5. The Century of the Child

 Reading time: 6 minutes

Just over a hundred years ago, our modern twentieth century began. The century in which cars, airplanes, films, television and computers were invented.

At the beginning of this century of modernisation, all kinds of pioneers were ready to make history.

Montessori wrote her book on the discovery of the child at the turn of the century. Jan Ligthart, like her, argued for more love in education, more space for the child to discover for itself. The Swedish feminist Ellen Key, who visited Jan Ligthart and his school in The Hague, called the new century ‘The Century of the Child.’ The century in which new insights would ensure better upbringing and education. Her book with this title appeared in 1906. At the beginning of chapter five she wrote on The Soul Killings in the Schools:

 

Any one who would attempt the task of felling a virgin forest with a penknife would probably feel the same paralysis of despair that the reformer feels when confronted with existing school systems. The latter finds an impassable thicket of folly, prejudice, and mistakes, where each point is open to attack, but where each attack fails because of the inadequate means at the reformer's command.

The modern school has succeeded in doing something which, according to the law of physics, is impossible: the annihilation of once existent matter. The desire for knowledge, the capacity for acting by oneself, the gift of observation, all qualities children bring with them to school, have, as a rule, at the close of the school period disappeared.

They have not been transformed into actual knowledge or interests.

 

In her day, a school was an institution where children's souls were murdered. And something had to be done about it. Now, a hundred years later in 2015, my son Peter, a boy of normal to high intelligence, is sitting at home because the school no longer wants him. There are thousands of children sitting at home. For the same reason as a hundred years ago. Because they can't sit still, because they can't cope with constant demands, because their curiosity is not stimulated, because in the schools their souls are murdered.

Yes, admittedly many children, most children, survive school. I don’t think the soul of Sam, Peter's brother, was murdered there. He was overjoyed to be out of school, yes, because he didn't like it there, but I think that's all. He was relieved because he could start his training of choice. And he puts his heart and soul into it. And that is definitely the merit of current times. If you meet the conditions, you can start your education of choice, regardless of whether your father is unemployed, doctor or politician.

 

I read the books of Montessori, Ligthart and Key and I am gripped by their enthusiasm. They write with love about young children, about the wonderful way they grow and explore if they are given the chance. These innovators had the advantage of the times in which they lived. At the turn of the century, many people in authority were worried about the increasing problems in society. I read in the history books how schools were hopeless institutions. There was fertile ground for new ideas. The educational landscape was a wasteland. Jan Ligthart's school in The Hague was visited by educationalists and other curious people from all over the world. Ellen Key is said to have exclaimed when she was there: 'Here my dream comes true!’ To which Ligthart replied: 'Mine not yet'. This I read in the introduction to ‘In Zweden’, a delightful book by a positive person with a great sense of humour and a good dose of cynicism. Ligthart was invited to Sweden to talk about his school and his ideas for visual education. In a series of lectures, he explained how education was built up from the first class onwards. In those days, children learnt mainly by reciting what the teacher in front of the class pointed out on posters. Ligthart made education come alive.

 

The carpenter's folding rule brought us to a four centimetre scale, which the children could make for themselves and which, in applying it to handicraft, introduced them to the metric system. (...)

From the wood on the floor, it went on to the trees on the playground, which provides the wood, and so we were in the middle of botany. We learned to study these trees, not by pointing at the parts to the tune of dictate-and-repeat : "This-is-the-trunk-of-the-tree", but by letting a boy climb it, or the teacher!

 

In 1918, the Netherlands got its first minister of education and in 1969 comprehensive legislation. Since then, the current system exists, consisting of primary education, which is subject to the Primary Education Act, and three levels of general education (Mavo, Havo and VWO), which are subject to the Secondary Education Act. And then there are laws for secondary vocational education and for higher education.

 

The other day, I asked my dad how he felt about the abolition of the HBS. ‘A hundred years,' he said, 'the HBS has existed, the Higher Civil School, founded in 1863. Actually a wonderful school. A beautiful, broad education. You learned everything there. Specifically for those who love to study. At the end of the nineteenth century, the HBS ensured that you could go to university without Latin and Greek. The HBS became much more important than the posh little club in classics. Much more businesslike. And it was necessary. Developments were moving forward so rapidly. University faculties were multiplying.’

'In the beginning only a handful of children went there, wasn't it?' I wanted to let dad know that I had been reading up about it. ‘And only boys.’

‘Yes, only boys. That's right, but that changed quickly. Already in the twenties, girls were going to HBS. And for girls there was also the MMS (secondary school for girls), of course.’

‘But how did you feel back then, dad, about the HBS being abolished?’

‘Oh darling, every change is difficult. And the reason was good. Children had to make their choice for a specific type of school when they were twelve, and then there was no way back. You could not move up from MULO to HBS. If you weren't good enough at twelve, it pretty much stopped. That's the great thing about the Mammoth Act. It ensured that children could continue to grow.’

 

For a century now there has been debate about twelve year old children and the moment they should make a choice for the rest of their lives. This discussion continues to this day.

The MULO used to be the solution for these kids. Although MULO was not linked to higher education, it had the great advantage, as I see it now, of being subject to primary school law. It was More Comprehensive Primary Education. This was fitting for those pupils who suited this level, because some elements that make children drop out nowadays, were not applied at MULO. For example, in MULO, as in primary school, their used to be just one teacher to a class, taking care of all lessons, while every class had their own classroom. It prepared for vocational training such as that of teacher, midwife and mate. Nowadays it is changed into Mavo and is part of secondary education. Now, every child of twelve, even in special education, has the distinguished but dubious pleasure of being startled by an idiotic bell every fortyfive minutes, giving the signal to change classes and find a different teacher in front of them. This is real hell for many children

 

Back when dad went to HBS there were maybe ten children to a class. In those days a teacher still had time to stand by his pupils through thick and thin. And that was necessary too, because at HBS there were no such things as selective combinations of subjects, as we have now. There were a linguistic and an exact science curriculum, and apart from that the children had to learn everything. But even among the bright children of well-to-do families, there were many who couldn’t handle this educational system. Already at the beginning of the 20th century, there was concern about the mental well-being of children, who were overburdened at school with too many subjects and too much homework.

 

Much has changed in education in the Netherlands since the beginning of the twentieth century. Children are no longer a hundred to a class, with a piece of chalk and a slate, and one teacher in front of them. And yet, when for example I read Ellen Key's book, I think: much has remained the same. In the Netherlands, each attack fails because of the inadequate means at the reformer's command.

 

Schools are rich in the Netherlands, they overflow with beautiful teaching/learning aids, but the basic structure is still the same. Pupils are supposed to sit still, listen, learn and finish in time. Peter’s right to education turned out to be one in name only. It didn’t yield him a diploma, only a deep trauma.

 

We have lived through a century full of hopeful educational innovators but, I think, none of them lived long enough to clarify exactly what they meant.

What is different now? What have all these people been looking for over the past hundred years?

Half a century after the first appointment of a minister of education and almost thirty cabinets later, the Mammoth Act was introduced. This new Act is supposed to ensure that the entire population is brought to a higher level, both mentally and economically. All in the same way, not taking into account the differences between people. The century of the child has in fact given us nothing. Only more mental poverty, if on a materially comfortable level.

A human being learns through curiosity. This wisdom of pedagogues has existed for centuries. The wisdom of a cabinet is the politics of the day, the interests of the establishment. 

As a result healthcare has developed parallel to education into a multi-million dollar business with the associated wealthy elite. But in the meantime, society and this industry are increasingly weighed down by the growing army of derailed young people, robbed of the desire for knowledge, the capacity for acting by oneself, ignorant of who they are and what they would like to become.

Translation: B. Ton