THE TRANSITION FROM THE MECHANICAL TO THE INTELLECTUAL DEVELOPMENT OF LANGUAGE
In the "Children's Houses" we had reached a stage of development where the children could write words and even sentences. They read little slips on which were written different actions which they were to execute, thus demonstrating that they had understood them. The material for the development of writing and reading consisted of two alphabets: a larger one with vowels and consonants in different colors, and a smaller one with all the letters in one color.
(In English, to diminish the phonetic difficulties of the language, combinations of vowels and consonants, known as phonograms, are used. The phonograms with few exceptions have constant sounds and little attention is paid to the teaching of the separate values of the different letters: not until the child has built up his rules inductively does he realize the meaning of separate vowel symbols.)
However, the actual amount of progress made was not very precisely ascertained. We could be sure only that the children had acquired the mechanical technique of writing and reading and were on the way to a greater intellectual development along these lines. Their progress, however extensive it may have been, could be called little more than a foundation for their next step in advance, the elementary school. What beyond all question was accomplished with the little child in the first steps of our method was to establish the psycho-motor mechanism of the written word by a slow process of maturation such as takes place in the natural growth of articulate speech; in other words, by methodically exercising psycho-motor paths.
Later on the child's mind is able to make use of the successive operations performed with the written language which has been thus built up by the child as a matter of mechanical execution (writing) and to a certain extent of intelligent interpretation (reading). Normally this is an established fact at the age of five. When the child begins to think and to make use of the written language to express his rudimentary thinking, he is ready for elementary work; and this fitness is a question not of age or other incidental circumstance but of mental maturity.
We have said, of course, that the children stayed in the "Children's House" up to the age of seven; nevertheless they learned to write, to count, to read, and even to do a certain amount of simple composition. It is clear, accordingly, that they had gone some distance in the elementary grade as regards both age and educational development. However, what they had actually accomplished beyond the mechanical technique of writing was more or less difficult to estimate. We can now say that our later experiments have not only clarified this situation, but enabled us to take the children much farther along than before.
This only proves, however, that on beginning elementary grade work we did not depart from the "Children's House" idea; on the contrary we returned to it to give distinct realization to the nebulous hopes with which our first course concluded. Hence the "Children's House" and the lower grades are not two distinct things as is the case with the Fröbel Kindergarten and the ordinary primary school—in fact, they are one and the same thing, the continuation of an identical process.
Let us return then to the "Children's House" and consider the child of five and one-half years. To-day in those "Children's Houses" which have kept up with the improvements in our method the child is actually started on his elementary education. From the second alphabet of the "Children's House" we go on to a third alphabet. Here the movable letters are a great deal smaller and are executed in model hand-writing. There are twenty specimens of each letter, whereas formerly there were but four; furthermore, there are three complete alphabets, one white, one black, and one red. There are, therefore, sixty copies of each letter of the alphabet. We include also all the punctuation marks: period, comma, accents (for Italian), apostrophe, interrogation and exclamation points. The letters are made of plain glazed paper.
The uses of this alphabet are many; so before we stop to examine them let us look somewhat ahead. Everybody has recognized the naturalness of the exercise, used in the "Children's House," where the children placed a card bearing the name of an object on the object referred to. This was the first lesson in reading. We could see that the child knew how to read as soon as he was able to identify the object indicated on the card. In schools all over the world a similar procedure would, I imagine, be considered logical. I suppose that in all the schools where the objective method is used much the same thing is done; and this is found to be not a hindrance but a help to the child in learning the names of objects. As regards the teaching of the noun, accordingly, we have been using methods already in use—the objective method, with practical exercises. But why should we restrict such methods to the noun? Is the noun not just as truly a part of speech as the adjective, or the verb? If there is a method by which the knowledge of a noun is made easy, may there not be similar ways of facilitating the learning of all the other parts of speech (article, adjective, verb, pronoun, adverb, interjection, conjunction, and preposition)?
When a slip with the interpreted word is placed on the object corresponding to it, the children are actually distinguishing the noun from all the other parts of speech. They are learning intuitively to define it. The first step has thus been taken into the realm of grammar. But if this "reading" has brought the child directly into word classification, the transition has not been for him so abrupt as might at first appear. The child has built all his words with the movable alphabet, and he has, in addition, written them. He has thus traversed a two-fold preparatory exercise involving, first, the analysis of the sounds and, second, the analysis of the words in their meaning. In fact, we have seen that, as the child reads, it is his discovery of the tonic accent that brings him to recognize the word. The child has begun to analyze not only the sounds and accent but also the form of the word.[1]
How absurd it would seem to suggest a study of phonology and morphology in a nursery with four-year-old children as investigators! Yet our children have accomplished this very thing! The analysis was the means of attaining the word. It was what made the child able to write without effort. Why should such a procedure be useful for single words and not so for connected discourse? Proceeding to the classification of words by distinguishing the noun from all other words, we have really advanced into the analysis of connected speech, just as truly as, by having the sand-papered letters "touched" and the word pronounced, we took the first step into the analysis of words. We have only to carry the process farther and perhaps we shall succeed in getting the analysis of whole sentences, just as we succeeded in getting at the composition of words—discovering meanwhile a method which will prove efficacious in leading the child to write his thoughts more perfectly than would seem possible at such a tender age.
For some time, then, we have been actually in the field of grammar. It is a question simply of continuing along the same path. The undertaking may indeed seem hazardous. Never mind! That "awful grammar," that horrible bugaboo, no less terrible than the frightful method, once in use, of learning to read and write, may perhaps become a delightful exercise, a loving guide to lead the child along pleasant pathways to the discovery of things he has actually performed. Yes, the child will suddenly find himself, one day, in possession of a little composition, a little "work of art," that has issued from his own pen! And he will be as happy over it as he was when for the first time words were formed by his tiny hands!
How different grammar will seem to the young pupil, if, instead of being the cruel assassin that tears the sentence to pieces so that nothing can be understood, it becomes the amiable and indispensable help to "the construction of connected discourse"! It used to be so easy to say: "The sentence is written! Please leave it alone!" Why put asunder what God has joined? Why take away from a sentence its meaning, the very thing which gave it life? Why make of it a mere mass of senseless words? Why spoil something already perfect just for the annoyance of plunging into an analysis which has no apparent purpose? Indeed, to impose upon people who can already read the task of reducing every word to its primal sounds, would be to demand of them an effort of will so gigantic that only a professional philologist could apply himself to it with the necessary diligence, and then only because he has his own particular interests and aims involved in such work. Yet the four-year-old child, when he passes from those meaningless sounds to the composition of a whole, which corresponds to an idea and represents a useful and wonderful conquest, is just as attentive as the