William Godwin - 1783 - An Account of the Seminary.pdf - William Godwin [1756-1836] - Kabel_B

ACCOUNT

OF THE

SEMINARY

That will be opened

On Monday the Fourth Day of AUGUST,

At EPSOM in SURREY,

For the INSTRUCTION of

TWELVE PUPILS

The GREEK, LATIN, FRENCH, and ENGLISH

Languages.

LONDON:

Printed for T.CADELL, in the Strand.

M.DCC.LXXXIII.

Of whom information respecting other particulars may

be received.

ACCOUNT

OF THE SEMINARY, &c.

THE two principal objects of human power are government and education. They have accordingly

engrossed a very large share in the disquisitions of the speculative in all ages. The subject of the

former indeed is man, already endowed with his greatest force of body, and arrived at the exercise

of his intellectual powers: the subject of the latter is man, as yet shut up in the feebleness of

childhood, and the imbecility of inexperience. Civil society is great and unlimited in its extent; the

time has been, when the whole known world was [2] in a manner united in one community: but the

sphere of education has always been limited. It is for nations to produce the events, that enchant the

imagination, and ennoble the page of history: infancy must always pass away in the unimportance

of mirth, and the privacy of retreat. That government however is a theme so much superior to

education, is not perhaps so evident, as we may at first imagine.

It is indeed wider in its extent, but it is infinitely less absolute in its power. The state of society is

incontestably artificial; the power of one man over another must be always derived from

convention, or from conquest; by nature we are equal. The necessary consequence is, that

government must always depend upon the opinion of the governed. Let the most oppressed people

under heaven once change their mode of thinking, and they are free. But the inequality of parents

and children is the law of our [3] nature, eternal and uncontrollable. –Government is very limited in

its power of making men either virtuous or happy; it is only in the infancy of society that it can do

any thing considerable; in its maturity it can only direct a few of our outward actions. But our moral

dispositions and character depend very much, perhaps entirely, upon education.—Children indeed

are weak and imbecil; but it is the imbecility of spring, and not that of autumn; the imbecility that

that verges towards power, and not that is already exhausted with performance. To behold heroism

in its infancy, and immortality in the bud, must be a most attractive object. To mould those pliant

dispositions, upon which the happiness of multitudes may one day depend, must be infinitely

important.

Proportionable to what we have stated to be the importance of the subject, is the attention that has

been afforded it in the republic of letters. The brightest [4] wits, and the profoundest philosophers

have emulated each other in their endeavors to elucidate so valuable a theme. In vain have pedants

urged the stamp of antiquity, and the approbation of custom; there is scarcely the scheme so

visionary, the execution of which has not at some time or other been attempted. Of the writers upon

this interesting subject, he perhaps that has produced the most valuable treatise is Rousseau. If men

of equal abilities have explored this ample field, I know of none, however, who have so thoroughly

investigated the first principles of the science, or who have treated it so much at large. If he have

indulged to a thousand agreeable visions, and wandered in the pursuit of many a specious paradox,

he has however richly repaid us for this defect, by the profoundest researches and the most solid

discoveries.

I have borrowed so many of my ideas from this admirable writer, that I though [5] it necessary to

make this acknowledgment in the outset. The learned reader will readily perceive, that if I have not

scrupled to profit from his discoveries, at least I have freely and largely dissented from him, where

he appeared to me to wander from the path of truth. For my own part, I am persuaded that it can

only be by striking off something of inflexibility from his system, and something of pedantry from

the common one, that we can expect to furnish a medium, equally congenial to the elegance of

civilization, and the manliness of virtue.

In pursuance of these principles it shall be my first business to enquire, whether or not the

languages ought to make any part of the perfect system of education; and if they ought, at what time

the should be commenced. The study of them does indeed still retain its ground in our public

schools and universities. But it has received a rude [6] shock from some writers of the present age;

nor has any attack been more formidable, than that of the author of Emile. Let us endeavor to

examine the question, neither with the cold prejudice of antiquity on the one hand; nor on the other,

with the too eager thrift of novelty, and unbounded admiration of the geniuses, by whom it has been

attacked.

When we look back to the venerable ancients, we behold a class of writers, if not of a much higher

rank, at least of a very different character, from the moderns. One natural advantage they

indisputably possessed. The field of nature was all their own. It had not yet been blasted by any

vulgar breath, or touched with a sacrilegious hand. Its fairest flowers had not been culled, and its

choicest sweets rifled before them. As they were not encumbered and hedged in with the multitude

of their predecessors, they did not servilely borrow their [7] knowledge from books; they read it in

the page of the universe. They studied nature in all her romantic senses, and all her secret haunts.

They studied men in the various ranks of society, and in different nations of the world. I might add

to this several other advantages. Of these the noble freedom of mind that was characteristic of the

republicans of Greece and Rome, and that has scarcely and parallel amoung ourselves, would not be

the least.

Agreeably to these advantages, they almost every where, particularly among the Greeks, bear upon

them the stamp of originality. All copies are feeble and unmarked. They sacrifice the plainness of

nature to the gaudiness of ornament, and the tinsel of wit. But the ancients are full of a noble and

affecting simplicity. By one touch of nature and observation they paint a scene more truly, than

their successors are able to do in whole wire-drawn pages. In description [8] they are unequalled.

Their eloquence is fervent, manly and sonorous. Their thoughts are just, natural, independent and

profound. The pathos of Virgil, and the sublimity of Homer, have never been surpassed. And as

their knowledge was not acquired in learned indolence, they knew how to join the severest

application with the brightest genius. Accordingly in their style they have united simplicity,

eloquence and harmony, in a manner of which the moderns have seldom had even an idea. The

correctness of a Cæsar, and the sonorous period of a Cicero; the majesty of a Virgil, and the

politeness of a Horace, are such as no living language can express.

It is the remark of a certain old-fashioned writer, “The form of the world passeth away.” A century

or two ago the greatest wits were known to have pathetically lamented, that the writers, of whose

merits I have been speaking, were handed down to us in so mutilated a condition. [9] Now it seems

very probable, that, if their works were totally annihilated, it would scarcely call forth a sigh from

the refined geniuses of the present age. It is certainly very possible to carry the passion for antiquity

to a ridiculous extreme. No man can reasonably deny, that it is by us only that the true system of the

universe has been ascertained, and that we have made very valuable improvements upon many of

the arts. No man can question that some of our English poets have equaled the ancients in sublimity,

and that, to say the least, our neighbours, the French, have emulated the elegance of their

composition in a manner, that is very far indeed from contempt. From these concessions however

we are by no means authorised to infer their inutility.

But I shall be told that in the first revival of letters the study of the ancient languages might indeed

be very proper; [10] but since that time we have had so many excellent translations of everything

they contain, that to waste the time, and exhaust the activity of our youth in the learning of Latin

and Greek, is to very little purpose indeed. Translation! What a strange word! To me I confess it

appears the most unaccountable invention, that ever entered into the mind of man. To distil the

glowing conceptions, and to travesty the beautiful language of the ancients, through the medium of

a language estranged to all its peculiarities and all its elegancies. The best thoughts and expressions

of an author, those that distinguish one writer from another, are precisely those that are least capable

of being translated. And who are the men we are to employ in this promising business? Original

genius disdains the unmeaningful drudgery. A mind that has one feature resembling the ancients,

will scarcely stoop to be their translator. The persons then, to whom the performance [11] must be

committed, are persons of cool elegance. Endowed with a little barren taste, they must be inanimate

enough to tread with laborious imbecility in the footsteps of another. They must be eternally

incapable of imbibing the spirit, and glowing with the fire of their original. But we shall seldom

come off so well as this. The generality of translators are either on the one hand mere pedants and

dealers in words, who, understanding the grammatical construction of a period, never gave

themselves the trouble to enquire, whether it conveyed either sentiment or instruction; or on the

other hand mere writers or hire, the retainers of a bookseller, men who translate Homer from the

French, and Horace out of Creech.

Let it not be said that I am now talking at random. Let us descend to examples. We need not be

afraid of instancing in the most favourable. I [12] believe it is generally allowed that Mr. Pope's

Iliad is the very best version that was ever made out of one language into another. It must be

confessed to exhibit very many poetical beauties. As a trial of skill, as an instance of what can be

effected upon so forlorn a hope, it must ever be admired. But were I to search for a true idea of the

style and composition of Homer, I think I should rather recur to the verbal translation in the margin

of the original, than to the version of Pope. Homer is the simplest and most unaffected of the poets.

Of all the writers of elegance and taste that ever existed, his translator is the most ornamented. We

acknowledge Homer by his loose and flowing robe, that does not constrain a muscle of his frame.

But Pope presents himself in the close and ungraceful habit of modern times;

"Glittering with gems, and stiff with woven gold."

No, let us for once conduct ourselves with honesty and generosity. If we will [13] not study the

ancients in their own nervous and manly page, let us close their volumes for ever. I had rather, says

the amiable philosopher of Chaeronea, it should be said of me, that there never was such a man as

Plutarch, than that Plutarch was ill-natured, arbitrary, and tyrannical. And were I the bard of

Venusia, sure I am, I had rather be entirely forgotten, than not to be know for the polite, the spirited,

and the elegant writer I really was.

To converse with the accomplished, is the obvious method by which to become accomplished

ourselves. This general observation is equally applicable to the study of polite writers of our own

and of other countries. But there are some reasons, upon account of which we may expect to derive

a more perceptible advantage from the ancients. They carried the art of composition to greater

heights than any of the moderns. Their [14] writers were almost universally of a higher rank in

society, than ours. There did not then exist the temptation of gain to spur men on to the profession

of an author. An industrious modern will produce twenty volumes, in the time that Isocrates

employed to polish one oration.

Another argument flows from the simple circumstance of their writing in a different language. Of

all the requisites to the attainment either of a style of our own, or a discernment in that of others, the

first is grammar. Without this, our ideas must be always vague and desultory. Respecting the

delicacies of composition, we may guess, but we can never decide and demonstrate. Now, of the

minutiæ of grammar, scarcely any man ever attained a just knowledge, who was acquainted with

only one language. And if the study of others be the surest, I will venture also to pronounce it the

[15] easiest method for acquiring a mastery in philology.

From what has been said, I shall consider this conclusion as sufficiently established, that the

languages ought at some time to be learned by him who would form to himself a perfect character. I

proceed to my second enquiry, at what time the study of them should be commenced? And here I

think this to be the best general answer: at the age of ten years.

In favour of so early a period one reason may be derived from what I have just been mentioning.

The knowledge of more languages than one, is almost an indispensable prerequisite to the just

understanding either of the subject of grammar in particular, or of that of style in general. Now if

the cultivation of elegance and propriety be at all important, it cannot be entered upon [16] too son,

provided the ideas are already competent to the capacity of the pupil. The Roman Cornelia, who

never suffered a provincial accent, or a grammatical barbarism in the hearing of her children, has

always been cited with commendation; and the subsequent rhetorical excellence of the Gracchi has

been in a great degree ascribed to it. Fluency, purity and ease are to be acquired by insensible

degrees; and against habits of this kind I apprehend there can be no objection.

Another argument of still greater importance is, that the knowledge of languages has scarcely ever

been mastered, but by those, the commencement of whose acquaintance with them was early. To be

acquainted with any science slightly and superficially, can in my opinion be productive of little

advantage. But such an acquaintance with languages must be very useless indeed. What benefit can

[17] it be expected that we should derive from an author, whom we cannot peruse with facility and

pleasure? The study of such an author will demand a particular strength of resolution, and aptitude

of humour. He can scarcely become the favourite companion of our retirement, and the never-

failing solace of our cares. Something of slow and saturnine must be the necessary accompaniment

of that disposition, that can conquer the difficulties of such a pursuit. And accordingly we find that

the classes and the school are generally quitted together, even by persons of taste, who have not

acquired a competent mastery of them in their course of education. Very few indeed have been

those, who, estranged to the languages till the age of manhood, have after that period obtained such

a familiarity with them, as could ever be productive of any considerable advantage. [18] Brutes and

savages are totally unacquainted with lassitude and spleen, the lust of variety, and the impatience of

curiosity. In a state of society our ideas habitually succeed in a certain proportion, and an

employment that retards their progress, speedily becomes disagreeable and tedious. But children,

not having yet felt this effect of civilization, are not susceptible to this cause of disgust. They are

endowed with a pliableness and versatility of mind, that with a little attention and management may

easily be turned to any pursuit. Their understandings not yet preoccupied, they have a singular

facility of apprehending, and strength of retention. It is certain this pliableness and facility are very

liable to abuse. It is not easy to believe, that they were given to learn words without meaning; terms

of art, not understood by the pupil; the systems of theologians, and the jargon of metaphysics. But

then neither were they given without a capacity [19] of being turned to advantage. And it should

seem that it could not be a very fallacious antidote to abuse, to confine our instructions to such

kinds of knowledge, as are of the highest importance, and are seldom learned with success, and

even scarcely attainable, at any other period.

Let it be observed that I have not fixed upon the age of ten years at random. It is the observation of

Rousseau; Both children and men are essentially feeble. Children, because however few be their

wants, they are unable to supply them. Men, in a state of society, because whatever be their absolute

strength, the play of the imagination renders their desires yet greater. There is an intermediate

period, in which our powers having made some progress, and the artificial and imaginary wants

being unknown, we are relatively strong. And this he represents as the principal period [20] of

instruction. This remark is indeed still more striking, when applied to a pupil, progress of whose

imagination is sedulously retarded. But it is not destitute either of truth or utility in the most general

application we can possibly give it. Let it be observed, that Rousseau fixes the commencement of

this period at twelve years. I would choose to take it at ten.

However we may find it convenient to distribute the productions of nature into classes, and her

operations into epochas, yet let it be remembered, that her progress is silent and imperceptible.

Between a perfect animal and vegetable, the distinction is of the highest order. Between distant

periods we may remark the most important differences. But the gradations of nature are

uninterrupted. Of her chain every link is compleat. As therefore I shall find in commencing at ten

years, that my time will be barely [21] sufficient for the purposes to which I would appropriate it, I

consider this circumstance as sufficient to determine my election. A youth of ten years is

omnipotent, if we contrast him with a youth of eight.

But if the languages constitute so valuable a part of a just system of education, the next question is,

in what manner they are to be taught. Indeed, I believe, if the persons employed in the business of

education had taken half the pains to smooth the access to this department of literature, that they

have employed to plant it round with briars and thorns, its utility and propriety, in the view we are

now considering it, would scarcely have been questioned.

There is something necessarily disgusting in the forms of grammar. Grammar therefore is made in

our public schools the business of a twelvemonth. [22] Rules are heaped upon rules with laborious

stupidity. To render them the more formidable, they are presented to our youth in the very language,

the first principles of which they are designed to teach. For my own part, I am persuaded the whole

business of grammar may be dispatched in a fortnight. I would only teach the declensions of nouns,

and the inflexions of verbs. For the rest, nothing is so easily demonstrated, as that the auxiliary

sciences are best communicated in connection with their principals. Chronology, geography, are

never so thoroughly understood, as by him that treats them literally as the handmaid of history. He,

who is instructed in Latin with clearness and accuracy, will never be at a loss for the rules of

grammar.

But to complete the disgust we seem so careful to inspire, the learned languages are ever

surrounded with the severity [23] of discipline; and it would probably be thought little short of

sacrilege to discompose their features with a smile. Such a mode of proceeding can never be

sufficiently execrated.

Indeed, I shall be told, "this is the time to correct the native vices of the mind. In childhood the

influence of pain and mortification is comparatively trifling. What then can be more judicious than

to accumulate upon this period, what must otherwise fall with tenfold mischief upon the age of

maturity?" In answer to this reasoning, let it be first considered, how many there are, who by the

sentence of nature are called out of existence, before they can live to reap these boasted advantages.

Which of you is there, that has not at some time regretted that age, in which a smile is ever upon the

countenance, and peace and serenity at the bottom of the heart? How is it you can consent to [24]

deprive these little innocents of an enjoyment, that slides so fast away? How is it you can find in

your heart to pall these fleeting years with bitterness and slavery? The undesigning gaiety of youth

has the strongest calim upon your humanity. There is not in the world a truer object of pity, than a

child terrified at every glance, and watching, with anxious uncertainty, the caprices of a pedagogue.

If he survive, the liberty of manhood is dearly bought by so many heart aches. And if he die, happy

to escape your cruelty, the only advantage he derives from the sufferings you have inflicted, is that

of not regretting a life, of which he knew nothing but the torments.

But who is it that has told you, that the certain, or even the probable consequences of this severity

are beneficial? Nothing is so easily proved, as that the human mind is pure and spotless, as it came

from the hands of God, and that [25] the vices of which you complain, have their real source in

those shallow and contemptible precautions, that you pretend to employ against them. Of all the

conditions to which we are incident, there is none so unpropitious to whatever is ingenuous and

honourable, as that of a slave. It plucks away by the root all sense of dignity, and all manly

confidence. In those nations of antiquity, most celebrated for fortitude and heroism, their youth had

William Godwin - 1783 - An Account of the Seminary.pdf

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