Craftsmanship in Teaching | Page 3

increase in skill, ever and ever the fascination of its
technique will take a stronger and stronger hold upon you. This is the great saving
principle of our workaday life. This is the factor that keeps the toiler free from the
deadening effects of mechanical routine. It is the factor that keeps the farmer at his plow,
the artisan at his bench, the lawyer at his desk, the artist at his palette.
I once worked for a man who had accumulated a large fortune. At the age of seventy-five
he divided this fortune among his children, intending to retire; but he could find pleasure
and comfort only in the routine of business. In six months he was back in his office. He
borrowed twenty-five thousand dollars on his past reputation and started in to have some
fun. I was his only employee at the time, and I sat across the big double desk from him,
writing his letters and keeping his accounts. He would sit for hours, planning for the
establishment of some industry or running out the lines that would entangle some old
adversary. I did not stay with him very long, but before I left, he had a half-dozen
thriving industries on his hands, and when he died three years later he had accumulated
another fortune of over a million dollars.
That is an example of what I mean by the fascination that the technique of one's craft may
come to possess. It is the joy of doing well the work that you know how to do. The finer
points of technique,--those little things that seem so trivial in themselves and yet which
mean everything to skill and efficiency,--what pride the competent artisan or the master
artist takes in these! How he delights to revel in the jargon of his craft! How he prides
himself in possessing the knowledge and the technical skill that are denied the layman!
I am aware that I am somewhat unorthodox in urging this view of your work upon you.
Teachers have been encouraged to believe that details are not only unimportant but
stultifying,--that teaching ability is a function of personality, and not a product of a
technique that must be acquired through the strenuous discipline of experience. One of
the most skillful teachers of my acquaintance is a woman down in the grades. I have
watched her work for days at a time, striving to learn its secret. I can find nothing there
that is due to genius,--unless we accept George Eliot's definition of genius as an infinite
capacity for receiving discipline. That teacher's success, by her own statement, is due to a
mastery of technique, gained through successive years of growth checked by a rigid
responsibility for results. She has found out by repeated trial how to do her work in the
best way; she has discovered the attitude toward her pupils that will get the best work
from them,--the clearest methods of presenting subject matter; the most effective ways in
which to drill; how to use text-books and make study periods issue in something besides
mischief; and, more than all else, how to do these things without losing sight of the true
end of education. Very frequently I have taken visiting school men to see this teacher's
work. Invariably after leaving her room they have turned to me with such expressions as
these: "A born teacher!" "What interest!" "What a personality!" "What a
voice!"--everything, in fact, except this,--which would have been the truth: "What a

tribute to years of effort and struggle and self-discipline!"
I have a theory which I have never exploited very seriously, but I will give it to you for
what it is worth. It is this: elementary education especially needs a literary interpretation.
It needs a literary artist who will portray to the public in the form of fiction the real life of
the elementary school,--who will idealize the technique of teaching as Kipling idealized
the technique of the marine engineer, as Balzac idealized the technique of the journalist,
as Du Maurier and a hundred other novelists have idealized the technique of the artist.
We need some one to exploit our shop-talk on the reading public, and to show up our
work as you and I know it, not as you and I have been told by laymen that it ought to
be,--a literature of the elementary school with the cant and the platitudes and the
goody-goodyism left out, and in their place something of the virility, of the serious study,
of the manful effort to solve difficult problems, of the real and vital achievements that are
characteristic of thousands of elementary schools throughout the country to-day.
At first you will be fascinated by the novelty of your work. But that soon passes away.
Then comes the