Memorizing Is Not Learning.
THERE is an immense deal of mere rote recitation by scholars, younger and older. Scholars fasten in their memory words to which they attach no meaning—or a wrong meaning; and these memorized words, or sounds of words, they rattle off upon call, without having any correct or well-defined idea of their signification. Under these circumstances, who would claim that these scholars are taught anything, or that their knowledge is tested, by reciting what they have memorized—even to an exceptionally skilled and intelligent teacher? This truth was forced on my mind in my earliest teaching experience. While yet but seventeen, I had a class of wide-awake boys, keen enough in matters of thought and action, but naturally conforming to the methods of study which met their teacher's idea of teaching. The book used in that class was one in which every answer was printed out in full, just below its question. The ordinary practice of the scholar was to fasten the answers in memory; and the ordinary practice of the teacher was to ask the questions in the words of the book, and hear the scholars recite the answer. Now for the working of that plan! One Sunday, the lesson for the day was "The Walk to Emmaus." The first question on the page was, "Where is Emmaus?" As I took my book in hand for the "teaching exercise," I recalled that the scholar at my right hand was a boy who had been absent the previous Sunday. Accordingly I asked in kindly interest, "Where were you last Sunday, Joseph?" Quick as a flash the answer came back, "Seven and a half miles northwest of Jerusalem." "Well, you are certainly excusable for not being here," was my mortified response; for then, for the first time, I realized that that scholar might as well have been northwest of Jerusalem or southeast of Timbuctoo, for all the good he gained from a class where hearing recitation had been looked at as teaching. That was a long while ago; it would be pleasant to believe that no illustration of this error in the teacher's work could be found in these days of improved Sunday-school methods and normal-class instructions. The memorizing of words is in itself no more the securing of ideas, than is the buying of books the securing of knowledge. A man may have his library shelves stored with the most choice and valuable works in every department of literature, science, and the arts, and yet be ignorant, not only of the knowledge covered by any one of those volumes, but also of the advantage which would come from the possession of such knowledge. Nor would his knowledge be increased in the slightest degree, if he had ten such libraries instead of one. So, also, a child may have fully memorized all the answers in his catechism, or his question book, including the choicer words of Scripture, without having received a single idea covered by those words; nor would any multiplication of similar words in his memory necessarily convey an added idea to his mental possessions. This is obviously true where the words are in another language than the pupil's own. It is equally true where the words are in the pupil's language, but utterly beyond his comprehension. It is none the less a truth in any case; for the receiving of ideas is quite another matter from the fastening of mere words in the memory; the two processes may go on at the same time, and again they may not; but in no case are they identical. That this truth is as true practically as it is philosophically, has been shown by experiment many times over; and its truth finds fresh illustration under the eye of every intelligent and observing parent or teacher. A notable and well-authenticated case of its testing is that of "Blind Alec," of Sterling, in Scotland, as recorded in all its details in Mr. James Gall's "Nature's Normal School." This was more than fifty years ago. Alexander Lyons, or "Blind Alec" as he was called, was a man of mature years and of average intelligence. He had actually committed to memory the words of the entire Bible. "Any sentence, or clause of a sentence, from Scripture, which another began, he could not only finish, but tell the particular verse in the Bible where it was to be found; and, what was still more remarkable, the number of any verse in any chapter and book being given, he was able immediately to repeat" the verse. Moreover, he had for years been in the daily habit of recalling and reciting passages of Scripture thus memorized. This man, thus supplied with Bible words, was thoroughly tested, not only by Mr. Gall, but by the more intelligent citizens of Sterling, lay and clerical, at a public meeting, called for the express purpose of ascertaining his knowledge of the truths clearly covered by the words in his memory. He was first questioned in the facts of English history, which he had been taught by the conveying to him of its ideas rather than by any set form of words covering those ideas; and he was found intelligently familiar with its truths in the field he had traversed. But in not a single instance could he quote a Bible text in explanation, in proof, or in enforcement, of the simplest doctrine or duty. The conclusion was irresistible, in his case, that by all his Bible word-memorizing, in his early life and in his later, he had never, at the first or afterward, acquired a single Bible idea, that "there was in Alec's mind no connection between the truths or duties of Scripture, and the words which taught them." Nor has it, so far, been different with any other person than "Blind Alec" from that day to this; for the mere memorizing of words is never, in itself, the gaining of ideas. Let me not be misunderstood just here. I am not claiming that no gain is possible from storing words in the memory, any more than I am claiming that no gain is possible from buying books for the library, or from having the library shelves stored with volumes in every department of knowledge. I am claiming, however, that neither the buying of books nor the memorizing of words and sentences is in itself the acquisition of knowledge. At the best, in either case, this is only the gathering of the materials of knowledge, or of instruments for its acquisition. And since memorizing words is not in itself knowledge, it can no more be made knowledge through the recitation of those words, than the possession of books can be made the acquisition of knowledge through their cataloguing. Memorizing words has an important place in a pupil's life. In secular school training there are rules and tables and lists that can profitably be fastened in the scholar's memory by rote, for convenience of future reference. In the Sunday-school, and in home religious training, there should be a wise measure of memorizing, by the scholar, of the very words themselves, of Bible passages, of hymns, and of accurate statements of important doctrine. But, whatever place or prominence is given to such memorizing, let not the mistake be made of supposing that the mere memorizing of these words in itself gives the scholar the possession of the idea covered by them. That idea could be conveyed without such memorizing. It may be conveyed in connection with such memorizing. Again, such memorizing may be in connection with the wrong idea, or with no idea at all. Under no circumstances, however, nor in any instance, will the memorizing of the words and the reception of the idea be one and the same thing. That cannot be. Nor can the wisest teacher in the world make the two things one, by simply hearing the recitation of what has been memorized. If you think that the memorizing of words is the great thing in your scholar's preparation for the "class exercise," by all means insist upon it. If you want to ascertain how much and how accurately he has memorized, hear him recite the words he has committed to memory. If particular questions upon the lesson have been given him, to which he is to find answers, and you desire to know whether he has found the precise answers to those specific questions, then ask him those questions and hear him give the answers. If this is your idea of a "class exercise," the way to secure it is as simple as turning a grindstone crank. This may be all that you deem essential in a teacher's work; but however desirable and important it may be, it cannot be called teaching; nor would it be teaching if it were called so. It is hearing a recitation; but hearing a recitation is not in itself teaching, nor ought it to pass for teaching.—Teaching and Teachers.