have kept students out
of the Romance field has ceased to exist.
Statistics recently published in the Modern Language Journal, though
by no means complete, illustrate the great increase among students of these
subjects. In some 109 colleges and universities there were, in 1914, 10,177
students of French; in 1920 there were 19,501. In 1914 there were only
2049 students of Spanish in those institutions; in 1920 there were 12,545.
Indeed, whether we approve or disapprove of this orientation in cultural
studies, the fact is that the public is coming to look upon the Romance
languages next to English, as the chief subject for study among the humanities;
upon the Romance languages with History as the chief subjects by
which we can learn to understand our neighbors in Europe and in Latin
America.
So large is the number of those who study French in an important
sections, but the limit is forty! It is superfluous for me to point out
to you the kind of results one gets from classes of this size unless one is an
adept in the college yell method of instruction which had, as you remember,
a certain vogue in army camps a few years ago.
But with even so generous a limitation there are not enough teachers for
the classes. When I left the Johns Hopkins in June, 1907, there were only
two openings that I had heard of and I was in a position to hear of any that
were reported to the department. This year, my colleagues and I in the
same department have been written to by the authorities in seven colleges
and nine universities. In the list occur a number of our leading institutions
and all of the positions are such that they would give a satisfactory start
to a Ph.D in Romance languages. In some cases we have been able to
supply the man or the woman needed, but in most cases we have not been
able to do so. We are considerably embarrassed by our inability to meet
this demand. The kind of man they usually want is one who understands
the American college boy, who has been abroad enough to speak French or
Spanish with fluency, who can interpret a foreign literature and a foreign
civilization with understanding, and who has shown in his own scholarship
enough originality and energy for him to be counted on for future additions
to the general knowledge of the subject.
Now we do get Ph.D. students who will develop into this type of man,
but we get far too few. And when I say we, I do not mean merely the
University with which I am connected, for I am sure you will get the same
reply from Chicago and Princeton, from Columbia and from Harvard. And
where are we going to turn?
Not, I think, to foreigners to any considerable extent. Several of them
are among our leading scholars and teachers, but their numbers are strictly
limited and necessarily so. Initial difficulties with our speech, more serious
difficulties with our ways militate against the success of many. Those who
have already won fame in their own country are not likely to leave it permanently.
We must, then, depend chiefly on Americans, just as France
depends upon Frenchmen for instruction in English.
What we do need is the graduate of an American college with enough
cultural background and capacity for work to get his training by graduate
study here and in France. While I taught in Amherst College I used every
year to see men graduating that were just the kind we needed, but most of
them were going into business. I suppose that much the same situation is
found here to-day, though I think it was better here in 1903. I wonder if
something cannot be done about it? Certainly business is far less attractive
now than it was a year or two ago. An economist said to me the other day:
"It's a good thing to have hard times now and then; if we didn't, everybody
opportunity, when business does not offer its former attractions, and put
before undergraduates the advantages and values of our profession.
And I wonder if this task is not particularly the province of our Alma
Mater. A French friend of mine the other day, after a visit to Mount
Vernon, told me that he had been much impressed by the similarity between
the life in Virginia before the Civil War, as he saw it exemplified there, and
life in France, so much so that he thought that those who were familiar
with our older culture would have a special aptitude for understanding
things French. Perhaps he was carried too far by a pleasant visit to Virginia
or by his politeness to me, but there is, after all, at least this much
truth in what he said. It was particularly here in Virginia that a form of
American civilization was developed in which, to use a consecrated phrase,
men were primarily interested in the art of living, which is, of course, the
essential vocation of the Romance peoples. And while we have doubtless
in many instances sold our birth-right for somewhat dubious advantages of
another sort, there surely remains something of the old spirit in the state
and especially here at the University. So that is one reason why one may
turn to Virginia with hope of a genuine response.
Another reason is—Dr. Wilson. If there is anything that stands out in
my memory of the years I passed here, it is the charm of his teaching. And
from what the alumni tell me he has never lost his rare gift of making
Romance civilization real and vital, of inspiring students with a devotion to
the subject he teaches that may carry them through life. If then, you ask
me how the University will best fulfil its function in regard to Romance
languages, I should say that it would be by making a serious effort, under the
guidance of Dr. Wilson, to interest men who are graduating here in going on
with post-graduate work in order to fit themselves for meeting the very
general and insistent demand for teachers who are in the best sense scholars
and interpreters of foreign manners and of foreign thought.
ENGLISH INSTRUCTION IN THE STATE UNIVERSITY
By Morris P. Tilley, Ph.D., University of Michigan
At the present time in our country there is going on a re-valuation of
educational methods in the light of the increasing cost of state instruction.
A new America is demanding a standard of clearer thinking and of higher
purpose on the part of the student who has spent four years in a state-supported
university or college. General criticism of present results insists
upon a reëxamination of university curricula, of administrative methods,
of the quality of teachers, and of the fitness of students to whom is granted
justify the final value to the state of the vast sums that are now being spent
in this country for collegiate and professional training.
This examination of the value of our present methods of instruction
comes at a time when there is an abnormal demand on the part of thousands
of young men and women for higher training for their life work. In order
to provide an education for these young people there must be obtained
more classrooms and more teachers! It is a fitting time, therefore, for those
to whom has been entrusted the instruction of the future leaders of our land
to take counsel among themselves and try to decide upon some means by
which better results may be obtained. The purpose of my paper is to
consider some of the problems of English teaching in the state university.
Among the most insistent of these are the necessity, first, of caring for the
freshman English work adequately; second, of securing instructors of suitable
qualifications; and, third, of developing among the members of the
department a spirit of continuous growth.
The most pressing need to-day is that of providing fully for the freshman
work. This cannot be done unless there is a recognition by the administration
of the special claim of the English department for adequate
assistance! It is true that the increasing number of students since the war
has affected the teaching conditions in all subjects. But no department is
threatened to the same extent as is the English with being submerged by
ever increasing numbers.
The large classes and the inferior quality of many of the freshmen are a
severe handicap to the English instructor already burdened with themes
and conferences. As a result he is unable to do effective teaching. The
first year student is the sufferer. He fails to receive at the beginning of his
course the stimulating instruction to which he is entitled.
To correct this condition should be the first aim of those responsible for
the freshman work in English. It should not be difficult by figures and by
comparisons to convince the administration of the urgent need of sufficient
assistance to reduce the sections to twenty-five students each. The department
should see to it, also, that the more experienced and more mature
teachers share in the instruction of the new students. The number of teaching
hours of the younger men should be reduced, where possible, to not more
than twelve a week. And every effort should be made to introduce into the
classroom such methods of instruction as may be most helpful to the student
who has not yet had time to adjust himself to college work.
To make sure of small sections under capable teachers, however, is not
the whole story. There is need of considering further, whether the content
of the course may not be so improved as to secure for the freshmen a more
stimulating appeal. Notable experiments are being conducted this year at
These consist in a combination of English composition with history
and economics in which the lectures and assigned readings supply the subject
matter of the themes. The general aim of these experiments is to give it to
the writing in English a more vital interest; and it cannot be too highly
commended. Indeed, the success attending these combination courses may
well bring about a radical change in the methods of conducting the written
work in our freshmen English instruction. The outstanding success as
Columbia of a "Contemporary Civilization Course," that is required of all
freshmen, points to the value of organizing first year work in such a way that
the freshman's mind be forcibly stimulated.
If the tutorial system introduced some years ago at Princeton could be
combined with a study of selected English masterpieces dealing with economics,
history and philosophy, we should then have an arrangement of study
well calculated to stimulate the freshman's mind. This course given five or
six hours weekly, would go a great way towards correcting the lack of interest
which marks much of the freshman's attitude.
II
The second problem that presents itself is the difficulty of securing men
with the requisite qualifications. The demand from the over-crowded
English departments of our colleges for well-prepared teachers is far greater
at present than our graduate schools can supply. The standard of preparation
and of personality demanded of university instructors, as a result,
has been lowered. Men have been engaged, who a few years ago would
not have been thought eligible for vacancies on the teaching staff.
But the instructor question to-day is more than one of lowered standards.
The proportion of instructors to professors in our faculties has
steadily increased for a number of years. At the same time the ratio of
students to all members of the teaching staff has tended to become higher.
In this continued weakening of the teaching force there is serious cause
for concern. We need seek no further for an explanation of much of the
criticism directed against university methods to-day. In view of these
conditions the selection of instructors is vitally important.
There is a general agreement, I believe, in the qualifications desirable
in a university instructor. The candidate selected should be the man who
has taught with the most marked success, who has pursued his graduate
work with the greatest originality, and who has the strongest and most
attractive personality. The one hundred per cent. man in each of these
essential requirements is rare at any time! Especially in a period of readjustment
like to-day it may be necessary to be satisfied with a teacher who
teaching experience, in scholarly work and in personality below which a
candidate may not fall. He should have taught long enough to have convinced
himself and others that he finds in teaching an abundant source of
satisfaction, even joy. He should have followed his graduate studies at
least to that point where he recognizes that a scholar cannot continue
successful teaching unless he has an ever deepening knowledge of his own
particular field. And he should have progressed so far in the development
of his personality as to be able to give freely of himself to his students both
in and out of class. To consider the appointment to a university faculty
of a man who is known to be deficient in any one of these qualifications is a
serious mistake; and invites the necessity of dismissing him when he breaks
down under the rigorous tests of success.
There has been a tendency, now fortunately passing, to weight excessively,
in the selection of a new instructor, evidence that is offered of ability
in research work. The more important qualifications of character and of
ability to teach have sometimes been overshadowed by a brilliant doctorate.
But numerous instances where the gifted Ph.D. has failed to develop even
the ordinary instincts of the teacher, and other cases where he has lacked
the basic elements of personal fitness, have caused a more careful regard
to be given to these requirements. It can be safely predicated that a
starved and meager personality is not the stock from which to develop the
flower of a sympathetic and inspiring teacher, or of an original and forceful
investigator. To every alumnus of the University of Virginia it is a source
of pride that the value of an invigorating personality has been recognized
in its various departments.
It is indisputable that the clearer thinking and the higher purpose
demanded of college students to-day cannot be obtained unless their instructors
point the way by example and by precept. When our faculties
in all ranks are made up of men of strong personal and scholarly qualifications,
there wil be a corresponding higher degree of attainment possessed
by the graduates of our universities.
We have next to consider how the candidate desired may be secured.
What are we to offer him in the way of financial remuneration, of opportunity
for development, and of certainty of advancement that will make it
likely that we can secure his service?
In the first place, we must face squarely the fact that the time when we
could get a competent man for twelve hundred dollars has gone, probably
not to return. A minimum sum of eighteen hundred must be offered, if we
are to think of bidding for him with the hope of competing successfully for
his services. I know of instructors to whom two thousand was paid last
year although they had had no experience in university teaching and had not
to pay according to a much higher scale in starting men than we have been
accustomed to in the past.
Other considerations than money, of course, will enter into the acceptance
of a position. A young man leaving a graduate school will weigh
carefully the opportunities for development presented by a position. He
will consider in particular the reputation of the men in the department that
he is asked to join, the library facilities available, the number of teaching
hours required and the character of the work that he is asked to "give."
If a department is able to offer a sufficient number of attractions to be
sure of adding to its ranks only men of first class attainments, it has open to
it the surest way to the development of a strong corps of teachers. It is the
department that is not watchful of the instructors that it adds to its teaching
staff that finds itself in a few years burdened with men that are blocks to
progress. Of such teachers few die and none resign: and the difficulty of
dismissing them increases with their length of service.
III
The English department that has enough men and able men to do its
work has still another problem before it. How may it develop among its
members that spirit of accomplishment that is not satisfied merely with
fulfilling the obligations of teaching, but is determined to win for itself
recognition outside of the university in the world of scholarship? How
may it, in other words, accomplish the hard task of contributing to the sum
of knowledge at a time when the demands made upon it in other directions
are many and continuous? I know of no better way of developing such a
spirit than by a full realization of the importance to the department and to
the university of a faculty of men who are esteemed by their fellow-workers
in other institutions as leaders in their especial fields of research. Once
the importance of such a spirit has been realized there will be an active and
aggressive emphasis laid upon the value of men who are able to show substantial
results in scholarship.
It is not possible for every man to excel in research work, and to startle
his colleagues by discoveries of value. But it is necessary for a department
of English to recognize that other calls than those made by his scholarly
interest are secondary. The younger teachers especially must be on their
guard against spending too much of their time on administrative affairs.
The older members on the other hand are more likely to rest upon their oars
and be satisfied with a routine of teaching. Threshing old straw year after
year, they slip gradually into a condition of ineffectiveness. Security of
tenure and seniority of rank invite them to an increasing inactivity that
inactivity on the part of their younger colleagues.
The members of the English department particularly have to hold constantly
before them the importance of scholarly work. They will otherwise
find their time consumed with instructing large classes, with the correction of
much written work, with speaking engagements both within and without
the university, with giving assistance to student publications and dramatic
organizations and with many other activities of university life. In the
face of these accumulating demands a teacher will fail to attain his greatest
effectiveness unless he keep clearly in mind the fact that his duty of imparting
the truth goes hand in hand with his second duty of seeking the
truth.
The chief problems, then, of the English department of the state university
are problems of personnel. It must have enough men, without overburdening
its teaching force, to give the students a sufficiently intimate
instruction to urge them to their best efforts. It is even more necessary that
it have able and forceful teachers, who can at the same time add to the sum
of human knowledge. The successful English department to-day is the one
which has an adequate number of able teachers who are at the same time
able scholars.
II. The Mathematical and National Science Group
PROBLEMS IN SCIENTIFIC EDUCATION
By Charles Lee Reese, Ph.D., Sc.D., Chemical Director of E. I. du Pont de Nemours
and Company
During the last twenty years, I have had to handle thousands of men,
coming from many institutions of learning throughout the country; in fact,
during the war I had to do with about ten per cent. of all the chemists in our
land, at least forty-five of them being graduates of the University of Virginia.
They were men of various degrees of training in chemistry, and consequently
I have been able to observe many of their shortcomings. Among
these might be mentioned a lack of sufficient training in English to enable
them to express their thoughts, and the results of their work, in clear concise
language, a tendency toward what I might call "sloppiness" for the lack of a
better word, lack of thorough preparation in literature study before entering
upon a particular piece of work, and even lack of knowledge as to how to use
the literature, and what kind of information can be obtained from the
literature; in other words, entering upon a piece of work without a thorough
knowledge of the state of the art. The ability to judge the value of information
found in the literature is often found wanting, and I might easily go
research, and lack of judgment in selecting the best method of attack.
"Sloppiness," I might almost say is a characteristic of the American
people, due to the fact that they are almost always in a hurry to get through
with what they are doing in order to take up something else, a tendency
which prevents thoroughness. Our primary schools are affected by it,
attempting generally to fill the heads of the pupils with knowledge, instead
of training the mind to habits of care, accuracy and efficiency. Even our
college entrance requirements are possibly responsible for too much pressure
for knowledge rather than training. The Germans have overcome this
tendency by making machines out of their school children, and it is questionable
how far we should go in this direction. When I was at the University
it was said that it took all of a man's first year to learn how to study, and
some of them never learn, consequently many never reach their senior
year.
Now to come down to the college work. Most important of all is the
personality of the teaching staff, and the effect of that personality on the
attitude of the student to his work. I have always felt that the undergraduate
should have personal contact with the principal men of the faculty,
the men who are most inspiring from a moral as well as a professional standpoint;
men who are character builders and leaders who inspire confidence
and interest in the work. As a friend of mine once said in speaking of
college athletics creating loyalty and college spirit, why should the work
not be made just as interesting, and as much enthusiasm be created over it
as over athletics. This can only be done by the ability of the professors to
create such interest and enthusiasm. Mallet, Remsen and Bunsen were
men of this type in my day, and no doubt there are many to-day of the same
kind. Owing to our hurried life, and the desire and necessity, in many
cases, for men to reach the bread winning stage, too many men enter the
profession without that liberal education included in the old-time college
course, involving modern and ancient languages, physics, mathematics,
arts and letters, history and philosophy, which fit a man for the higher
side of life, and I wish to emphasize the importance of such training wherever
possible before a man enters upon the pursuit of his professional course.
This applies to the chemist, the physicist, the lawyer, the engineer, as well
as the business man, or a man in any other walk of life. I am quite sure
that the chemist who has had such an education will forge ahead much faster
than his less fortunate fellow-chemist. With this kind of training a man
is in a much better position to determine the professional career best suited
to him.
There has been during the past thirty years a tendency to make the
training of chemists more practical, as they say, and many committees have
chemists. I have often been asked by professors and students to outline a
course of study for a chemist who wishes to enter the explosives or dyes
industry for instance, and my reply has invariably been to teach them
chemistry, physics, mathematics and English, and the experience and
application will come fast enough when they are up against the problems to
be met in any industry.
There is at present a tendency to make a compromise between the
liberal education and the professional education to meet the undoubted
demand, and those of you who will read the Yale Alumni Weekly of
April 29th, will see what Yale expects to do in her four-year course in
Chemistry.
In their Freshman year, besides their usual course in Chemistry, they
have English, Language, History, Mathematics and Government. In the
Sophomore year much stress is laid on Mathematics and Physics, as well as
Mineralogy and Crystallography with English and the Languages, also
electives in Drawing and Bacteriology. The Juniors devote seventy per
cent of their time to Chemistry, with some Geology, and as new features,
very important courses in Economics and Business Finance are introduced.
The Seniors devote most of their time to Chemistry, with lectures on
Industrial Chemistry, Metallurgy and Metallography, with a chemical
seminar and a course in Business Management as a supplement. As electives,
they have courses in Statistics, Business Law and Principles of
Accounting.
When I was here we had General Industrial, Analytical and Agricultural
Chemistry, with a short course in Pharmaceutical Chemistry for the
"Meds."
General Chemistry included lectures on Physics, Organic and Inorganic
Chemistry. Industrial Chemistry was a most comprehensive lecture course
on the subject, and has proved of inestimable value to me in my career.
Physical Chemistry, as a subdivision, was hardly known then, but now has
grown to be one of the most important branches of the science, and Organic
Chemistry was in its youth in this country. The word "Colloid" was used
in contradistinction to "Crystalloid," but Colloid Chemistry was still to be
born, and it has hardly yet got out of its swaddling clothes. Catalysis was a
name for the unknown, and if you should hear Dr. Bancroft deliver his three
celebrated lectures on that subject, you would learn that the theories of
Catalysis are mainly postulatory, and most of the postulates advanced can
be disposed of, in spite of which many important discoveries and accomplishments
have been attained through Catalysis, and I believe I can safely say
that it presents as fertile a field for research as any other field in the chemical
science.
It has been suggested that I say what I think the opportunities of the
Universities are in the future, and how they best can be realized, especially
as regards graduate work in pure and applied chemistry.
What I have already said is perhaps more or less generalization, but it
expresses thoughts that I have had for sometime, and you will forgive me if
I have taken this opportunity to express them.
The fields of natural science covered by the Academic and Graduate
Schools at present are Astronomy, Biology, Chemistry, Geology and Physics,
to all of which Chemistry is related to a greater or less degree, for we
are able to apply Chemistry even to the stone. Physiological, Biological,
Pathological and Pharmacological Chemistry seem to be included incidentally
in the Medical Department. In the chemical courses we have General,
Analytical, Organic, Physical, Colloidal, Industrial, Agricultural, Theoretical,
Metallurgical and Physiological, all covered by a few men, and these
same men must take care of the post-graduate work in any of these subdivisions,
if required. Attempts are made in other institutions to cover
special subjects such as ceramics, cements, dyestuffs and dyeing, electrochemistry,
fermentation, photography, etc. Without a very large
staff, I doubt the advisability of undertaking such special subjects, and even
then a man properly trained in the principles and practice of the science will
soon become expert in these special lines after once being connected with the
industry, and his future training in these lines can thus be carried on after
he becomes a bread winner.
The Endowment Fund will assist materially in many ways, but first
of all it should be used to increase the compensation of the present members
of the teaching staff to give them a living compensation, and the ability to set
something aside for a rainy day, and also enable the University to secure
the services of able men in the future. Second, to increase the teaching
staff to such a point that they will have time to devote to study and research
work, and enable them to gain reputations which will induce students to
remain at the University for post-graduate work, and attract men from
other institutions to study under such men. At present the number in the
post-graduate schools is small, but owing to the great impetus which has
been given in this country to the pursuit of the natural sciences, especially
Physics and Chemistry by the late war, the establishment of the Dye
Industry and the Chemical Warfare Service will create increasing demands
for many men thoroughly trained in these sciences, especially in the fields
of fundamental and applied research, so there is room for growth in the
University in this direction.
I hope to see the day, or at least the day will come, when the University
can have professors who can specialize in each subdivision of the sciences;
men who will have only a few hours each week to devote to the lecture room
become leaders in research, and developing methods of research which will
draw to them a group of students devoted to their particular specialty. It
is only by such methods that rapid progress can be made in our search for the
truth, and advance in science and the arts. It is as important for our great
universities to develop great men in the field of professors and teachers; men
who can devote their entire time to the search for truth in the fields of
natural science, as it is to develop the young men of our country to practice
their profession in their particular fields, for the former is essential to the
latter.
With the establishment of such highly developed scientific industries
as the dye industry, and the recent tendency to utilize science in all industries,
many such men as I feel the universities should develop will be utilized
in the industries.
As the industries become more and more highly developed, they will
need more highly trained men in the special subdivisions of the sciences.
The present demand for highly trained specialists in the industries is a serious
menace to our country and the world, and if our great universities are to
maintain their force of such men to train others, this can only be done by
ample provision for their support. This brings me to a point where I wish to
bring up for discussion a plan which I have been able to follow in a few cases
for relieving, to a small degree, this serious situation. It is a plan which
has been followed extensively in Europe. An industry, with or without
a very complete research organization, can profitably retain professors, who
have made reputations, at a salary which, in some cases, may exceed that
which they receive from the university, by consulting work. This has
proved of great advantage to the professor himself, not only from a financial,
but also from a professional point of view in his work for the university, and
of great advantage to the university. Of course this should be done with
the distinct understanding that the consulting work is not to interfere in any
way with duties to the University. The unselfish character of some of our
consultants has been demonstrated by the fact that one of them has used his
retainer to employ a man to carry on some of his work.
The research student is much benefited by the presence of a number of
others in the laboratory doing research work, whether in the same or other
branches of science, or divisions of his science. It makes it possible for each
to be familiar with a number of problems, and the method of prosecuting
them, and increases the value of the seminar.
In closing I want to thank you for your indulgence, and although there
is nothing very striking in what I have had to say I hope it may lead to some
discussion which will be constructive, and of value to our Alma Mater in the
future.
A PLEA FOR THE PERFECT
By William Jackson Humphreys, Ph.D., of the United States Weather Bureau
The most insistent appeal to the intellect, and the most effective in
every line of human progress, is the call of the perfect. The paintings of the
great masters arouse an admiration akin to reverence, and inspire us ourselves
to work for the faultless in whatever we do. And the same is true of
architecture. He that has an intelligence at all measurably above that of the
beast of the field is himself ennobled by the presence of a beautiful building.
The towering spires of a Gothic cathedral, the stately columns of a Grecian
temple, the restful roof of a Buddhist shrine, evoke alike a reverence and a
high resolve to live the better life.
In statuary, too, and in every other art, the compelling call is the same.
Who can behold that most wonderful, perhaps, of all statues, the Daibutsu
of Kamakura, and not be thrilled by its magical calm—the peace of
Nirvana, the calm of death and eternity?
As it is in these few great things and noble arts, so it is likewise with all
the others, perfection and perfection alone—accomplishment in which no
fault can be found—commands unqualified admiration for the work of
others, and sets the satisfying goal of our own endeavors.
And now let us come home and be more specific. We here at the University
of Virginia are wont to speak of the Sage of Monticello in tones that
evidence respect and appreciation. But how did he come to be a sage?
Not alone by his invariable honesty of purpose, nor solely by his splendid
ability; but in great measure through his transcendent capacity to take
trouble—his patience to make perfect. And that over which he labored the
longest, the University of Virginia, he loved the most. He realized, as all of us
must, that without intellectual training political independence is impossible,
and religious freedom only moral chaos. Thus the most patient labor of all
his maturer years, the labor of his deepest love and most abiding hope, was
the founding of an educational institution perfect in all its plans and purposes.
An institution in which the student was from the first trusted as a
man of honor, a trust promptly justified and that has become a priceless
heritage; an institution manned by scholars of high renown who mingled
freely and most friendly with those who came to learn of their wisdom; and,
finally, an institution whose very columns and arches and domes, whose
harmonious assemblage of much of the architectural glory of Greece and
grandeur of Rome, insistently inspires to higher resolves.
Here, as nowhere else, one comes under the abiding influence of the
father of the University of Virginia, of him who heard so clearly and heeded
so well the call of the perfect. Here thousands have heard that same call,
and many have heeded in their several ways. Here, we believe, this call
read, with such compelling and varied classics as The Bells, The Raven, and
Annabel Lee. Here, too, all was in harmony with the firm resolve and high
purpose of him who but yesterday bade a despairing world to hope—bade
it hope by showing so clearly a rational and righteous road every nation can
follow, and yet in some fashion will follow, for civilization shall not perish
from the face of the earth.
Were half the wealth bestowed on camps and courts,
Given to redeem the human mind from error,
There were no need of arsenals and forts.
So reasoned the poet Longfellow many years ago, and the case is miserably
worse to-day. The burdens of taxation are oppressively heavy. Some
say owing to the scientific work done by the National Government, aye, even
to the duplication of such work in the city of Washington! "Blind leaders,
who strain at a gnat, and swallow a camel." Had the world not been filled
with terror, had there been no "wealth bestowed on camps," the present
tax on one luxury alone, tobacco, would meet, or nearly meet, the whole of
the Government's needs—nor is this tax overly heavy, nor are our people
inordinate burners of incense before the goddess Nicotine.
The burdens of the world would, indeed, be unbearable were it not
becoming clear as the noonday sun that they are avoidable, and that, being
avoidable, they soon will be avoided. We are but in the throes of one stage
of community evolution, an evolution from the isolated savage through
the tribe, the clan, the state and the nation to the federation of the civilized
world, an evolution that has always closely followed, and of necessity must
closely follow, the development of the arts of travel and communication.
That is, as science progresses and its applications are made perfect our
relations to each other whether as individuals, communities, or nations, also
vary. To the ignorant savage restricted by natural barriers to a small
island, or other limited territory, no form of government is desirable or possible
beyond that of a primitive tribe. To the most advanced peoples of
to-day, however, those who literally can talk to each other though at the ends
of the earth, and to whose swift and easy travel there is no obstacle, the
restrictions of the tribe and the clan would be intolerable and impracticable.
To them nothing short of some form of a universal federation can be satisfactory.
One's friends and acquaintances to-day, and his councillors and
aids in whatever he is doing, are in every inhabited portion of the globe.
We cannot do without each other, neither they without us nor we without
them. Hence our plea for the perfect includes the bringing of nations together
of each and makes for the good of all.
Now, as is known of the whole world, in the great work of formulating
a code adapted to the needs and aspirations of those in the very van of
civilization the University of Virginia can claim high honors. First,
through her great "father" and again, equally, through her most distinguished
alumnus.
But let us be critical, for self-criticism is always wholesome. What
has been the growth of science and its application to the arts since our
Alma Mater began her splendid training of young men, less than one century
ago? And what part have we, her alumni, taken in this conquest of nature?
Every chapter in the story of modern science is amazing almost beyond
belief. We live to-day in essentially a different world from that of our
grandfathers, different in many respects from even that of our own boyhood
days; and the difference is this, that the world is a better place to live in
than it was, so much so, indeed, that many of the things we now regard
as common necessities only a little while ago were not possible even as
luxuries.
Consider some of the more common events in the course of one's daily
life. All of us remember, or, at least, know those who do remember, when
that morning necessity, the ubiquitous bathtub, was practically unknown.
Of course a few buckets of water, carried from the spring and emptied into
the old wash-tub, were really worth while, but the undertaking was such a
tax on one's moral courage, that baths before breakfast were not then the
order of the day. And the cooking of breakfast, what a job it was! Coals,
kept alive through the night by a cover of ashes, were scraped out and a
wood fire kindled, not in the convenient stove, for no one had such a contrivance,
but in a big fire place, and after a time one had something to eat.
Rarely, though, did he have fresh meat (cold storage was unknown) nor did
he ever have the luxury of fresh fruits and fresh vegetables save those
alone that grew in his own locality, nor even these except in their limited
season. Who of the first faculty, or early students, of this University ever
wholesomely and delightfully began his breakfast with grape-fruit, oranges,
pineapples, mangos, or any other of the delicious tropical fruits that now
load our tables? And who in the tropics ever then tasted an apple, a pear,
a peach, a plum, or a cherry? Who in those days, here or elsewhere, ever
feasted on that luscious and most common, perhaps, of all vegetables, the
tomato—then regarded as a thing not only unfit for food, but even deadly
poisonous?
If, as was sometimes the case, you had occasion to write to a friend,
you did so with a goose-quill pen, blotted with sand, sealed with wax, and
forwarded your letter at the marvelous speed of, perhaps, twenty miles a
distance, you simply had to go in person to see him, and, whatever the distance,
you could only walk, ride horseback, or go in a lumbering carriage.
If mother wanted to dye a piece of cloth she herself, most likely, had
spun and woven, she did not choose exactly the hue and tint, or shade, she
would have and then send us to a convenient drug store to get, for a few
pennies, precisely that thing, but sent us to the woods for the inner bark of a
black oak. This she steeped according to traditional custom, then dipped
the cloth in the decoction thus obtained, and accepted with fortitude
whatever stain happened to result.
Of course we did not often become ill, for only the most robust survived
babyhood, but when we did get sick it generally was the herb doctor that
came to see us, and the concoctions he made at least inspired an earnest hope
for a rapid convalescence. If, perchance, the case called for surgery, we
were indeed unfortunate. What we now call major surgery, and even much
that is essentially minor, was rarely ventured. Small operations of course
were made, but on the conscious patient and with a dirty knife. There were
no hospitals, except in the largest cities, and even these were at times centers
of infection rather than restorative institutions.
Whether, however, one got sick in those days and sent for the neighborhood
herbist, or stayed well and hoed the corn, pealed bark to dye the home
spun, or did whatever other chores the exigencies of a primitive life demanded,
the end of the day at last came as it now comes. But when it did
come there was then no movie to go to, whether instructive, amusing, or
demoralizing; no graphophone to stage a grand opera, materialize a brass band,
or set amuck a barbaric jazz, as one's whims and fancies might suggest; no
phone to chat over; no good light, electric or other kind, to ready by—only a
flickering home-made tallow candle, or sputtering pine torch, that for a
few minutes flared up unsteadily and then went out. Finally, at the end of
every such "perfect day," one scraped the live embers together and covered
them with ashes for starting the morning's fire, saw that all windows were
closed tight, the door bolted, and every other possible ventilator sealed up
lest any of the "noxious night air" might get in, and then went to sleep, to
dream, perhaps, of witches and hobgoblins, in a bed as innocent of springs as
a concrete floor.
True, we often speak, and speak earnestly, of the good old days of yore,
but in so doing we really have in mind the buoyancy of our own vigorous
youth and the loved ones of our childhood days. We never mean that we
would like to discard the latest conveniences and go back, not to our earlier
age, for all of us would like to be young again, but to the way the world lived
only a few decades ago.
Perhaps this reference to a few decades may seem extravagant, but in
forces to our own needs grew so rapidly, and with such acceleration, with the
founding of laboratories and the consequent spread of inquiry that men
still living have seen half, aye, more than half, of that wonderful evolution
from the stick and stone of the cave man to the myriad marvels of the present.
Take from the air every aeroplane; from the roads every automobile;
from the country every train; from the cities every electric light; from ships
every wireless apparatus; from the oceans all cables; from the land all
wires; from shops all motors; from office buildings every elevator, telephone
and typewriter; let epidemics spread at will; let major surgery be impossible
—all this and vastly more would be the terrible catastrophe if the tide of
time should but ebb to the childhood days of men still living.
Nor do all those marvels exhaust our list. Give us a lump of coal, a
piece of sulphur and a bit of salt, and we will now, as but a few years ago
we could not, work such wonders as even Aladdin with his magical lamp
never dreamed of—make brighter, faster and more varied colors than are
found in field or forest; sweeter perfumes than scent the flowers; richer
flavors than season the fruit; food for plants that shames the richest soil;
explosives that rend the hardest rock; cures for many an ill; and poisons
more deadly than ever a Borgia desired. In short, with even these few raw
materials, we now raise our food, delight the palate, adorn the body, cure
ourselves, and kill the enemy!
Oh yes, the scoffer of science may say, but no exploring De Soto has
ever found the elixir of life. No, we must confess, not yet in all its perfection,
but the persistent biologist has found it for some animals, and has
successfully applied it. Already he has made excised portions of the heart
of the embryo chick live and grow until the chick itself, had it been permitted
to grow up, might well have been dead of age—and still that lone,
excised heart lived on. Already well-organized animals have been made to live
forwards and backwards from youth to age and from age to youth over and
over with never a sign that the end was near. What then is beyond our
reasonable hope? But to realize that hope we must heed the call of the perfect,
must push those investigations, as surely we shall, and the thousands
of others they in turn suggest, to their ultimate conclusion.
Finally, what have we, faculty, students, and alumni, of this University,
been doing the while this great stream of investigation and discovery has
been broadening and deepening into a veritable ocean of knowledge? We
have made many contributions to this knowledge, and of that we are justly
proud, but not all of us have lived up to our opportunities.
Let us, therefore, insist that each important position in this University
is an opportunity, as it is in any leading institution, to add to the sum of
human knowledge, and that opportunity is only another name for imperative
unwritten law, that opportunity shall be given only to him who has demonstrated
his ability to improve it, and that the shirking of duty carries with it
the forfeiture of place. Possibly such a custom might seem a little drastic,
but it would be no more so, nor is there less reason for it, than is the wholesome
honor system among students. Nor let us alumni require ought of
others that we do not in equal measure demand of ourselves.
But how, it occasionally is asked, can any man both investigate and
teach? A far better question is this: How can he teach advanced students,
at least, if he has not that love of his subject that compels him to investigate?
None but the enthusiast can impart to others an earnest desire
to learn—blood does not come from turnips. Furthermore, wherever the
spark of genius shows, and if it be accompanied by industry, in the name of
humanity fan it—give its possessor every needed aid and encouragement.
Fan the live spark. No one ever yet got a glowing fire by fanning dead
embers.
And here let us once more urge our plea for the perfect. Let an investigation,
whether large or small, be given ample time, patience, and trouble.
Let it be so worked over, yea, so persistently labored over, that there can
be no occasion for any one to repeat it until other discoveries reveal a better
line of attack, or greater skill in instrumentation provides a desirable higher
degree of accuracy. And let the report, whether of progress or of finished
result, be brief. Let not our reasons be, as were those of Gratiano, "as two
grains of wheat hid in two bushels of chaff," where they are not worth the
trouble it takes to find them. Neither let our ideas be muddled like those
of the freshman who said he knew who Esau was—"the chap that wrote
short stories and sold his copyright for a mess of potash." In short, have
something to say, say it, quit talking about it. But above all have something
to say.
III. The Educational Group
THE CONTRIBUTION OF THE UNIVERSITY OF VIRGINIA TO THE PUBLIC SCHOOL
SYSTEM OF THE STATE
By John Walter Wayland, Ph.D., of the Harrisonburg State Normal School
The measuring or even the estimating of influence is a task to engage
the powers of a magician or a divinity. It is a task like unto the compassing
of the sunlight or the weighing of the perfume of the flowers. Yet at the
same time, if one is not able to comprehend fully or to estimate adequately,
one can at least be certain that the sun shines, that the flowers are sweet and
beautiful, and that the world is happier and better because of them.
1. THE POTENCY OF IDEALS
The influence of the University of Virginia upon public education in the
State has been in evidence, more or less potently, both directly and indirectly
for the full century or more of the institution's history. First of all, it seems
to me, we should recognize and appreciate the ideas and the ideals that gave
the University birth and that have ever given character to its life. When
this institution was conceived in the vision of Mr. Jefferson he thought of it
as a part of a great whole: a comprehensive gradation of schools that should
include all of our citizens in its liberal provisions. In short, he desired
elementary schools and secondary schools as well as a university. He did
not perhaps employ the same terminology that we employ to-day, but in his
dream he saw schools and teachers for little children, schools and teachers
for rank and callow youth, as well as a school and teachers for those older,
maturer students who are anxious and able to climb to the sunlit heights.
It took many years of waiting, many years of working, to get Jefferson's
full plan wrought out and accepted; but we rejoice in this good day in the
belief that it is now being perfected and appreciated. And all through the
years his ideal was a potent influence, a whisper of inspiration that men
heard in their moments of reflection, a mighty call to progress in every day
of intellectual and moral action.
One may say, therefore, that a complete public school system was part
of the program under which the University was founded and under which it
has, for the most part, been operated. During the last half-century especially,
this program has been unfolded more and more clearly, with more
and more definiteness and force, from year to year.
2. THE WORK OF LEGISLATORS AND ADMINISTRATORS
For one who loves the University, an interesting task would be to scan
carefully the names of all the men who, since 1830 or thereabouts, have
composed the General Assembly of Virginia and filled the various responsible
offices in our state government—to do this with a view of ascertaining how
many of these men have at some time been students here. The number is
large, we may be certain; and we may also be certain that some of them,
doubtless many of them, have aided effectively from time to time in giving
Mr. Jefferson's ideas on education a functioning body in the laws and
procedure of the commonwealth. In so doing they have been true disciples
of our Alma Mater; and through them, whether in our own day or in the
days long past, we see going out a mighty stream of influence, carrying life,
dynamic life, to our common schools. For example, since 1902, fifteen
members of the Virginia State Board of Education have been alumni of the
University; and among these fifteen were Charles W. Kent, Lyon G. Tyler,
S. Wilson, and four governors: Montague, Swanson, Stuart, and Davis.
3. THE SERVICE OF ALUMNI AS TEACHERS
Face to face with a mighty host we find ourselves when we attempt to
number the teachers of Virginia who, at one time or another, for long or
shorter periods, have been students at the University. In the years immediately
preceding 1870 and in all the long Olympiads of ante-bellum days,
schools were being kept alive here and there in Old Virginia by those whose
torches had been kindled at Jefferson's altar and whose vision had been at
least in part uplifted with his own. Those men labored provincially, it may
be, and often under painful handicaps, but who will deny to them a meed of
honor in the better times that have come after them? They labored and
we have entered into their labors. We are building better, let us hope, than
did they; but they often builded better than they knew.
Since 1870, when our present system of public schools was inaugurated,
alumni of the University have been enabled to assume more numerous and
more definite relationships in the teaching forces of the State. This fact
appears with growing distinctness as we proceed with our investigations.
Consider, for example, the influence that has been radiated through the
thousands of teachers that have attended the University summer schools
during the past thirty-odd years. A conservative estimate would place the
total number of persons, men and women, who have attended these summer
schools within this period at 15,000. Not all of this mighty host, it may be,
have been teachers; but many of them have been teachers by profession and
by practice; and thousands of them have carried the ideas and the inspiration
here imbibed into the public schools of the State.
In recent years, as we all know, the deliberate and consistent aim in
these summer schools has been to make them the most helpful possible to
Virginia teachers. And it would be hard to find any community in the
State, however small or however secluded, in which there is not working today
at least one school teacher who is proud to speak of the days—the
summer days so full of work, so full of play, so full of joy—spent here. The
services of University leaders, like Bruce R. Payne, Charles G. Maphis,
and others, through the University summer schools, have been of incalculable
value to public education throughout the State.
4. THE UNIVERSITY APPRECIATING ITS TASK
Not only in the summer schools but also in the regular policies and
programs of the University the interests and needs of the public schools of
definiteness. This has been especially true during the last half-century.
For example, as early as 1886, perhaps earlier, the University faculty arranged
for local examinations to be given in the various counties of Virginia
and other States for stimulating and evaluating the work of boys and girls
in the local schools. These examinations took the place, at least in some
instances, of high school graduation. More particular information concerning
these examinations and their value to the country schools will appear
farther on.
In 1905 the Curry Memorial School of Education was established at the
University, and ever since that time a regular aim of that department has
been to touch and elevate the public schools of Virginia. All who remember
the untiring extra-mural activities of Professor Harry Heck, the first head
of the Curry Memorial School, and all who know the character and the work
of his successors will be able to appreciate the significance and growing
influence of this foundation during the past sixteen years.
In this connection we cannot forget the potency of the University in the
famous "May Campaign" of 1905, when "one hundred of the ablest
speakers of the State, including the governor, delivered three hundred
addresses in ninety-four counties at one hundred different meetings,"[2]
all in behalf of public education.
Among the eminent leaders of that campaign were President Edwin A.
Alderman, Governor Andrew J. Montague (an alumnus of the University),
and Dr. Bruce R. Payne, whose distinguished connection with the University
was then just beginning. Another gentleman whose share of honor in this
May Campaign was second to none was Professor Ormond Stone, who for
thirty years (1882-1912) was a teacher here and whose interest in the public
schools of the State was both constant and effective. His activities in behalf
of public education have been most generous and untiring, as we all know.
The vigorous rise of public high schools followed upon 1905, and much of
the vigor and character that they embodied came from the University,
through the patience and wisdom of Alderman, Payne, and others.
How many of the teachers and alumni of the University took part in
this notable campaign cannot now, perhaps, be ascertained; but many
participated and all who did so shared in the cherished social gift that our
Alma Mater at that time made.
Thus by those who live in the University and in their work reach out,
as well as by those who have studied here and have gone out into the schools
of the commonwealth, the same or related gifts have been bestowed. The
workers within and the workers without join hands across the same cheering
altar of service.
5. ALUMNI AS ADMINISTRATIVE EDUCATORS AND AS TEACHERS IN STATE
INSTITUTIONS OF HIGHER LEARNING
In speaking hitherto of the teachers of the State who have been students
here, attention has been directed especially to that great army in the
common schools. When we enumerate school officials and those teachers in
our State institutions of higher learning who bear the University's seal the
number is smaller, to be sure, but no less influential. Consider, for example,
the division superintendents of schools in the counties and cities of Virginia.
Twenty-eight of them, almost exactly one fourth of the whole number, are
on the rolls of our alumni. Ten members of the Virginia State Normal
School Board, the body which since 1916 has had the oversight and the
direction of our four state normal schools for white women, have been University
men. Prior to 1916 there were separate boards for these four institutions,
and a goodly proportion of the members of those separate boards
were also alumni of the University.
The first of these four normal schools was established at Farmville in
1884. The second was opened at Harrisonburg in 1909; the third at Fredericksburg,
in 1911; and the fourth at East Radford, in 1913. From official
records it appears that up to this date 20,551 different students have been
enrolled in these institutions. Most of this great multitude have been
teachers for shorter or longer periods in the public schools of Virginia, and
they have been distributed in every county and every city of the State.
The significance of all this in our present study appears in a moment when
we observe the fact that almost or quite forty members of the four normal
school faculties that have trained these 20,000 teachers have been graduates
of the University or sometime students here.
For many years past the contribution of the College of William and
Mary to the life and administrative efficiency of our state public schools has
been so great as to win general acknowledgment and appreciation. To this
historic institution the University of Virginia herself owes much. Jefferson,
Monroe, and others saw to it that the rich legacies of the older foundation
became really and truly the younger school's inheritances. But may we not
say, speaking truly and gratefully, that in some measure, through the century
that is closing, the talents that were received have been invested and
returned? For instance, during twenty-one years (1898-1919) the honored
president of William and Mary was Lyon G. Tyler, an alumnus of the University
of Virginia; and contemporary with him, or at least serving the same
generation with him, we may count twelve other distinguished sons of the
University on the faculties of William and Mary. Surely, therefore, one
may be justified in saying that, in this splendid contribution that
William and Mary has made to our public schools, the University has
robbery.
It would doubtless be possible, if one had time, to trace relationships of
wholesome coöperation between the University and every other State institution
of higher learning in Virginia in this laudable task of uplifting
the common schools; but a reasonable limit must be our law.
6. INFLUENCE THROUGH PRIVATE INSTITUTIONS OF HIGHER LEARNING
And what shall we say with reference to these same relationships as
between the University and those institutions of higher learning not owned
by the State? Between the University and some of them the bonds have
perhaps not been so close or so strong as to be discerned or acknowledged;
but with regard to others the coöperation has been both conscious and deliberate.
Two examples must suffice.
In 1839 Charles Lewis Cocke, a college senior nineteen years old, determined
to dedicate his life to the higher education of women in the South.
"Inspired by the University of Virginia—opened fourteen years before—he
resolved `to give to Virginia women the same thorough mental training as
that afforded to young men.' "[3]
In 1846 he moved to Botetourt Springs,
near what is now Roanoke City, to take charge of a school. "The educational
ideals of Thomas Jefferson became the inspiration of his youth";
and throughout an eminent career he cherished them. For more than fifty
years he labored in the light of his splendid hopes; and for three-quarters of a
century, now, Hollins College has been his growing monument.
In many counties and cities of Virginia the graduates of Hollins College
have taught worthily in our public schools. Some in this capacity have
served well two generations. One of them, Mrs. Betty Chandler Snead, who
graduated in 1868, taught in Halifax, in Essex, in Northampton; had a
family; returned to the schoolroom, and in 1915 was still at the post of public
service. Another, Edwina Chandler (Mrs. Walter Jones), who graduated in
1870, taught in Fluvanna. She married and reared a large family. Then
she took up teaching again. She was one of those teachers who used the
University local examinations to "standardize" her pupils. Miss Mary
Miller Snead, now the valued principal of a Fairfax County high school,
another Hollins graduate, is one of the number who testifies to having taken
the "University locals" in "Old Flu" under Mrs. Jones.
Hollins records show a long roll of alumnæ who have served Virginia
effectively and worthily in her public schools. Many other names might be
recited, but we must content ourselves with a very few more. Miss Bessie
Randolph of Farmville, Miss Elizabeth Cleveland of Harrisonburg, Miss
Hayward of Roanoke, and Mrs. Ellie Marcus Marx of Norfolk are all alumnæ
of Hollins. They are eminent yet typical examples of the Hollins
graduate as a vital force in the public schools of Virginia. And it was one
of them who said:
"Recalling how often we heard the name of the University from Mr.
Cocke's lips and how bracing was the constant touch with its standards, we
are not surprised to find his biographer writing: `The educational ideals of
Thomas Jefferson became the inspiration of his youth, and with astonishing
tenacity and unity of purpose he pursued them until he worked out Hollins
College.' "[4]
Hollins College, therefore, is a notable example among the so-called
private schools of the State that have deliberately aided the University in
giving to the public schools their delayed birthright.
Another school of this same class, younger than Hollins but eminent
in the same way, is Bridgewater College.
This school dates its beginnings only forty-one years ago, yet within the
period of its brief history it has sent out hundreds of efficient teachers into
the public schools of the State. And every one of them has carried to his
work some gift that is openly and generously credited to the University.
The reason at once becomes obvious when we note the fact that eighteen
different members of the Bridgewater faculties have been students here.
For thirty-three years the presidents of the college have been University
alumni. Daniel C. Flory, the founder of the school and its head for six years
was a student here two sessions. Walter Bowman Yount, president for
eighteen years (1892-1910) was a student here six years. And John S.
Flory, who was president for nine years (1910-1919), and whose entire
service at Bridgewater to date totals twenty-four years, was a student here
three years and holds from the University his degree of Doctor of Philosophy.
Every Bridgewater student is able to testify that the bond between his
school and the University is very close.
This bond and source of influence upon our public schools appears not
only in the rank and file of teachers trained at Bridgewater, but also in
certain notable leaders in education and legislation. John C. Myers, division
superintendent of schools in Rockingham County, is an alumnus of
Bridgewater and of the University. William T. Sanger, who needs no introduction
to Virginia educators, is a graduate of Bridgewater. Frank J.
Wright, whose record as a distinguished teacher and as a member of the
General Assembly of Virginia is well known, is an alumnus of Bridgewater
and of the University. Jacob A. Garber, whose service to public education
in the last General Assembly was so conspicuous as to win unusual approval,
from Bridgewater College and from our Alma Mater.
7. THE UNIVERSITY A SOURCE OF BOOKS FOR THE PUBLIC SCHOOLS
And, finally, what shall we say of the books for our common schools
that have been written and published by University teachers and University
alumni? Bonnycastle's Mensuration, Holmes's United States history, and
Venable's arithmetics were widely used for many years; and the famous
spelling books and readers by McGuffey have had an influence that is at
once potent, far-reaching, and wholesome. It is said that McGuffey's
activity in 1870 and later, both in the University and elsewhere in the State,
in securing the establishment of public schools and in commanding them to
general favor, were most earnest and effective.
The excellent series of readers prepared some years ago by President
Alderman was a notable contribution to our school libraries and literature.
In attractive form and easy grading he has made a fine collection of prose
and verse—classics old and new—and placed it at the disposal of our teachers
and their pupils. The history of education in Virginia, published in 1916,
by Cornelius J. Heatwole, a son of Virginia, cannot be overlooked in this
connection; and the biography of J. L. M. Curry, by Alderman and Gordon,
while it is not a text book of the ordinary type, is an informing, stimulating
story for teachers—the story of a great man who was a teacher and a leader
of teachers.
And one could not end this catalogue, however brief and fragmentary it
may be, without mentioning specially the Library of Southern Literature, a
monumental work in sixteen splendid volumes, the compilation of which was
directed largely from the University of Virginia and which is a veritable
boon not only to Virginia schools but to those also of every state of this
nation.
To indicate further the influence of the University upon Virginia public
schools and to illustrate more particularly some of the statements already
made, the following charming story is presented. It is a first-hand contribution
to this study, made by one who has recorded definite observations of
the influences we are tracing, and who is herself an eminent example of those
students and teachers who have received rich gifts from our Alma Mater,
even though they have not, as a rule, been numbered among her sons and
daughters.
"Judge James O. Shepherd, a University man, was the first superintendent
of schools in Fluvanna County. He rallied around him a teaching
force representative of nearly all the leading families of the county. He thus
(and in many other ways) set the standard high and established from the
recall playing with a child-visitor from an adjoining county, who spoke so
disdainfully of `free schools' that I did not once dream that they were the
same thing as our honored public schools—and I now have reason to believe
that they indeed were not the same.
"Later Judge Shepherd harped on this one string until every child
among us caught the note: `We need good public schools devoted to the
higher branches. We have the elementary school for the foundation.
Yonder we have the University for the top. But we have a great gap between.
We need to make the connection by means of a public high school
that can prepare the boys for the University.' And he worked the citizens
up to contribute liberally to this cause and obtained special dispensation
from the General Assembly to establish at the county seat that new thing—
a standard rural public high school. I was always led to understand that
this was the first of its kind in the State. . . .
"Is it at all significant that the lifelong home of Judge Shepherd is
`Mountain View?' Certainly it was from that hilltop that they used to
point out to us a symmetrical little blue peak, Monticello, adding in tones
almost reverent that just beyond was the University.
"One more fact about the Judge. When I left for Hollins, he gave me a
lead pencil with the parting injunction that I should write and rewrite Latin
exercises very carefully, `looking up things' which I did not know.
"It was in 1886, when Judge Shepherd and his neighbors, the school
trustees, were moving heaven and earth and the State Legislature to establish
a rural high school at the county seat—always with the definite ideal of
preparing boys for the University—for that was never omitted from the
statement of the case—that my teacher read in the Louisville Courier-Journal
of certain `University Local Examinations' which would be held
at various centers throughout the South just one month later. Her
prompt letter of inquiry brought from the University itself a pamphlet
definitely stating the subjects, the scope, and the requirements of these
examinations.
"The next year, perhaps, a center was established in Fluvanna, and
for some years thereafter it was the habit for the private schools of Fluvanna,
as well as for the new public high school, to stir their students'
ambition to pass these examinations. No doubt this was true in many
other sections also,—these local examinations taking the place of high
school graduation.
"First there was a preliminary examination in elementary subjects—
geography, grammar, oral reading, etc.—which must be passed before the
candidate could be considered for the `higher branches' of geometry, Cicero,
Shakespeare, etc.
![illustration](https://iiif.lib.virginia.edu/iiif/uva-lib:180714/full/!1600,1600/0/default.jpg")
Fireworks on the Lawn: The Closing Scene
"I think I shall go on now that I am recalling this occasion and set down
some of my own experiences of that new era for me, as a sample of what these
examinations might mean in inspiration.
"My teacher said that I was to go to the University and take these
examinations instead of my own `finals.' The delight of it—the thing that
made it a great adventure instead of a heavy task—was that she said if I
passed she would consider it a success, but if I should not pass she would not
judge it a failure, under the circumstances of the brief four weeks of preparation.
"Such a sense of the greatness of this quest! Such a reviewing of
geometry (and geography)! I had never heard of the Manilian Law, but it
read very much like parts of Cicero that I had been taught. I had never
studied `literature' except Shaw's History of English Literature. Neither
my teacher nor I knew that there was such a thing as an annotated edition
of a play or a poem. But there was a leather-backed Shakespeare in the
house, of course, which people read, and sometimes read aloud, though the
required play, The Tempest, was new to me until that full month when,
armed with the unabridged dictionary, I hammered at the bard's
meaning.
"Upon reaching Charlottesville (the first night I ever spent in a
town) I found the other candidate for the examination to be a girl attending
Mrs. Meade's school—Emma Moser, afterwards for many years
a valued teacher in the Charlottesville High School. This girl mentioned
her Hudson edition of The Tempest, with notes. I soon had it in my possession,
and studied it all night long (the noise of the great city of C. being
too much for a wink of sleep anyway). Why, Hudson told you everything
you had wondered about! He seemed the friendliest writer in the
world.
"Again, the gracious dignified Mrs. Meade, in gold-pinned cap, having
to leave me in her library when her class bell rang, asked whether she could
do anything for her timid guest. `If you could lend me a history of England
fuller than Goodrich's.' `Why, yes; here is one sent me lately by one of my
former pupils.'
"Thus I was introduced to Green's Short History of the English People.
I devoured its pages about Pitt's plans for applying among his countrymen
the great principles of Adam Smith's Political Economy, and how the French
Revolution broke into his high hopes. The book was so different from Peter
Parley! Best of all, the writer of the examination questions for the next day
had evidently just been reading Green also, for he followed his lines exactly,
and I could write voluminously in answer, and love Richard Green as a
friend evermore.
"At last the hour actually came for the examination. Charles S. Venable
eyes had rested upon—and even then they rested only upon his shoes. I
was too much abashed to look into the face of the great man `who had made
the arithmetic and who understood exactly why you invert the divisor, and
everything.' So I gazed at his feet. I recall now just how they looked and
that I felt distinct satisfaction and almost a touch of wonder that they
rested upon the earth. He was kindness itself, and the thought of that good
and wise man still brings always an upward pull.
"The first thing in the preliminary examination was to read aloud some
page from some book. Professor Venable walked casually to one of the
many shelves and just as casually pulled out a volume, turned its pages and
chose one at random. Would it all dance before me like hieroglyphics?
It was the only page in that book I had ever seen. The winter before I had
been studying in my teacher's room one evening. An old lady was visiting
her. My teacher was reading to her from this very book. The old lady
dropped a stitch in her knitting. It misbehaved sadly, that stitch. It
ran back row after row. The teacher had to stop and pick it up. She
handed me the book that the reading might not break off. I read aloud
a page, and then the stitch was all right and I went back to my lessons.
And now that page was handed me to read as a first omen at the University
of Virginia. . . .
"At the end of the last examination there was a question that seemed
to invite my opinion. (It was on Shakespeare.) Could I dare to offer
what nobody thought but just ME? I recall saying to myself, `I'm twenty-five
miles from home. They'll never hear of the audacity of it. I'll never
see these professors again. I believe I'll do it. I'll take a fling.'
"And I did. I remember feeling as if I were flying—as if for once
and in some far off way—and never to be dared again—I were flying
—and in the atmosphere of those whom my imagination ranked the
highest.
"He must have laughed—whoever looked over that examination. One
could easily laugh at the importance which I attach to it now. But I go
back to that day when I see the word Renaissance. That examination was
the enfranchisement of my thought. However pitifully little that has
meant to anybody else, it has meant a good deal to me, and I thank the
University and Thomas Jefferson for it.
"There was a student who brought his books and `sat with' the candidates
when Professor Venable could not be there. In spite of my high respect,
I must have looked him over from toe to top, for I recall distinctly his
red head. He hesitated when I asked him how to spell Guinea, but I thought
it was because his mind was on higher things. I asked him whether I'd
better write fully or concisely. `If it's literature,' he said, `I think you'd
mode of speech for one whose own daily words must all be exalted far
above `chat along.' "[5]
Miss Elizabeth Pendleton Cleveland.
[Concluding Note by the Editor.—Shortly after the Centennial Celebration the General Chairman
formally requested each speaker, whose name appears on the official program, to furnish the
manuscript of his address for publication in this volume of proceedings. All the addresses received
at the Centennial office have accordingly been included.]
| THE FOURTH DAY The centennial of the University of Virginia, 1819-1921 | |