The new education is selective.  The mind of each child is patiently studied with the view of discovering the peculiar bent, and this bent is guided and encouraged.  The child is allowed to forge ahead in those subjects for which he shows an aptitude, and not compelled to wait on a class.  Such supervision, of course, demands more teachers, teachers of an ability hitherto deplorably rare, and thoroughly trained in their subjects, with a sympathetic knowledge of the human mind.  Theirs will be the highest and most responsible function in the state, and they must be rewarded in proportion to their services.

A superficial criticism declares that in the new schools children will study only “what they like.”  On the contrary, all subjects requisite for a wide culture, as well as for the ability to cope with existence in a highly complex civilization, are insisted upon.  It is true, however, that the trained and gifted teacher is able to discover a method of so presenting a subject as to seize the imagination and arouse the interest and industry of a majority of pupils.  In the modern schools French, for example, is really taught; pupils do not acquire a mere smattering of the language.  And, what is more important, the course of study is directly related to life, and to practical experience, instead of being set forth abstractly, as something which at the time the pupil perceives no possibility of putting into use.  At one of the new schools in the south, the ignorant child of the mountains at once acquires a knowledge of measurement and elementary arithmetic by laying out a garden, of letters by inscribing his name on a little signboard in order to identify his patch—­for the moment private property.  And this principle is carried through all the grades.  In the Gary Schools and elsewhere the making of things in the shops, the modelling of a Panama Canal, the inspection of industries and governmental establishments, the designing, building, and decoration of houses, the discussion and even dramatization of the books read,—­all are a logical and inevitable continuation of the abstract knowledge of the schoolroom.  The success of the direct application of learning to industrial and professional life may also be observed in such colleges as those at Cincinnati and Schenectady, where young men spend half the time of the course in the shops of manufacturing, corporations, often earning more than enough to pay their tuition.

Children are not only prepared for democratic citizenship by being encouraged to think for themselves, but also to govern and discipline themselves.  On the moral side, under the authoritative system of lay and religious training, character was acquired at the expense of mental flexibility—­the Puritan method; our problem today, which the new system undertakes, is to produce character with open-mindedness—­the kind of character possessed by many great scientists.  Absorption in an appropriate task creates a moral will, while science, knowledge, informs the mind why a thing is “bad” or “good,” disintegrating or upbuilding.  Moreover, these children are trained for democratic government by the granting of autonomy.  They have their own elected officials, their own courts; their decisions are, of course, subject to reversal by the principal, but in practice this seldom occurs.