 The National Broadcasting Company in conjunction with the Fund for Adult Education presents Democracy in America by Alexis de Tocqueville. 1831. Are Americans well educated? Look for the learned and you will be surprised how few they are. But if you count the ignorant, the American people will appear to be the most enlightened in the world. It cannot be doubted that in the United States the instruction of the people powerfully contributes to the support of democracy. Common Sense and Moonshine. A study in American education. Item 10 in the series Democracy in America. Prepared by the Division of General Education of New York University under the direction of George Probst, American historian. A series designed to bring to life the America of 1831 as recorded by Alexis de Tocqueville and so to illuminate the image of democracy itself. A study in American education. Common Sense and Moonshine. When Beaumont and I landed in America in May 1831 we were overwhelmed with the multitude of sights and sounds of the city of New York. But one thing struck us so forcibly by its absence. Where are the children? You are quite right Beaumont, there are no children to be seen. Where as passes overrun with children? Perhaps they are working in the factories. They were not working in the factories. Far from it. They were in school. The New York of 1831 had universal, free, public education. Out of a population of 200,000, 50,000 were in the schools. One quarter of the entire population. And this is true of the whole of New England and New York state. Every citizen as a child receives the elementary notions of human knowledge. There is no country in which there is more respect for education or more suspicion of the educated man or more indifference to the position of teachers. These are strange contradictions Beaumont but they are ever present in this country that believes so ardently in the power of education. All the people you see to whatever rank of society they belong seem incapable of conceiving that the advantage of education might be doubted. They never fail to smile when told that this opinion is not universal in Europe. My dear Mr. Tocqueville, it's not a matter for discussion. Every American is sure that universal education is an absolute necessity to a free people like ourselves. I sympathize but am by no means convinced. My dear sir, there is no money qualification for either voting or holding office. Every man is a citizen. Every man must be educated. Is there no hostility between education and religion? None, whatever. Schools, churches, roads. Those are three universal needs that all Americans agree on. But don't you find men educated beyond their position in life? Isn't there a danger that indiscriminate education can make men discontented? Discontented? What about? This is America. Yes, but... In America, sir, the resources of nature are far beyond the claims of man. There's no moral energy or intellectual activity which does not find a ready outlet. In America, sir, schoolhouses are the Republican lines of fortifications, the factories of citizens. I know that this is an idea that is alive in every American mind. And it's not merely an idea, sir. I have the figures by me. You are very fond of figures. All Americans like statistics. We may not always have much use for history. We aren't too much interested in the past. But statistics. Now they can be a clue to the future. You can get an idea of the direction of progress. We like that. Progress and education. Now, in the state of New York at present, out of a population of around 2 million, there are 509,000 children between the ages of 5 and 16. And 97% of them are in school, around 1 in 4, sir, of the entire population. Furthermore, any citizen, any citizen at all who sees a child at play during school hours will ask, Why aren't you in school? And unless he gets a good reason, he'll take that child straight off to the nearest schoolhouse. And people do it, sir. I have done it myself. That's the meaning of universal free education. Indeed it is. But how can you possibly afford to educate so many children? Well, all European visitors ask that question and are surprised at what we're accomplishing. We can afford it because we must afford it. The principal expenditures of our states are on education. Or every American, sir, knows in his heart. And will brook no contradiction, Mr. Tocqueville, that a people that is to govern itself must first educate itself. As a matter of fact, sir, James Madison, our fourth president, said once that popular government without popular education is a prologue to either a farce or a tragedy. In the northern states, at least, education remains the first consideration, even in a new community. Even the farmer's almanac says... If a prudent farmer looks first to three things to prepare for winter, secure your sellers from frost, fasten loose clapboards and shingles, and secure a good schoolmaster. And they are secured. Not less than 60,000 New Englanders are employed as teachers in the different states, which is more creditable to New England than all the praises which could be bestowed on the industry and ingenuity of her inhabitants. Even the laws relating to public education shed the clearest possible light on the original nature of American society. The preamble to the Massachusetts Education Law of 1650 is unmistakable. Whereas Satan, the old enemy of mankind, finds his strongest weapons in the ignorance of men, and whereas it is important that the wisdom of our fathers shall not remain buried in their tombs, and whereas with the help of the Lord, the education of children is one of the prime concerns of the state. There are follow-closes establishing schools in every township, and obliging the inhabitants under pain of heavy fines to support them. And so it has been ever since. Education needs schools, and schools need teachers. But even in those parts of America where custom exalts education and the schools, you will not find a similar respect for the teachers. That is why so many teaching in our schools are men whose mind is said in something else. In what way? Why, sir, in that they intend to become lawyers, ministers, or physicians. They have been obliged, so to speak, to resort to teaching. Either to finish their college education or to earn the means to study what they consider their real professions. But is this the general view? It certainly is, sir. I can assure you, an old teacher like myself of many years' experience is only sure of being considered as a man of inferior talents else he would have followed his colleagues in their professional careers. Certainly, sir, as long as this opinion of instructors is entertained in the United States, the schoolmaster's task will be degraded. It is not only a humble occupation, but a humiliating one in the eyes of many. I know of teachers who feel that the necessity of being reduced to teaching has defamed their fair reputation. Certainly they take the first opportunity to leave it with disgust and detestation. But why? Why should this be so in a country that places so much faith in the power of education? Money, sir. Money? This country also places much faith in the power of money, but our teacher's wage is only a pitoness. If you can change, you are almost sure to better yourself. There is too much turnover of teachers and consequently neither discipline nor continuity. I tell you, sir, many a fashionable gentleman of the large cities would be glad of the company of the instructor of his children to a family dinner, but would think himself disgraced if he appeared with him in public. I ask you, sir, with what zeal can a man devote himself to teaching in America, a profession at once laborious and difficult, but in which the greatest success is incapable of procuring distinction, which exposes him to unmerited contempt and reproach? And why should a petty-fogging lawyer or a quack consider himself better than an honest and successful instructor? The Americans talk so much of the immense extent to which they carry the education of their people that one is apt at first to suppose that greater progress is made in the celebrated march of intellect than the result is found to justify. At 16, education ends and money-making begins to say nothing of the fact that all this interest in education is centered in New England and New York, so that as you go west or south, education diminishes. Yet they believe themselves in all sincerity to have surpassed, to be surpassing, and to be about to surpass the whole earth in the intellectual race. For example, there was a vehement farmer who hooking his toes in the underrail of his chair legs and hooking his thumbs in the armholes of his waistcoat gave his opinions with an interesting mixture of the pride of simplicity and the authority of indifference. Well, sir, there are some men like to talk of politics and agriculture. That's reasonable, very reasonable. Interesting to hear how many British were thrashed in this place, so much wheat was thrashed in that. But I take an interest in literature. I've what you'd call a literary bent. Little more cider? No, thank you. Take a taste of the Olsenkra rum? Thank you. That keeps the pork and beans clear from the bunk and pie. Well now, sir, out here on the farm I always vote my evenings to reading and learning. Writing, you know, and sometimes kind of geometry. What kind of geometry, sir? The arithmetic kind, I guess you'd call it. Now I reckon myself a tolerable good scholar, for I'm a great one for reading. What do you read? Well, there's three books I'm always reading. The Bible, the Almanac, and the Dictionary. But that's not all. I'm glad to hear it. No, sir. I take in a weekly paper. And once a fortnight I write over to Burlington for a month to see what they might be new and cleverish in the bookstore. And what is there? Well, there's Goldsmith's History of Rome. That's rather cute book, I reckon. I like it very much. And then there's the Natural History. That's considerably well done, I think. And Buckin's Medicine and Murray's Grammar. And some more, the like, I know pretty well. Them are all judge-marital books, I reckon. What do you think on them? Alas, I have not read them. But do you read novels or poetry? Well, I tell you, I never read no romances or poetry, but two. Hilgrim's Progress and Robinson Crusoe. And how did you like them? Oh, I don't see there's much genius in them. There to be little, as Mr. Jefferson says, for man to read. I see. Of course you, sir, are an educated man. Yes, sir, I am. I've been able to get quite a sufficient lot of learning, without going to any great trouble or cost. Do you know any of the classical languages, Latin, Greek? What in all creation have living people to do with dead languages? That kind of rubbish is only fit for colleges and universities, such like aristocratic places for the high-born and the rich. All they ever learn at those places is gaming, drinking, and wenching. I don't need them. I'm self-educated. The Americans set their own standard and judge for themselves. But because they all use the same rules for the direction of the mind, they nonetheless end with something very like their neighbor's opinion. This follows from their philosophical method. What is the philosophical method of the Americans? To evade the bondage of system. To accept tradition only as a means of information and existing facts only as a lesson to be used in doing otherwise and doing better. To seek the reason of things for oneself and in oneself alone. To look for results without being bound to means and to strike through the form to the substance. And, of course, their idea of education is based on this down-to-earth practical philosophy. This means that while there is respect for education itself, there is suspicion and perhaps even scorn for the educated man. Do you remember when we were in Boston exposed to a rolling fire of dinners, balls, and receptions? How often we heard this sort of conversation among the leaders of Boston society. They warmly approved the use of elementary education, but there was a very different attitude towards higher education. Instead of respect for the calm cultivation of the mind, they were for nothing but practical education whose motto is common sense. Common sense, yes, gentlemen. Common sense is the genius. Genius, Caleb? I do not like that word. Common sense is the essence of society and good government. And I think no people in the world have inherited a larger share of this commodity than the Yankees. Our cool, calm, calculating, money-making Yankees. Right. You, sir, being a foreigner, did you ever see a more intelligent people than our Bostonians? Did you ever see a city more quiet, more prosperous, more orderly than Boston? The appearance of Boston certainly warrants order. Yes, sir, and I can point out to you at least 100 persons in this city worth upwards of $100,000. That certainly argues in favor of the industry and perseverance of its inhabitants. It argues in favor of their common sense in which industry and perseverance are necessarily included. We are a common sense matter-of-fact people. We leave genius and enthusiasm to Europeans. I thank Heaven. I have no genius in my family. My children are all brought up to be industrious. You may thank the Lord for that, Seth. I never saw a genius yet who was either himself happy or capable of making others so. I have brought up my sons to become merchants or manufacturers. Only Sam, who is a little hard of hearing, rather slow of comprehension, should go to college. Our merchants, sir, are the most respectable part of the community. What college do you mean to send him to? I shall send him to Harvard University, the oldest literary institution in the country. Have you been to see it? We have been, but a few days in Boston, but I shall certainly take an early opportunity. Do so. You will find it well worth your while. It will convince you that while we've been making money, we have not altogether neglected arts and sciences. Which are your cleverest men in the various departments of science? Why, they are none of them very clever in our sense of the word. We consider professors as secondary men. Our practice is to give the different professorships away to young men in order to induce them to devote themselves to the branch they are to teach. Our country is too young for old professors. Besides, they are too poorly paid to induce first-rate men to devote themselves to the business of lecturing. But in this manner, you will never have imminent men in the higher departments of philosophy. We have as yet no time to devote to abstract learning. We are too young for that. Our principal requirement consists in common sense. All the rest we consider as moonshine. Let me tell you, a young man learns as much in six months in the counting room in Boston as in four years at college. All our friends don't entirely agree. Not all. But I tell them at our colleges only make poor gentlemen and spoil clever tradesmen. Name over the rich men in Boston. Most of them are self-taught country boys, possessed of no other learning and the art of making dollars in a neat, handsome, clean manner. And this has given them a higher standing in society than they could have acquired by all the philosophy in the world and has enabled them to marry into the oldest and most aristocratic families in Boston. Take, for instance, the case of our friend we were with last night. Yeah. What does he know except making money? Nothing. Fine man. What has he ever learned except negotiating notes? Some of them are pretty sharp, too. What college did he ever go to except that of our brokers in State Street? None. And has he not married the daughter of one of our richest men? Yeah, fine man. And is he not now connected with some of our first people with the real backbone of our Boston aristocracy? Yeah. And do you know the answer his father-in-law gave to one of his old friends who remonstrated with him for giving his daughter away to a parvin you from the country? What answer, Monsieur? I give my daughter to any man, he said, who will come to Boston and have wit enough to make a hundred thousand dollars in six years. There's common sense for you. That's what we call practical philosophy. It is a melancholy fact that a great number of our young men who have gone to college have afterwards been unsuccessful in business. I think our education is not sufficiently practical. We are still attached to the European system. Not only that, most of our students contract habits of idleness, which we'll never answer in this country. They want to imitate English gentlemen. They all ought to be told what my partner told his son when asked how to succeed in business. Take off your kid gloves, he said, and go to work. That's philosophy. That beats Aristotle. But if this be the prevailing taste, why do you call Boston the Athens of the United States? Oh, that refers to our ladies, not to our gentlemen. Our ladies read a great deal. What else have they to do? Besides admire their husbands. And we have, besides, a lot of literary twaddles manufactured by the wholesale at Harvard who attempt to turn the heads of our young girls with the nonsense they call poetry, which fills nearly all our papers instead of clever editorials. If we have one good poet among us, we have at least 50, the joint earnings of whom would not be sufficient to keep a dog. But how do your literary men manage to get along? They marry rich women who can afford paying for being entertained. They shall come and send you that. It's quite the fashion for our rich girls to have themselves a professor previous to taking a trip to Europe. You see, all this moonshine is well enough for rich girls, but the thing to teach all the children is the necessity of working. And in what manner is this done? In the best manner common sense could dictate. The instructors make them study for money. They distribute annually a certain sum, say from $80 to $100, in the shape of prize money, among those who obtain the highest marks. Our samples are numbered as high as plus 7 and as low as minus 7, a certain number of positive marks entitling the child to one cent prize money. At the end of the school term accounts are made out when each child receives a check on a bookseller or stationer for the amount you in, for which he may now select a book or pen knife or some trifling article. On which, of course, the instructor himself enjoys a liberal discount. But does not this practice induce sordid habits at an age in which the mind is most susceptible of receiving impressions and in which it is of the greatest importance to instill more elevated notions of honor and justice? You are entirely mistaken. Yep, entirely. One can see that you are a little dyed in the speculative philosophy of your country. No, sir. No stimulus to learning can be half as great as when a boy can figure it out on his own slate. How many dollars and cents his geography, grammar, spelling, reading and good conduct come to per annum? In America, most of the rich men were formerly poor. Most of those who now enjoy leisure were absorbed in business during their youth. The consequence of this is that when they might have had a taste for study, they had no time for it. And when the time is at their disposal, they have no longer the inclination. I do not believe that there is a country in the world where, in proportion to the population, there are so few ignorant and, at the same time, so few learned individuals. Primary instruction is within the reach of everybody. Superior instruction is scarcely to be obtained by anybody. Their education generally ends at the age when ours begins. If it is continued beyond that point, it aims only towards a particular specialized and profitable purpose. One studies a branch of knowledge as one takes up a business. And one takes up only those applications whose immediate practicality is recognized. Thus, a middling standard is fixed in America for human knowledge. All approach as near to it as they can. Some as they rise, others as they descend. Man cannot prevent the unequal distribution of the gifts of intellect. But although the capacities of man are different, as God intended they should be, the means that Americans find for putting them to use are equal. Practical education, therefore, is a form of enlightened self-interest. The clearest lesson of wisdom on this concerned a hard-working Massachusetts mechanic. Here tell their fixin' to build a normal school. Right. Normal school. That's to educate teachers for all the public schools. Right. I guess it would be right, good. We can use one of them. I guess so, Amos. Well, I guess you'll be raising money. Don't get much done without it. I brought along a subscription. Here's my check to help establish one of those teacher training places. Well, thank you kindly, Amos. I'll just give you a seat. Wait a minute. It says here $1,000. You better change that quick. Why? You're not a wealthy man, Amos. Didn't you mean $100, but down is safe for too many? No. Well, you can't afford that much. After all, you're the father of a family. Right. I am the father of a family. And how can I help my children better than by seeing they get decent teachers? If I want to educate my children, I've got to educate the community they're living in. In Philadelphia, the Philadelphia Working Men's Committee said in 1830 while pressing for common public schools as a matter of legal right instead of charity. When the committee contemplates their own condition and that of the great mass of their fellow laborers, when we look around on the glaring inequality of society, we are constrained to believe that until the means of equal instruction shall be equally secured to all, liberty is but an unmeaning word, and equality an empty shadow. Education is the priceless advantage, as the great Benjamin Franklin said, if a man empties his purse into his head, no one can take it from him. But yet, better not be found out. However, this passion for education does not apply to the South, where a few receive a good non-practical, contemplative education, yet in general it may be said that education languishes in the South. Indeed, you can find people on the extreme borders who are totally illiterate, as in France. But even in the South, the power of education is respected. All laws relative to slavery forbid the education of slaves. Not only are the public schools close to them, but their masters are forbidden to allow them the most elementary instruction. One South Carolina law imposes a fine of 100 pounds sterling on the master who teaches his slaves to read. The penalty is no greater if he kills them. In general, however, Beaumont, the effort made in America to spread useful education is truly prodigious. The universal and sincere faith that they possess here in the power of education seems to me one of the most remarkable features of America. Their results, one of those powerful efforts, quiet but irresistible, that nations sometimes make when they march toward a goal with a common and universal impulse. There has never been under the sun a people as enlightened as the population of the North of the United States in the year 1831. Because of their education, they are more strong, more skillful, more capable of governing themselves and enduring the condition of liberty. You have just heard Common Sense and Moonshine, a study in American education, item 10 in a series based on Alexis de Tocqueville's Democracy in America. This series, presented by the National Broadcasting Company, was prepared by the Division of General Education of New York University under the direction of George Probst, produced in the studios of the Canadian Broadcasting Corporation by Andrew Allen, scripted by Lister Sinclair, music by Lucio Agostini. This series, Democracy in America, is made possible by a grant from the Fund for Adult Education as part of a general course of study of the nature of American society. For information about the use of these de Tocqueville dramatizations for study or discussion and how to secure these new materials for American democracy at a reasonable charge, write to the American Foundation for Continuing Education, post office box 749, Chicago 90, Illinois. Now this is Ben Brower inviting you to listen next week to the Chief Instrument of Freedom, item 11 on Democracy in America. This program was prerecorded. It is an NBC Radio Network presentation. Wherever you are, stay tuned to World Events on NBC Radio.