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were tasked to their astonishing labors. But whatever the leading motive or stimulus of conduct with him, two facts tincture and ennoble the cast of his whole being : the first, that he was ever truthful, sincere, transparent; the second, that his was in all things and ways a real, and not a formal or factitious manhood and character. His reality of purpose, thought, speech, action, was intense, unintermitted, known of all men, always the agency and the spirit of his plans, often misunderstood or feared, sometimes not a little troublesome to himself, but, finally, grandly and permanently triumphant. In all ages there is the larger proportion of real characters, to the extent of ability, in the humbler and unnoted walks of life ; in any age the greatly real man is more rare than the really great; and it is one of the highest glories of Arnold's character that we must class him unreservedly among the foremost in the more unusual of the two forms of greatness !
Arnold's intellect was strong, clear, vigorous, both in its apprehensions and conceptions, and that both in the perceptive and the reasoning departments; but it was not rounded out to fulness—was, indeed, quite unequal in either. His gift of language (in the sense of words and their symbolism) was strong, clear, and active ; yet, with all its native nicety and cultivation, it was never really copious. Of events, places, order, and time, he had a remarkable receptiveness and a retentive and full memory; and he very clearly individualized also those conceptions which lay in the line of his other dominant powers. Possessing these as his strongest perceptive capacities, his could not, by possibility, have been other than it was—the historical, statistical, matter-of-fact mind, the master of the thread of circumstance and of details. But almost wholly lacking, as he did, the appreciation of relations of number, and without strength in perceptions of form, of magnitude, and of mechanical effort, it was just as certainly fixed in the constitution of his mind, that he never could have been the earnest and successful cultivator of sciences, characterized as the “exact " sciences through which run continually those conceptions of measure, force, and number, upon which, the poet tells us, the Creator has built all things.
How naturally, then, with the event-seeing capacity in him, active and ardent, the particular style of events which he did most see and treasure were not as much
those physical phenomena forever exhibiting themselves under his eyes, and in his very person ; but rather those events having their origin in, or their effects upon, the human will, pursuits, and destiny! In the ratiocinative powers, it is evident at once that, of all the relations of things apprehended by him, those of resemblance and of consequence were the most-indeed, the only-powerful. In relations of distinction—in the ability sharply and vividly to discriminate—he was deficient; and in this fact we find another reason why he could not have had a properly scientific bent of mind. We saw before that he lacked the needful materials ; and we see now that he lacked also the requisite acumen and elementalizing power. A third reason will appear when we have added, that the study of his mind' reveals but a moderate endowment of the third of the groups of intellectual tendencies—the inventive, creative, productive, or artistic, as we variously characterize it.
We have already seen that he did not invent an educational system, but repaired and complemented the old. His was not a mind fertile in hypotheses, or capable of evolving a great work of art in any of the fields monopo
lized and adorned by the few of great productive genius; · nor was he endowed with the power which Aristotle had
to invent sciences; which Comenius and Pestalozzi showed in inventing new educational systems; and Bacon and Descartes in casting into recognizable forms the processes and conditions upon which the human mind had always proceeded in reasoning. The whole creative or art-ward tendency was, in Arnold's intellect, its feeblest side. But his intensity of feeling was so great, and his sensibilities were so keen, that, in many ways, his want of this highest phase of intellect would only appear upon close scrutiny; in fact, it is not often that so much of intensity and sensibility is so wholly divorced from the truly ideal and creative faculties, as was the case with him. But the facts remain unmistakable—he produced no system ; he even lacked the power altogether of appreciating that noblest and most refining of all creations of the human mind-music, and his very composition, though ever so animated and forceful, shows still a certain hard dryness, just as the process of making language into expressed thoughts was always attended with difficulty to him.
Thus we discover that his mind was mainly of the generalizing, the analogical order. He continually and readily grasped identities, similarities, laws; and his biographer intimates that the very fact of an exception was apparently troublesome to him, so that he sought out the contrary law, and comprehended the exception by ranging it under that. He was inductive also in his reasoning, so far as induction could be carried towards certainty without more of discriminating power ; indeed, we may say truthfully, that, in him, induction reverted from the Baconian type of the extant scientific movement, again to the earlier, the Socratic and popular character. But from laws or causes once attained, whether by generalization or induction, he drew sequences with great certainty, and with a power of far-reaching truthfulness, so that his logic was positive and reliable, so far as acumen and subtlety were not required in determining its premises. And here, again, a partial defect in mental power is in him nobly compensated by the rectitude of sentiments that lay behind and actuated all. If something of the keenness to be desired in the dissecting blade of analysis were wanting, there was still in him a truthfulness of purpose and instinct that focalized all the light of his faculties on his subject, and that revealed to him the right end and means from among the crowd of possible or plausible ones, even though he did not wait, or wanted the power to eliminate it logically from its fellows, before making it the object of his choice. We believe the justness of the view here presented, of his powers and tendencies of mind, will appear more fully in the brief account to be given of the principles which he contributed or especially advocated in respect to education.
Of his physical constitution and habits, Mr. Coleridge informs us that, when he left Oxford, “ Though delicate in appearance, and not giving promise of great muscular strength, yet his form was light, and he was capable of going long distances and bearing much fatigue.” He had thus great powers of endurance, without any of that excess of the physical which would have been too likely to subordinate even the mental to itself. His frequent walks with pupils, or beside the pony on which his wife rode, his trips at bathing and other sports, and gymnastic exercises, helped to preserve, in the midst of his assiduous mental employ
ments, the needed balance of activities; and were thus, doubtless, a means of extending a life at best far too short. After the day's business was over, he would sometimes say: “Instead of feeling my head exhausted, it seems to have quite an eagerness to set to work.” In his walks, while marking and dilating upon the points of beauty or interest offered by each successive season, he would feel “ as if the very act of existence was an hourly pleasure to him.” Yet it is scarcely possible to doubt that, in a degree, the very intensity of the joyousness, that thus marked so many of the intervals of his school and literary labors, was slowly, but certainly, conspiring with the actual toil to exhaust his constitutional vigor, and thus to prepare him for the untimely end of his career that awaited him.
One who realizes the magnitude to which the question of educational method has now grown, and the vast deal that needed and yet needs to be done towards the advancing and perfecting of that method, cannot, after all, read the life of Dr. Arnold without some sense of disappoint
We do not learn that, in the intellectual department, he did, or really aimed to do, much more than to perform the part of a most admirably clear, accurate, and successful teacher; and such he truly was. His instruction was full of earnestness and life, and his thoughts pointed and presented in a definite and comprehensive form. But he did not go to the root of the matter. He never essayed the very question of method ; nor does he seem to have questioned but that the mental processes followed in the schools were about what they should be, so that the right branches were attended to, and the teachers were competent and faithful. His great purpose was, to make of his pupils earnest and religious men.
Than this no other object could have been higher; but we claim that, with all his truth to and success in this aim, he might have incorporated more of that other phase of education, which could make them men, not only morally, desiring the right and good, but also intellectually, able more certainly to excogitate the right and good from the seeming and delusive, and to express and enact more effectually what they had thus excogitated. In his mind, the period of adolescence—of the later school years—was one of the gravest dangers to those passing through it. He would hasten the transition as much as
possible. He would, above all, make his pupils manly and morally thoughtful. Hence, he would have as much as possible done by the boys themselves, very little for them. Hence, he treated themi as reasonable beings, and as gentlemen; never watched for falsehood or trickery, but punished the former, when it was proved, with great severity. Among the pupils of the higher classes, “ any attempt at further proof of an assertion was immediately checked: If you say so, that is quite enough—of course, I believe your word;' and there grew up, in consequence, a general feeling that it was a shame to tell Arnold a lie—he always believes one.'” He kept punishment as much as possible in the background; but he resorted on occasion to the rod, especially in the lower classes; and he justified its use.
For two features of his school management, he has been much blamed-his retaining of “fagging," or the control of
the lower classes of the boys by the higher, and his practice of dismissing those whom he considered as dangerous boys, even though guilty of no overt act, justifying expulsion. These are both features in which he is likely to have no imitators in this country; and in which, probably, his example will be, at home, the most short-lived. In respect to fagging, he strove to guard against its evils, and to make the conscientious discharge of a duty of this sort inure at once to the advantage of the younger, and the self-discipline of the older boys; while in regard to the dismission of boys whose incorrigible grossness or viciousness threatened the morals of their fellows, it must be remembered how very large were the numbers he had under his care, and exposed to any such danger; and yet it is probable that he carried this principle farther than he can be justified in doing. It often proved true, however, as he claimed, that the very pupils he thus dismissed were the fit subjects for, and more likely to advance under, private tuition.
In intellectual education, Arnold maintained that classical studies should form the basis ; to him, the study of language seemed "given for the very purpose of forming the human mind in youth ;" the Latin and Greek tongues, “the very instruments by which this is to be effected.” It is not without surprise, however, that we read of one who declared it was not knowledge, but the means of gaining knowledge, which he had to teach," and who so far dissented from the