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The role of the Teachers' Institute in the history of American education has been documented by a succession of competent scholars who indicated the impact of Institutes in furthering the cause of education within the states through the expedient of a grassroots teacher-training program. Institutes were popular in various states at different times; in Michigan they attained popularity during the decades after 1840. While the story of the nineteenth-century struggle to augment teacher capabilities through Institutes is generally well known to the student of educational history, rarely does one have the opportunity to examine the actual proceedings of one of those early Institutes to see exactly what was taking place. It well may be asked: What actually occurred at these meetings? What was the nature of the training which the teachers received, and did it have any real utility? How did the sponsoring authorities attempt to inspire teachers toward a greater professional dedication? These are all legitimate questions worthy of an answer.
The thirteenth century was a period of centralization and reform in the Church, spearheaded by Pope Innocent III and the Lateran Council of 1215. This movement together with the rise of the universities led, among other things, to the encouragement of a new type of bishop—the scholar-bishop, a man who made a name for himself in the schools, and, as a result of his educational achievements, was called to an episcopal office.
Scarcely had American independence been won in 1783 than a flood of articles, pamphlets, and books asked what should be the functions of education in a republic? The American Philosophic Society offered a prize for the best proposal of a liberal education suited to the genius of the new American nation. George Washington, Robert Coran, Benjamin Rush, William Smith, Francis Hopkinson, and Jonathan Trumball all called for a new education for the new republic. Regarding higher education, they all agreed that education must be more than a mere adornment; it must have a practical bent. Benjamin Rush wrote:
We occupy a new country. Our principle business should be to explore and apply its resources, all of which press us to enterprize [sic] and haste. Under these circumstances, to spend four or five years in learning two dead languages, is to turn our backs upon a gold mine, in order to amuse ouselves catching butterflies.
The close relationship of school to life [in America] brings it about that students are bound to their schools with ties of great love and that not only [academic] knowledge (Wissen) but practical ability (Können) and the teaching of practical activities are strongly cultivated.
For many public spirited men in Massachusetts, 1837 was a turning point. After more than a decade of agitation for common school reform, the venerable and cumbersome General Court had finally consented to establish a State Board of Education. At the time there was some confusion as to what this new body might accomplish, but it was generally acknowledged that its most important act would be to select the right man as its executive secretary. The establishment of the board was the result of collective effort on the part of various reformers throughout the state, but if there was any man who could claim it as a personal triumph, that man was James Gordon Carter of Lancaster, teacher, editor, and legislator.
Frederick Jackson Turner tends to stress, on the part of the frontiersman, “a return to primitive conditions,” a “plowing with a sharp stick.” While the regression to a form of semi-barbarism was certainly typical of frontiersmen in some areas, particularly in the eighteenth century, there is evidence to suggest that settlers in the Middle West during the early nineteenth century can by no means be described in toto as primitive. Indeed, it may be noted that from the viewpoint of the provision of educational facilities the frontiersman of the early nineteenth century was often a good deal more active than were his Eastern and Southern brothers. Early attempts to provide public education in the Midwestern states are remarkable for their foresight and enthusiasm. This argument may be examined by means of a description of the development of secondary education in the state of Illinois.
In recalling the name of Malthus at this time, as we approach the bicentennial of his birth, it is well to remind ourselves that this eminent thinker has won a place of honor for himself in demography, economics, and sociology; perhaps also in biology, remembering the testimony of Charles Darwin and Alfred Russel Wallace, regarding the way in which a reading of the Essay on the Principle of Population, helped to bring about the statement of the theory of natural selection. But rarely, if ever, does one think of Malthus as a contributor of significant ideas on the theme of education. Even the specialist does not point to him for enlightening concepts on educational purpose, policy, or content.
On Volume IV. This issue completes Volume IV of the Quarterly. Thanks to the support of our subscribers, the Society, and the University of Pittsburgh, the Quarterly has taken solid roots as a scholarly publication. The bibliography for Dr. Paul Nash's summation of recent research in the history of education (Review of Educational Research, February, 1964) gives evidence that the Quarterly has become the leading outlet for publication in this field.
The history of education is that branch of history which deals with the development of thought, practice, matériel, personnel, administration, and organization and other aspects and problems of schools and other agencies of society, such as religious organizations, which instruct the young and the mature. A more narrow and more functional interpretation of this term is the development of all matter pertaining to instruction in the family and in the school. This does not mean that the accounts of the history of educational institutions or ideas can ignore the other phases of society. Since there is an interaction and interrelationship between the school and the rest of society, the educational historian must take this fact into consideration when he constructs and presents his narrative. It is not accurate or safe to write about education without reference to the wider social and cultural context of which it is a part.