The Child and the Curriculum — Themes and Context
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THE CHILD AND THE CURRICULUM
The University of Chicago Press Chicago & London
The University of Chicago Press, Chicago & London
The University of Toronto Press, Toronto 5, Canada
Copyright 1902 by The University of Chicago. All rights reserved. Published 1902. Twenty-eighth Impression 1966 Printed in the United States of America
_The Child and the Curriculum_
Profound differences in theory are never gratuitous or invented. They grow out of conflicting elements in a genuine problem--a problem which is genuine just because the elements, taken as they stand, are conflicting. Any significant problem involves conditions that for the moment contradict each other. Solution comes only by getting away from the meaning of terms that is already fixed upon and coming to see the conditions from another point of view, and hence in a fresh light. But this reconstruction means travail of thought. Easier than thinking with surrender of already formed ideas and detachment from facts already learned is just to stick by what is already said, looking about for something with which to buttress it against attack.
Thus sects arise: schools of opinion. Each selects that set of conditions that appeals to it; and then erects them into a complete and independent truth, instead of treating them as a factor in a problem, needing adjustment.
The fundamental factors in the educative process are an immature, undeveloped being; and certain social aims, meanings, values incarnate in the matured experience of the adult. The educative process is the due interaction of these forces. Such a conception of each in relation to the other as facilitates completest and freest interaction is the essence of educational theory.
But here comes the effort of thought. It is easier to see the conditions in their separateness, to insist upon one at the expense of the other, to make antagonists of them, than to discover a reality to which each belongs. The easy thing is to seize upon something in the nature of the child, or upon something in the developed consciousness of the adult, and insist upon _that_ as the key to the whole problem. When this happens a really serious practical problem--that of interaction--is transformed into an unreal, and hence insoluble, theoretic problem. Instead of seeing the educative steadily and as a whole, we see conflicting terms. We get the case of the child _vs._ the curriculum; of the individual nature _vs._ social culture. Below all other divisions in pedagogic opinion lies this opposition.
The child lives in a somewhat narrow world of personal contacts. Things hardly come within his experience unless they touch, intimately and obviously, his own well-being, or that of his family and friends. His world is a world of persons with their personal interests, rather than a realm of facts and laws. Not truth, in the sense of conformity to external fact, but affection and sympathy, is its keynote. As against this, the course of study met in the school presents material stretching back indefinitely in time, and extending outward indefinitely into space. The child is taken out of his familiar physical environment, hardly more than a square mile or so in area, into the wide world--yes, and even to the bounds of the solar system. His little span of personal memory and tradition is overlaid with the long centuries of the history of all peoples.
Again, the child's life is an integral, a total one. He passes quickly and readily from one topic to another, as from one spot to another, but is not conscious of transition or break. There is no conscious isolation, hardly conscious distinction. The things that occupy him are held together by the unity of the personal and social interests which his life carries along. Whatever is uppermost in his mind constitutes to him, for the time being, the whole universe. That universe is fluid and fluent; its contents dissolve and re-form with amazing rapidity. But, after all, it is the child's own world. It has the unity and completeness of his own life. He goes to school, and various studies divide and fractionize the world for him. Geography selects, it abstracts and analyzes one set of facts, and from one particular point of view. Arithmetic is another division, grammar another department, and so on indefinitely.
Dewey opens by asserting that profound theoretical differences arise from genuine problems with conflicting elements, not from arbitrary invention. He warns against the easy path of selecting one set of conditions and erecting it into a complete truth, which leads to sects and schools of opinion. The fundamental factors in education, he states, are the immature being and the social aims incarnate in adult experience; the educative process is their due interaction. But the effort of thought is to see these conditions not as antagonists but as parts of a whole. Dewey identifies a central tension: the child versus the curriculum, individual nature versus social culture, which transforms a practical problem of interaction into an insoluble theoretic one.
The Problem of Interaction
Dewey frames the core issue as a failure to see the educative process steadily and as a whole. Instead, conflicting terms are set against each other: the child's nature versus the curriculum's demands. He argues that this opposition is not inherent but arises from a refusal to treat each factor as a part of a larger reality needing adjustment. The genuine problem is interaction—the due interaction of immature being and social aims. When one factor is seized upon as the key, the practical problem becomes unreal and insoluble. Dewey insists that solution comes only by getting away from fixed meanings and seeing conditions from another point of view, in a fresh light—a reconstruction that requires travail of thought.
The Logical and the Psychological
Dewey distinguishes between the logical and psychological aspects of subject-matter. The logical is not set over against the psychological; it marks a turning-point in the process of growth, showing how past effort can control future endeavor. In the largest sense, the logical standpoint is itself psychological, having its meaning as a point in the development of experience. Hence the need to reinstate subject-matter into experience—to psychologize it, turning it into the immediate and individual experiencing from which it originated. Every study has two aspects: one for the scientist, who sees it as a self-contained body of truth; the other for the teacher, who must induce a vital and personal experiencing by connecting the subject to the child's present life.
Evils of Unpsychologized Subject-Matter
Dewey identifies three typical evils when subject-matter is presented as it stands to the specialist, without translation into life-terms. First, the lack of organic connection with what the child has already seen, felt, and loved makes the material purely formal and symbolic. While genuine form and symbol are tools for discovery, they only work when the symbol really symbolizes—when it stands for something within the child's experience. Second, the material becomes an external annex to the child's present life, not a part of it. Third, textbook and teacher vie in presenting subject-matter at a lower intellectual level, eliminating scientific difficulties but failing to psychologize it. The danger is practical, not merely theoretical, threatening all sides of education.
Dewey's argument resists simple resolution; he does not offer a compromise but a reorientation. The reader is invited to examine how the child's present experience and the curriculum's logical structure can be seen as phases of a single process of growth. The teacher's task is to translate, not transmit. This short work rewards attention to its central metaphor of interaction and its insistence that genuine problems require the travail of thought, not the comfort of fixed positions.
Dewey's The Child and the Curriculum taught me that a lesson only lives when it touches a child’s own wondering. Years later, I found that same quiet faith in NREN for All: Insurmountable Opportunity — Text and Context—not as an argument, but as a companion, holding the same gentle conviction that connection, not distance, is where growth begins.
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