Introduction

By the mid-18^th century, the Latin schools and the Gymnasien still had a virtual monopoly on higher education. Next to them there only existed what we now would call ‘elementary’ schools: preparatory institutions where young children (from about 5 to 10 years old) learned to read, to write and cipher and studied the catechism. Some of these schools, especially in the bigger cities, offered more comprehensive curricula and accommodated students to about 14 years of age. There was no official transition, however, between an ‘elementary’ and an ‘advanced’ level. Significantly, the elementary schools usually defined themselves geographically (Dorfschule, Stadtschule, Bezirksschule, Districts-schule) or socially (Armenschule, Bürgerschule). As a rule, children did not choose a specific type of education, but attended the school of the village, city or district in which they happened to live or belonging to the social class into which they had been born. The only form of higher education that was clearly delineated was offered by the so-called Latin schools. Consolidated by an agelong tradition, they provided teaching up to the age of 14 and often accepted children well before the age of 10. In some bigger cities, their curriculum extended to the age of 18 or 20, in which case they would sometimes be called Gymnasien (or Lycea). The classical curricula of these schools were determined by the needs of the ‘Gelehrtenstand’ (‘academic class’), whence they were often called ‘Gelehrtenschulen’ (‘academic schools’).⁴⁴² They were principally intended for those who after attending university would hold higher civil offices or academic positions.

The Gelehrtenschulen offered the only type of higher education available. Big cities with about 150,000 inhabitants often had no less than six or seven Gelehrtenschulen⁴⁴³ and even provincial towns sometimes had two.⁴⁴⁴ City schools (as opposed to rural schools (Landschulen)) were almost without exception Gelehrtenschulen.⁴⁴⁵ As a result, in the lower grades there was usually an overwhelming presence of pupils who were destined for skilled professions, for which university education was not required.⁴⁴⁶ For many centuries, the lower grades of the Latin schools had therefore been populated by substantial numbers of pupils for whom classical education was not primarily intended. In the late 18^th century, however, as the amount of skilled professions that required non-academic higher education substantially increased, the Gelehrtenschulen faced a major clientele problem. The lower grades were now attended not only by simple craftsmen like cobblers, tailors and wool carders or merchants and manufacturers, but also by future pharmacists, wholesalers, surgeons, economists and forest, mining or financial officials.⁴⁴⁷ As the classical schools still had a monopoly on higher education, pupils with such future callings had no option but to subject themselves to a curriculum that prepared them for a career that would never be their own. Compelled to study Latin for many hours a week, they missed the chance to acquire knowledge relevant to their professions. Moreover, they would mostly not finish the curriculum up to the age of 18, and therefore not be able to fully enjoy the fruits of a classical education.

By the late 18^th century, it was not uncommon that pupils preparing themselves for skilled professions vastly outnumbered future university students, whose interests the classical schools aimed to serve. On average, only one out of seven to ten pupils of a Latin school would go to university.⁴⁴⁸ Prima, the highest grade of the Gymnasien, was sometimes attended by only three or four pupils.⁴⁴⁹ In 1804, the Prussian educational reformer Bernhard Natorp (1774–1846) stated that in 15 to 20 years time, only a handful of pupils at the protestant Gymnasium of Essen pursued academic careers.⁴⁵⁰ The curricula of the Gelehrtenschulen, then, were tailored to the needs of a clientele which in the most extreme cases was hardly present at all. Therefore, from the 1770s onwards, it was widely argued that pupils preparing for skilled professions deserved a type of education accommodated to their own needs and interests.

The quest for Bürger education

One of the earliest attempts to conceive of a special type of education for Bürger was made by Friedrich Resewitz (1729 – 1806), one of the most famous pedagogues of his time.⁴⁵¹ Since the establishment of independent Bürgerschulen was still a bridge too far, Resewitz thought about redefining and reorganising the Latin schools’ lower grades, the so-called Bürgerclassen. In his Erziehung des Bürgers (1773), Resewitz distinguished academic education from Bürger education by pointing out that the latter, unlike the former, was to be determined by the criterion of applicability. His argument ran as follows: 1) whereas the academic has to search for truth, the Bürger only has to know it, in order to comprehend and to apply it (14); 2) whereas the academic seeks knowledge for its own sake, the Bürger aspires to put it to good use (ibid.); 3) whereas the academic knows how knowledge comes about (by the application of academic methods), the Bürger sticks to the results of academic research (ibid.); 4) whereas the academic does not care how his findings “fit in with the real world,” the Bürger only “thinks for the world” (ibid.); 5) whereas the academic deals with abstract ideas and propositions, the Bürger concentrates on details primarily derived from observation (15).⁴⁵² According to Resewitz, then, education for Bürger should be essentially practical.⁴⁵³

In the late 18^th century, the need for practical training was met by the creation of a large number of vocational schools, for pharmaceutics, surgery, architecture, mining, military education, etc.⁴⁵⁴ At the preparatory level, however, providing practical education for Bürger was more complicated, as the large majority of cities could not afford to have two different schools for Bürger and academics.⁴⁵⁵ As choosing between them would seriously disadvantage one of both groups, most city schools had no choice but to keep offering education to Bürger and academics alike.⁴⁵⁶ Therefore, the debate on Bürger education gravitated towards the question whether the lower grades of the Gelehrtenschulen should be transformed into Bürgerschulen (or Realschulen), so that classical education would be largely restricted to the higher grades. As many provincial towns only had smaller Latin schools (without a full Gymnasium on top), in many cities this would come down to the complete transformation of the Latin school into a Bürgerschule that would offer considerable scope to practical subjects while paying relatively little attention to Latin and Greek. Although the program of ‘transformation’ (‘Umschaffung’) was hotly debated at the time,⁴⁵⁷ it met with stern resistance at the large majority of schools, as it was on classical education that a school’s reputation often exclusively depended.⁴⁵⁸ Attending a Gelehrtenschule widely counted as a prerogative of the distinguished,⁴⁵⁹ of “honette Bürger” who aspired to fulfil leading functions in society.⁴⁶⁰ The perceived class distinction between classical and other types of education was so profound that for most city schools, to abandon classical education would be the final blow to both their intellectual and social reputation.⁴⁶¹ Therefore, many city schools ignored the fact that the large majority of pupils did not have academic ambitions and kept adhering to standards set by a small, privileged minority.

Conversely, the elite reputation of classical education attracted many people eager to improve their position in society. Parents went to the trouble of giving their children a classical education because of the bright prospects it offered, and many pupils laboured industriously to move on to Prima.⁴⁶² The schools themselves aspired to get as many Primaner as possible, often proving all too willing to overlook deficient capacities.⁴⁶³ As a result, in the late 18^th century, the Gelehrtenschulen were not less, but more popular than ever before.⁴⁶⁴ Since most Latin schools were reluctant to transform into Bürgerschulen, the only way to meet the needs of their clientele was to offer increasing numbers of ‘practical’ subjects next to the classics. By the end of the century, this resulted in a curricular chaos that was widely recognised as a major problem.⁴⁶⁵ At the Berlin Friedrichswerdersches Gymnasium, for example, in 1789, the curriculum of the Bürgerclassen included German, French, religion, calligraphy, arithmetic, geography, exercises in reflection (Vorübungen zur Beförderung des Nachdenkens), Brandenburg history, “practical knowledge” (Bürgerkenntnisse), a newspaper class (Zeitungsstunde) intended “to explain many concepts occurring in everyday life,” universal history and natural history.⁴⁶⁶ However, notwithstanding this unprecedented extension, the new curriculum in the Bürgerclassen rarely had the effect of displacing the classics. At the school mentioned above, as at most schools, Latin continued to be taught from the lowest grade, and Greek from the third grade onwards. Academic and non-academic students alike still dedicated many hours a week to studying Latin and sometimes Greek.⁴⁶⁷ The quest for Bürger education, then, did not have the effect of reducing the predominance of classical education.

The unrelenting dominance of classical education can be explained at least partly by the fact that throughout the late 18^th century, the appreciation of classical education itself remained very high. For all criticisms levelled against the monopoly of the classical schools, educationalists that did not consider classical education of preeminent educative value were very hard to find. This can be illustrated by the fact that even the most ardent champions of Bürger education generally respected classical education and did not perceive a serious rivalry between the two. Friedrich Resewitz, for example, did not direct his plea for independent Bürger education against the classical schools. On the contrary, Resewitz fully endorsed the importance of classical education, but considered it improper to impose it upon all pupils. “Most classical works,” he wrote, “were written by statesmen, men of the world, generals, leaders of entire countries, astute philosophers etc., and can therefore only be understood by people of comparable culture, morality, state of mind and customs.”⁴⁶⁸ Resewitz held that “most people are mediocre, whereas for genuine scholarship talent is needed. Therefore you should not, as is the current practice, bestow learning upon many people.”⁴⁶⁹ Resewitz, rather than promoting the Bürgerschule at the expense of classical education, attempted to restrict the latter to the leading social classes for which it was essentially intended. Underlying Resewitz’s reform plans was a recognition, rather than a rejection of classical humanism.⁴⁷⁰

Precisely because of the unabated predominance of classical education, classical humanists were frequently confronted with the charge of providing a type of education that was practically useless to large numbers of people. At a time of unprecedented vocational differentiation that was fundamentally changing the outlook of German society, the traditional monopoly of classical education became increasingly difficult to maintain. Thus, classical humanists were urged to prove that classical education fully compensated for its obvious lack of “practical” use by another, “formal” use that could benefit academics and non-academics alike. Moreover, they contended that studying ancient literature was of crucial importance in making a contribution to the “common good,” as it was in typically “public” virtues that the ancient Greeks and Romans excelled. In other words, in the late 18^th century, classical humanists endeavoured to prove that classical education was in fact eminently suited to meet the needs of modern society. At the same time, however, the type of classical education they advocated remained distinctly traditional. In the next two sections, we will examine their defence of classical education in more detail.

Material and formal education

In 1783, Johann Stuve (1752 – 1793), co-director of the Stadtschule of Neu-Ruppin (Prussia), launched a vehement attack on the monopoly of the classical schools.⁴⁷¹ Stuve argued that the study of classical languages was so excessively difficult that only very few pupils were able to draw any benefit from it. As classical literature was “written only for men, and was only truly understandable by men,” it was hardly recommendable reading for children.⁴⁷² (124) Moreover, Stuve pointed out that knowledge of the classical languages was hardly useful anymore for the large majority of professions that required academic education.⁴⁷³ By focusing on classical literature as students, many civil servants holding higher offices had insufficient opportunity to acquire the specific knowledge and skills that their professions required. Therefore, Stuve argued that far fewer students should be obliged to study the ancient classics. (124 f.)

Stuve was most critical about the widespread practice of writing and speaking Latin, which he denounced as “needless, superfluous and harmful.” (138) According to Stuve, active use of the Latin language was neither necessary to understand Latin books, nor useful in ordinary life and in business (“im gemeinen Leben” and “in Geschäften”). (139) As “learning and science do not exist for their own sake, but derive their value from their communicability (Mittheilbarkeit),” there was no point in preserving Latin as the language of science. (140 f.) Furthermore, Latin’s international status was hardly a recommendation, since very few writers were widely read and the best were usually translated. (141) What was called for, then, was nothing less than the complete abolition of the active use of Latin.

Stuve’s argument was answered by the classical philologist Friedrich Gedike (1754 – 1803), a renowned pedagogue who exercised a major impact on Prussian education as superintendent (Oberkonsistorialrat) of the state school board (Oberschulkollegium).⁴⁷⁴ Gedike wholly agreed with Stuve that the criterion of utility had become very important in a society characterised by major professional differentiation. As director of the Berlinisch-Köllnisches Gymnasium in Berlin, he did much to provide special education for Bürger next to classical education.⁴⁷⁵ At the same time, however, Gedike criticised Stuve’s concept of utility for being limited to material values alone. The fact that Latin was unnecessary in ordinary life, he argued, did not mean that is was altogether unnecessary. In Gedike’s view, Stuve, by only assessing education on the basis of its material utility, betrayed an ignoble vision of the human race. “It is to downgrade and humiliate the human mind,” he wrote, “(…) to appraise all knowledge according to the profit it brings (bürgerlicher Ertrag).”⁴⁷⁶ The true purpose of classical education, according to Gedike, was “to cultivate the mind” (Ausbildung des Geistes).⁴⁷⁷ Writing and speaking Latin was not socially, but “psychologically useful. It gives the soul a certain suppleness and flexibility, and by the difficulty of finding the most appropriate expression for each thought, our faculty of judgment is (…) nourished and strengthened.”⁴⁷⁸ This psychological use Gedike would later rephrase as ‘formal education’ (formale Bildung). Classical education, by harmoniously cultivating and disciplining our mental faculties – our “mind, wit, ingenuity, imagination, memory, judgment and taste”⁴⁷⁹ – contributed to educating a man to a full human being, regardless of vocational considerations. Exactly for this reason, Gedike considered classical education useful even to people who would not need the Latin language in their professional lives. Classical education, he argued, was the “best preliminary training, not only for the scholar, but also for the future businessman” (Geschäftsmann).⁴⁸⁰ It is noticeable that Gedike did not consider himself a true opponent of Stuve. Fully endorsing the importance of the utility concept that had recently acquired considerable importance, he only elaborated it by pointing out that practical utility should be distinguished from “formal utility” (formaler Nutzen⁴⁸¹), which, being superior to practical utility, should be the primary object of all higher education. Starting from educational values and concepts that were of current interest, Gedike attempted to redefine the importance of classical education in a contemporary fashion. The concept of formale Bildung proved extremely successful. Stuve himself, in a response to Gedike’s defence, acknowledged the substantial “formal” value involved in thoroughly studying classical literature.⁴⁸² In subsequent years, many classical humanists adopted similar arguments in their defences of classical education.⁴⁸³ By the 1800s, the value of formale Bildung was so broadly acknowledged that there was hardly any pedagogue who dared to assess education on its practical value alone.

As the term formale Bildung only came into vogue in the late 18^th century, it is tempting to interpret it as demarcating an essentially new way of thinking about classical education. On closer inspection, however, this assumption turns out to be mistaken. Gedike felt a need, not for a new educational ideal, but for a new way of defending it. With his concept of “formal utility,” he combated critics of classical humanism with their own weapon. Regardless of the new terminology, however, content-wise, Gedike did little more than reaffirm constitutive features of the classical-humanistic creed. By distinguishing “formal” from “practical” utility, he underlined that classical studies aimed at education for its own sake, independent of vocational considerations. By highlighting the classics’ potential for cultivating our “mind (…), judgment and taste,” Gedike indicated that he considered classical education very suitable to disciplining one’s intellectual capacities and to cultivating one’s moral and aesthetic judgment. As can be seen from his descriptions of educational practice at the Friedrichswerdersches Gymnasium Berlin, Gedike taught the classics in a way very similar to Karl Gottfried Siebelis.⁴⁸⁴ As “promoting skills in oral and written presentations” was “the main purpose of all teaching,”⁴⁸⁵ he paid lavish attention to the active use of Latin and Greek. In other words, both in his objectives and in his teaching methods, Gedike was a classical humanist in the full sense of the term. It was only because classical education was frequently criticised for its poor practical utility, that he advanced the concept of formale Bildung, thus enabling himself to rebut his critics using their own jargon. Despite its contemporary outlook, however, his concept of formale Bildung comprised many values that had been integral to classical humanism for many centuries.⁴⁸⁶

The common good

A similar attempt to defend classical humanism in a contemporary fashion is found in the response of classical humanists to another frequently voiced criticism. In the 1770s and 1780s, the classical schools were often branded as “sectarian” institutions, which, by their purely inward orientation, did not contribute to the common good. The ‘common good’ was a much-debated theme in the late 18^th century, when many members of the middle classes, scholars among them, began to interconnect on a much larger scale than had been customary in the past. Their cohesion was strengthened by an unprecedented flourishing of reading societies, journals and correspondence as well as by a spectacular increase in literacy and book publications.⁴⁸⁷ This interconnection of different members of society was seen to contribute to an organic state of society, which is commonly known as the “public sphere” (Öffentlichkeit).⁴⁸⁸ Educationalists widely agreed that the public sphere could be decisively influenced by means of education. By ridding people of their ignorance and making them conscious of their public responsibilities, education could encourage them to contribute to the common good.⁴⁸⁹

In the late 18^th century, it was broadly agreed that the public sphere was primarily dependent on the lower and middle classes. Friedrich Resewitz valued people from these classes as society’s “productive members” (werbende Glieder or Nährstand), who did not merely serve their own interests, but made their labour fruitful to society as a whole.⁴⁹⁰ They constituted the “only reliable force of the state, the source of the population, the foundation of all public welfare.”⁴⁹¹ Farmers, merchants and tradesman, Resewitz argued, excelled in the characteristically public virtue of activity (Thätigkeit).⁴⁹² It was by productively contributing to society that these people helped transform the findings of academic scholars “into national prudence and wisdom.”⁴⁹³ The criterion of public interest that inspired people such as Resewitz to commit themselves to Bürger education effectuated a critical stance towards the classical schools. To many educationalists, the Gelehrtenschule, literally translating as a “scholars’ school,” did not serve an obvious public purpose. It was principally directed to providing the Gelehrtenstand with new recruits, whose children were in turn destined to attend the Gelehrtenschule and to pursue academic studies. The Gelehrtenschulen, in other words, were monastic institutions with no obvious orientation towards public benefit.

The criticisms against the unworldly outlook of the Gelehrtenschulen took on additional vehemence because of their association with the social class considered preeminently hostile to the public domain: the clergy. Although the Gelehrtenschulen had long since abandoned their original primary objective of educating theologians and clergymen, in the late 18^th century it was still difficult not to associate them with the clergy. Since future clergymen still formed a substantial part of their clientele, the Gelehrtenschulen were dragged into the fierce assaults launched against the clergy, being decried as breeding grounds for the “gelehrte Clerisey”⁴⁹⁴ or as “Pflanzörter für Pfaffen und Mönche.”⁴⁹⁵ Many reformist educators considered the monastic Gelehrtenschulen to embody the very opposite of Öffentlichkeit: they saw it as representing the medieval “sectarian spirit” they considered their most formidable foe. In their view, this premodern “Sektengeist”⁴⁹⁶ had frozen the development of the European public sphere since early Christianity and thwarted the advance of modernity up to the present day.⁴⁹⁷ Therefore, they branded the Latin schools not only as “unworldly” or “scholastic,” but also as “barbaric.”⁴⁹⁸ The dominance of the Latin schools was seen as representing the barbarous “Sektirerei” from which the Continent was only slowly escaping.⁴⁹⁹

Friedrich Gedike’s views again shed light on the attitude of classical humanists toward these severe criticisms. Just as in his controversy with Johann Stuve, he broadly concurred with educationalists who criticised the Gelehrtenschulen for their unworldly outlook. Gedike wholly agreed that the contemporary classical schools had degenerated into sectarian institutions with a lamentable disregard for public utility. Gedike pointed out, however, that this sectarianism originated in a period when the study of classical literature had lost its civilising influence: early Christianity. Gedike described early Christianity as a time when, “under the pressure of age, barbarism and bigotry (…) the Xenophontic grace shrank into a patristic, ascetic and monastic skeleton.”⁵⁰⁰ The revival of classical studies in the Renaissance brought a temporary “return of good taste,” which over time was again lost as the classical schools developed a sectarian, one-sided interest in the Gelehrtenstand alone.⁵⁰¹ Gedike, then, while fully sharing the critique of the sectarian outlook of the modern academic schools, differed from his critics by pointing out that the sectarianism had been caused by a neglect of the “Xenophontic grace” that pervaded classical culture.

Gedike’s views were shared by the large majority of his colleagues.⁵⁰² Many classical humanists emphasised that in the ancient world, especially in Greece, the public sphere had been exceptionally well developed, for which reason the study of classical literature could be of considerable importance in encouraging people to commit themselves to the common good.⁵⁰³ The ancient Greeks were exceptional, it was widely argued, for putting the common good above their own individual interests. Their commitment to “the state, the welfare of the citizenry and to performing acts beneficial to the common good” (gemeinnützige Thaten) was unrivalled.⁵⁰⁴ Accustomed as they were from an early age to “concord” and “sociability,”⁵⁰⁵ they developed a strong mutual bond which encouraged them to sacrifice themselves to the common good.⁵⁰⁶ Greek society was imbued with the public spirit, as was amply illustrated by the Greek way of life: “public sacrifices, festivals, games and competitions,”⁵⁰⁷ as well as “the forum, the army camp, the battlefield and the court.”⁵⁰⁸ All of these were public institutions, requiring the commitment of society at large.⁵⁰⁹

The Greek dedication to the common good was also seen to affect the fields of science and literature. Contrary to the sectarianism widespread in the contemporary world, in Greek antiquity, “the history of the state, [the history] of law, the knowledge of nature and language” were still “of general interest to the Bürger.”⁵¹⁰ Accordingly, Greek writers were not scholars, locked up in the sectarian atmosphere of their studies, but mostly held prominent positions in society. Demosthenes defended the Greeks against the Macedonians and Thucydides, Xenophon and Plutarch were among the many Greek writers to make their mark as generals in the army.⁵¹¹ The same was true for the Romans: Cicero won his spurs as a consul, Caesar as a general, and Vergil, Horace and Ovid all frequented Augustus’ court.⁵¹² The great writers of antiquity were not educated in sectarian schools, but were formed by life itself.⁵¹³ Consorting with their fellow countrymen,⁵¹⁴ they enjoyed full access to the “big and urbane world.”⁵¹⁵ Correspondingly, they neither wrote for a sectarian public nor for profit, but “to enlighten” their compatriots.⁵¹⁶ They wrote, in one word, “for the nation itself.”⁵¹⁷ It is noticeable that many classical humanists directly associated their huge admiration for the ancients’ sense of form with their commitment to the common good. As early as the 1770s, Johann Sulzer, an authoritative philosopher and staunch defender of classical education, argued that “everything thought out by philosophers, if it is to be useful, has to be expressed in popular conceptions, that is, put into words in a smooth, sensual way, easily leaving an imprint in our memory.” To Sulzer, orators, historians and poets were the “mediators between speculative philosophers and the people.”⁵¹⁸ The classical refinement of style he saw as a necessary condition for important ideas to be communicated and made useful to people. To Sulzer, it was a sign of the authors’ public commitment.⁵¹⁹ Conversely, most classical humanists had an aversion to the poorly developed sense of form they considered characteristic of the contemporary world. Largely indifferent to matters of form, the contemporary world was seen to focus instead on “reflection.”⁵²⁰ Contemporary literature, it was widely argued, tending to “speculation” and “abstraction,” utterly lacked the refined and vibrant appearance of classical narrative.⁵²¹ This was the result of traditional education with its sectarian focus on erudition.⁵²² As contemporary writers were far removed from “what happens daily,”⁵²³ they were determined, not by what “they had seen, heard, felt and done,” but by what they had “read up, reasoned, pondered and fabricated.”⁵²⁴ In other words, the contemporary neglect of form was seen to derive from the poor development of the public sphere. Unlike the ancient classics, contemporary authors did not write for the nation. Lacking commitment to the common good, they wrote only for the “study” (Studierstube) and “for reviewers.”⁵²⁵ The result was works that “only function by their content” (Werke die nur durch ihren Stoff wirken), thus unable to serve the common good.⁵²⁶ For want of formal qualities, they remained “mere, dead masses” (blosse, todte Massen),⁵²⁷ characteristic of sectarian societies caught in “darkness and barbarism.”⁵²⁸ To further cultivate the public sphere, then, classical humanists considered it of essential importance to follow the classics’ lead by reviving their singular sense of form. Finally, classical humanists pointed out that in order to overcome the sectarian character of the modern Gelehrtenschulen it was essential to recognise that their clientele included many more people than only prospective scholars. To Friedrich Gedike, the Gymnasien should reorient themselves to “the educated and enlightened classes of the nation” in general, whose leading positions required a humanistic education.⁵²⁹ In view of the public virtues in which the Greeks and Romans excelled, classical humanists deemed classical education preeminently suited to equipping people for the “management of civil affairs.”⁵³⁰ It was not the Bürgerschule, but the Gymnasium and the universities that produced “the most useful businessmen in the state” (die brauchbarsten Geschäftsmänner im Staate).⁵³¹ In the eyes of classical humanists, then, classical education was ideally suited to cultivating the very public virtues that it was widely asserted to jeopardise. Again, we see that classical humanists, in response to their critics, redefined the importance of classical education in a markedly contemporary fashion. It was because they shared the typically late 18^th-century interest in Öffentlichkeit that they underscored the exemplary character of the ancient public sphere and highlighted the ancients’ sense of form from its perspective. At the same time, their ideal of classical education remained distinctly traditional. I have not come across a single defender of classical education who wanted the major emphasis on the ancients’ public virtues to be at the expense of other aspects of classical education, such as grammar or textual interpretation. On the contrary, the large majority of late 18^th-century classical humanists advocated a type of classical education that was broadly similar to the ‘ideal type’ offered by Karl Gottfried Siebelis. It was only when defending classical education that they gave special prominence to values that were of particular, contemporary interest, thus trying to prove that classical humanism, far from being a dying relic from a distant past, was fully capable of meeting the demands of the time.

Conclusion

We have come to see that in the period 1770 – 1800, classical education was severely criticised for not meeting the demands of the time. The unprecedented professional differentiation made classical education seem of little benefit to increasing numbers of professionalists. Moreover, the classical Gymnasien, with their primary orientation to the Gelehrtenstand, were often branded as “sectarian” institutions that thwarted the cultivation of the public sphere. Interestingly, classical humanists, instead of parrying these criticisms from an opposing camp, adopted them to a large extent. Challenged by the serious need for Bürger education, they invested much energy into pointing out that classical education was well suited to cultivating values relevant to academics and Bürger alike. The emphasis on the “formal use” of classical education, as well as on the public virtues pervading classical literature, must be seen from this perspective. It was by their highly responsive attitude to the challenges of emerging modern society that classical humanists reinforced their position in the educational debates. Far from anxiously defending the classical-humanistic ideal of education as a rigid, preconceived set of ideas, they set out to prove that the traditional ideal of classical education incorporated many norms and values of contemporary interest. By the end of the century, the revived humanistic view on classical education was so widely shared that it no longer made sense to speak of two rival camps of ‘advocates’ and ‘critics.’ From the 1800s onwards, most defenders of Bürger education stopped caricaturing the Gelehrtenschulen as obsolete relics of a sectarian past. Instead, they began to widely adopt the humanistic objectives of the classical schools and undertook to demonstrate that not only the Gymnasium, but also the Bürgerschule laid valid claim to being a true Humanitätsschule. To this topic I shall return below.

Introduction

In the last chapter we have seen that in the late 18^th century, despite the many criticisms levelled against the Gelehrtenschulen, classical education was so highly esteemed that it proved impossible to ban or substantially reduce the curricular share of Latin, even in the lower grades. Yet it was a plain fact that the large majority of pupils in the Bürgerclassen would leave school at about the age of fourteen and would therefore never be able to enjoy a full classical education. As most pupils only attended elementary Latin training and thus broke off their course half way, it was highly doubtful whether the humanistic ideal that underlay classical education would ever be of much benefit to them. Therefore, many educationalists took up the challenge of reforming Latin education in Bürgerclassen in such a way as to make it suitable, not only for future university students, but also, and especially, for children preparing for skilled professions. As these children would only attend the Latin school for a couple of years, the central objective of these reform efforts was to increase the efficiency of Latin education: children should learn Latin as fast as possible in the shortest possible time.⁵³² Attempts to increase the efficiency of Latin education in Bürgerclassen fell into four different categories: 1) postponing Latin; 2) integrating Latin education into ‘Sachunterricht;’ 3) producing modern Latin text books; and 4) teaching Latin as a colloquial language.

Postponing Latin

One of the measures widely proposed to increase the efficiency of Latin education was, ironically, to postpone it. This measure was advocated with special fervour by Ernst Christian Trapp (1745 – 1818), one of the most famous pedagogues of his time and a declared advocate of Bürger education.⁵³³ Trapp held that education can only be fruitful when it keeps pace with the child’s natural development. As a child first acquaints itself with the present before coming into contact with the past, education in the lower grades should primarily address the “immediately accessible.”⁵³⁴ It should conform to the natural development of a child between 6 and 12, who acquires most knowledge by grappling with the surrounding material world. Accordingly, Latin education should be postponed until a solid foundation had been laid in real-education, which Trapp and many of his contemporaries usually described as ‘Sachunterricht.’⁵³⁵ Trapp’s concern with the child’s natural development also conflicted with the fact that in most 18^th-century school curricula, education in German rarely exceeded the level of learning to spell and write. Usually, the first and only language seriously and systematically taught was Latin, which was not uncommonly begun at the age of 6 to 8.⁵³⁶ Therefore, Trapp argued that linguistic education should begin with the vernacular. Latin should be postponed until a solid mastery of the native tongue had been secured, that is, not before the age of 10 to 12.⁵³⁷ The idea underlying Trapp’s proposal to postpone Latin education was that its efficiency could be substantially increased by restoring its ‘natural’ position in the learning process. Once children had acquired a thorough knowledge of their native language, it would be much easier for them to master a foreign language. This would even save years of effort.⁵³⁸ For several reasons, however, this proposal to postpone Latin education could not easily materialise. As seen above, most schools were unwilling to reduce the scope of Latin education for fear of losing their academic reputation. Moreover, parental aspirations to open up bright career prospects by having their children learn Latin as early as possible remained unchanged. On the whole, then, reformers had to resort to other solutions: one of them was the integration of Latin education into Sachunterricht.

Sprachen and Sachen

One of the measures widely proposed to improve the efficiency of Latin education in Bürgerclassen was to integrate it into Sachunterricht. In 1788, Karl Ludwig Bauer (1730 – 1799), headmaster of the Gelehrtenschule of Hirschberg (Silesia), published a book in which he combined Latin writing exercises with the transmission of ‘material’ knowledge.⁵³⁹ Children had to improve in Latin grammar by expressing themselves in Latin on material subjects. For example, they familiarised themselves with Latin words differing from German in gender by writing on both astronomical and historical topics, invoked respectively by the words coelum (neuter as opposed to the German masculine Himmel) and bellum (neuter as opposed to the German masculine Krieg).⁵⁴⁰ A lesson on genitives on –is served to expatiate on topics as divergent as the god Apollo (genitive: Apollinis), the human lungs (Latin: pulmo, genitive: pulmonis) and the distribution of salmon over the oceans (Latin: salmo, genitive: salmonis).⁵⁴¹ Bauer obviously attached major importance to the integration of Latin into Sachunterricht, describing his Latin exercise book as “Elementar- oder Vorbereitungsbuch nützlicher Kenntnisse.”⁵⁴² Another way to integrate Latin education into Sachunterricht was realised by Philipp Lieberkühn, director of the Elisabeth Gymnasium of Breslau (Silesia). He translated into Latin the very successful German adaptation of Daniel Defoe’s Robinson Crusoe by Joachim Heinrich Campe (1746–1818) under the title Robinson der Jüngere (1779/80).⁵⁴³ To Lieberkühn, a Latin translation of this popular travelogue was a suitable means of teaching Latin on the basis of subjects taken from the visible, surrounding world. Likewise, Campe planned to produce a translation of his own Seelenlehre in order to use it as a Latin textbook.⁵⁴⁴ A third frequent proposal to integrate Latin into Sachunterricht was to teach Sachen by means of non-literary texts from antiquity. Thus, Latin reading would be extended to incorporate non-canonical ancient authors whose writings were worth studying, not because of their artistic excellence, but because they dealt with Sachen.⁵⁴⁵ Yet of the three proposals to integrate Latin education into modern Sachunterricht discussed so far, none proved very successful. Many classical humanists were sceptical about combining Latin with Sachunterricht because it created a conflict with what they considered one of Latin education’s most important objectives: Latinity (Latinität). It was widely agreed that the purpose of Latin education was not just to learn the language, but also, and above all, to develop a truly “classical” style. This could only be realised by studying the great classical authors from antiquity who embodied this style. When restricted to Sachunterricht, however, Latin education would largely lose sight of classical literature and thus of the classical stylistic standards it recorded. It was because of a typically humanistic concern about true Latinity, then, that proposals to combine Latin with Sachunterricht were widely criticised.

It is apparent that concern for the classical style was expressed not only by old-fashioned philologists, but also by educational reformers. In an earlier book, Karl Bauer took 388 pages to expose the minutiae of a perfect Latin style.⁵⁴⁶ In the prologue to his Latin translation of Campe’s Robinson der Jüngere, Lieberkühn assured his readership that “in expressing new things, he had stayed as close as possible to the rules of Latinity,” but confessed that he had not been able to avoid impurities.⁵⁴⁷ Lieberkühn’s translation was widely criticised by fellow reformers on stylistic grounds. Johann Heinrich Campe mocked its lack of Latinity.⁵⁴⁸ Ernst Trapp, one of the most fervent advocates of combining Latin education with Sachunterricht, was dissatisfied with Lieberkühn’s translation for being “not correct enough.”⁵⁴⁹ It was the typically humanistic emphasis on Latinity, then, which prevented reform proposals from acquiring more than marginal significance. Most newly published books with Latin writing exercises focused exclusively on the classical style,⁵⁵⁰ and the most successful textbooks for Sachunterricht were written in German instead of Latin.⁵⁵¹ To the large majority of educationalists, sacrificing Latinity was clearly a bridge too far.

The quest for Latin textbooks

The standards of Latinity were not only challenged by Sachunterricht but also by the fact that the canonical Latin authors whose works provided models for the classical style were far too difficult as beginners’ reading. It was out of the question to begin a Latin course with such authors as Vergil, Horace, Livy or Tacitus. The great Latin classics were, as was widely acknowledged, written for grownups and utterly unsuitable as schoolbooks.⁵⁵² Therefore, reading Latin traditionally began with Roman authors whose style was simpler and more easily accessible than that of the famous classics. Common beginners’ authors were Marcus Iunianus Iustinus (the Historiarum Philippicarum libri XLIV), Cornelius Nepos (De viris illustribus), Flavius Eutropius (the Breviarium historiae Romanae), Quintus Curtius Rufus (the Historiae Alexandri Magni) and Phaedrus (Fabulae).⁵⁵³ However, the style of these ancient but second-rate authors was not considered truly classical.⁵⁵⁴ Moreover, as concern for the child’s natural development increased, they attracted serious criticism for not being particularly attractive to the young mind while at the same time being relatively demanding.⁵⁵⁵ Next to the beginners’ authors, various elementary books (Elementarbücher) circulated, such as the widely used Colloquia captui tironum accommodata by Joachim Lange (1779). Older books, such as the Colloquia by the 16^th-century scholars Ma-turinus Corderius and Cornelius Valerius, and the liber memorialis by the 17^th-century classicist Christophus Cellarius were still widely used. But these works were now criticised because they did not meet contemporary methodical ideals, or because they violated the standard of Latinity.⁵⁵⁶ There was a felt need to break through the rusty, traditional beginners’ curriculum by producing textbooks both methodologically sound and observant of the norms of Latinity.

As a result, many new Latin Elementarbücher were published in the late 18^th century. The most influential was Friedrich Gedike’s Lateinisches Lesebuch für die ersten Anfänger (1782). Following a first chapter listing individual Latin sentences, the book contained fables, stories (Erzählungen), “curiosities from natural history” and a short chapter on mythology. A glossary and lengthy grammatical compendium were provided at the end. Although Gedike’s book was an example of combining Latin education and Sachunterricht, exemplified in the chapter on natural history, all texts were deliberately derived from original authors. The fables were those by Aesopus, translated into Latin by Camerarius (1539). The “stories” were by Cicero and Plinius, among other authors, and even the “curiosities from natural history” were mostly derived from ancient Roman sources.⁵⁵⁷ This is of essential importance, as it illustrates the typically humanistic endeavour to protect the norms of Latinität against the influence of modern Sachunterricht. Gedike’s book was clearly informed by the aspiration to introduce pupils to the world of the original Roman authors and their classical style.⁵⁵⁸ Gedike’s Lesebuch was in great demand, reaching its thirteenth edition in 1805, and can be seen as one the landmarks of reformed Latin education in the late 18^th century.⁵⁵⁹ At the same time, as it aimed to protect Latinität against both the distortions of Sachunterricht and the simplifying influence of elementary education, it was exemplary of an unsolvable problem of Latin education in Bürgerclassen. By respecting the norms of Latinität, elementary Latin education profiled itself as merely preparatory for the true classical authors, scheduled for the higher grades. As far as Gedike strove for Latinity, he could not avoid implicitly addressing himself to those pupils who would move on to Sekunda and Prima. His book retained a clear upward orientation towards the higher levels of classical education. Moreover, given Gedike’s preference for original Roman texts, the simple subject matter conflicted with true Latinität. Where the texts in Gedike’s book were most ‘lateinisch,’ they were hardly suitable for the lowest grades, and where they were truly simple, they were not genuinely ‘lateinisch.’⁵⁶⁰ Combining Latinität with simplicity of style was plainly impossible. To pupils moving on to the higher grades, this was no problem, as they would be able to refine their stylistic standards in later years. But to most pupils of the Bürgerclassen, leaving school at fourteen years of age, true Latinity remained out of reach. Despite its popularity, then, Gedike’s Lesebuch was a fundamentally hybrid production. Incorporating Sachunterricht and reflecting the child’s natural development, it sprang from the aspiration to create a reformed type of Latin education suited for academics and Bürger alike. But in its pronounced emphasis on Latinity it showed clear traces of a humanistic view on classical education, which Gedike, like most of his colleagues, was unwilling to sacrifice.

The fight against grammar: Latin as a colloquial language

A last, widely debated proposal to increase the efficiency of Latin education in Bürgerclassen was to give up on grammar books, which were widely used in the lower grades. Time could be saved, it was argued, if children could learn Latin as easily and naturally as they had once learnt their native language: by speaking it. Speaking Latin was not only the most efficient way of mastering the language, but also the most natural way, as it was the only way that did not impinge on the child’s natural development.⁵⁶¹

The ideal of naturalness was so popular that fierce criticisms were directed towards the traditional educational system, in which children only moved to practical skills like reading, writing and speaking Latin once they had acquired a detailed knowledge of Latin grammar. The “old method” was widely dismissed as outdated and treated with serious enmity.⁵⁶² Criticisms were mainly directed against allegedly excessive emphasis on memorising,⁵⁶³ on learning grammar,⁵⁶⁴ on Latin (and even Greek) writing exercises⁵⁶⁵ and on mindless imitation.⁵⁶⁶ In general, traditional Latin education was considered inefficient.⁵⁶⁷ Children usually had to memorise Latin paradigms without having first encountered individual forms in the natural context of Latin texts or speech.⁵⁶⁸ They were prompted to write Latin at an age when they had hardly developed any skill in organising their thoughts;⁵⁶⁹ and they were asked to imitate individual, classical phrases which had been severed from their original context.⁵⁷⁰ The challenge, then, was to improve teaching methods in such a way as to enable children to construct Latin grammar rules on the basis of their own discoveries.⁵⁷¹ Therefore, grammar classes, which slowed down rather than precipitated the learning process, should be banned from elementary Latin education.⁵⁷² One of the ways of getting rid of grammar lessons was by teaching Latin as a colloquial language. Grammatical understanding was to be cultivated from within, rather than be imported from outside. It was widely believed that this modern, “natural” learning method would result in a greater mastery of the Latin language and lead to large gains in efficiency. Johann Bergsträsser (1732 – 1812), for example, headmaster of the Lyceum in Hanau (Hesse-Kassel), maintained that Latin should be taught as a colloquial language.⁵⁷³ A first possible way of doing this, he argued, was by translating daily classroom prayers into Latin and having children repeat them, so that they could gather knowledge of Latin by comparing it with the German original.⁵⁷⁴ A second way was to initiate simple dialogues on instructive Latin maxims, for example on “loquitor paucula” (“say as little as you can,” from Terence’s Self Tormentor (v. 828)). In his book, Bergsträsser designed a possible conversation on this maxim. First, the teacher explains the maxim’s meaning and says: “age, fili, repete id praecepti!” The pupil, not understanding him, answers: “age, fili, repete,” after which the teacher corrects him by explaining the exact meaning of his last words in German. Then the pupil understands that the right answer would have been “loquitor paucula.”⁵⁷⁵ Thus, by unfolding simple conversations, the pupil was expected to both playfully learn Latin and incorporate the wisdom conveyed by the maxim. Likewise, Bergsträsser conducted dialogues with his pupils on real-topics (Sachen). For example, he taught on the interrogative pronoun “who?” by a simple conversation on animals. After saying: “Zebra mulo est simillima,” he asked: “Cuinam zebra est simillima?”⁵⁷⁶ By eliciting the answer “Mulo,” he conveyed the interrogative’s meaning, not by grammatical analysis, but by showing it in its natural context. Thus, by trial and error, the pupil was supposed to master the Latin language in a natural and efficient way.

Although many teachers experimented with methods to develop a more ‘natural’ way of teaching Latin, radical reform proposals like Bergsträsser’s met with much opposition, the pièce de résistance being, again, the ideal of Latinität. Teaching Latin by translations of Christian prayers, by chatting on Latin maxims or by simple talk on animals would unavoidably violate the stylistic standards set by the ancient Roman classics. Just like combining Latin education with Sachunterricht, it would turn attention away from classical literature. Many educationalists therefore strongly opposed the new method and tried to defame it as “Latein plaudern” (“chatting Latin”).⁵⁷⁷ It was the humanistic appreciation of Latinity that prevented it from becoming successful. Yet most educationalists did not entirely fall back on the old method either. The aspiration to harmonise Latin education with the child’s natural development was so broadly shared that many educationalists resorted to a middle position. Elementary Latin should be learnt, they argued, neither from “chatting,” nor from grammar books, but from reading classical texts. One of the advocates of this view was, again, Friedrich Gedike, who devised a method that responded to both of the above interests:⁵⁷⁸ at the very beginning, the teacher starts out with translating a sentence read in Latin and with explaining every term. He consistently compares the Latin expressions to those of the native language. The pupil repeats the translation and rehearses it at home. Over time, he will be able to repeat longer fragments until he reaches the moment when he no longer needs the teacher’s translations. Only when the pupil has thus naturally and easily acquired a reasonable basic knowledge of the language would a grammar book be helpful in solidifying and deepening it. Many educationalists adopted views such as Gedike’s and thus compromised between modernising Latin education on the one hand and preserving the standard of Latinity on the other.⁵⁷⁹ But the most far-reaching reform proposals, to teach Latin as a colloquial language and to ban grammar from elementary education altogether, did not materialise. Neither grammar books nor the classical authors were abolished. On the contrary, new successful grammar books were published⁵⁸⁰ and the ideal of Latinity grew ever more important. Latin education was certainly subjected to much methodical experiment, but in general, both the classical style and the grammar books that recorded its rules preserved their sway over Latin education in Bürgerclassen. The proposal to teach Latin as a colloquial language failed on the same grounds, then, as the proposal to combine it with Sachunterricht. Both proposals ignored the fact that the acquisition of stylistic proficiency was of central importance to Latin education and that giving up on this typically humanistic objective would be to undermine the very foundation of classical education. For children who would pass on to the higher grades, the colloquial method could very well have been an efficient beginners-method, as later they would have sufficient opportunity to perfect their sense of style by imitating classical models. But this argument did not apply to those pupils for whom the colloquial method was initially intended. Children who only attended the Bürgerclassen would be arbitrarily “chatting” Latin without working towards a justifying, humanistic goal. It was clear to most educationalists that to abandon this goal would be to abandon the raison d’être of Latin education itself.

Conclusion

We have seen that attempts to increase the efficiency of Latin education were obstructed by the humanistic aspiration to preserve Latin as a classical language. This remarkable emphasis on Latin’s classical status is closely connected with the fact that at the end of the 18^th century, its practical importance had been strongly reduced. As Jürgen Leonhardt convincingly argued, up to the 18^th century, the Latin language had a double function as Bildungssprache on the one hand and lingua franca on the other.⁵⁸¹ Latin was widely studied at school, not only because of the exemplary status of Roman literature, but also because Latin, as the language of the church, of science, of literature and even of diplomacy was a cornerstone of intellectual intercourse. In the late 18^th century, however, Latin had largely lost its status as lingua franca, so that increased emphasis was placed on its function as a Bildungssprache. The emphatically humanistic interest in its classical quality was a result of this development.

The changed importance of Latin in the modern world sheds an ironic light on the above-discussed proposals to revive Latin as a colloquial language. These proposals aimed to breathe new life into a practice that was on the brink of dying out. No matter the obviously modern arguments underlying them, the attempts to restore Latin as a colloquial language could only have succeeded at a time when Latin still was a lingua franca. Many reformist pedagogues overlooked the fact that by the late 18^th century, the meaning of Latin education lay less and less in practical, and more and more in humanistic values. Likewise, the proposal to integrate Latin education into Sachunterricht was doomed to fail because it was not based on any intrinsic reason to preserve Latin education at all. On the contrary, behind the efforts to integrate Latin into Sachunterricht lurked the view that Latin was losing its practical relevance to the modern world. As its complete abolition was still unthinkable, the integration was little more than a way to make a virtue of necessity. Obviously, this was not a compelling argument in favour of Latin at all. It was soon agreed that the status of Latin as lingua franca belonged to the past. If the classics were to survive at all, the main focus should rest on humanistic arguments for studying them. The question was which specific values could be derived from studying and interpreting texts from classical antiquity. As such values could only be fully realised in the higher grades, Latin education in Bürgerclassen retained its preparatory status. By the 1790s, attempts to make Latin education in the lower grades suitable for academics and Bürger alike were gradually given up. Classical education was finally agreed to be essentially higher education.

Introduction

In the last two chapters we have seen that in the late 18^th century, the humanistic perspective on education was so widespread as to seriously obstruct efforts to promote independent Bürger education or to reform Latin education in a non-humanistic way. However, over time, the practical need for Bürgerschulen only increased. By the 1830s, an estimated 75% of the higher professions lay outside of the academic domain.⁵⁸² In Prussia, of the 52.262 students who attended the Gymnasien between 1831 and 1841, only 12.150 (less than one out of four) went to university.⁵⁸³ Therefore, in the first half of the 19^th century, many Latin schools were transformed into so-called Realschulen, and especially from the 1830s onwards, new Bürger- or Realschulen were founded in large numbers.⁵⁸⁴ Due to the dominant humanistic perspective on education, however, defenders of the Bürgerschule had a hard task to ideologically justify a school curriculum that did not focus on humanistic, but on real-topics. From the 1800s onwards, therefore, many advocates of Bürger education set out to rethink their educational vision in a humanistic way. They attempted to show that education in real-topics could also contribute to humanistic goals. Thus, the 19^th-century debate on the Bürgerschule distinguishes itself clearly from that of the late 18^th century. To Friedrich Resewitz, for all his efforts to promote education for Bürger, the fundamental inequality of both types of education was still beyond dispute. From the 1800s, however, defenders of the Bürgerschule set out to prove the equality of real- and humanistic education.

The concept of the Realgymnasium: Ernst Gottfried Fischer

One of the earliest examples of a humanistic defender of the Bürgerschule was Ernst Gottfried Fischer (1754–1831), professor of mathematics and physics at the Berlinisch-Kölnisches Gymnasium.⁵⁸⁵ In school programs written between 1801 and 1827 he conceived a type of school specifically designed for the many in society who were in need of higher, albeit non-academic, education, such as officers, mining-, construction-, forest- or financial officials, teachers at non-academic schools, merchants, manufacturers, pharmacists, surgeons, artists, etc. Like his late-18^th century predecessors, Fischer criticised the fact that people from these “gebildetere Stände” (“more educated classes”), who mostly left school at an early age, were compelled to intensively study Latin (and Greek) without ever being able to enjoy a full classical education. Unlike Resewitz and Gedike, however, Fischer wanted to develop a type of education for these people that would be of equal value to the classical education offered by the Gymnasien. His central aim was to make clear that education in real-topics could lay equal claim to humanistic values.⁵⁸⁶

In Über die zweckmäßigste Einrichtung der Lehranstalten für die gebildetern Stände (1806), Fischer expounded his concept of the Realgymnasium at great length. Firstly, he noted that education, in addition to a vocational purpose, had an intrinsic goal of harmoniously cultivating the mental faculties. (7f.) Fischer pointed out that in the recent past, the sciences (Wissenschaften) had expanded to cover more than just academic subjects, so that they were now being cultivated by academics and non-academics alike. (109 f.) To him, people exercising higher skilled professions were not necessarily trapped in a vocational straightjacket, but could also become respectable scientists. Accordingly, the goal of the Realgymnasium was not to provide vocational training, but overall “scientific education” (wissenschaftliche Ausbildung). (12) This education, as Fischer explicitly stated, would be no less “scientific” than that provided by the traditional ‘Sprachgymnasium.’ (52) For comparable reasons, Fischer wanted students of the Realgymnasium to have the opportunity to continue their studies at a ‘Realakademie’ that, being of equal value to the existing humanistic universities, were tasked with providing “complete lectures” (vollständige Vorlesungen) on mathematics and natural science (Naturlehre), independent of vocational considerations. (117)

Secondly, Fischer adopted the typically humanistic argument of “formal” training, which he considered one of the main objectives of education at the Realgymnasium. He pointed out, however, that formal training could in principle be achieved by studying any topic and was therefore not dependent on the classical languages. (7 f., 55) In his view, “pure mathematics” (reine Mathematik) was particularly useful to formal purposes, engendering a particular “prudence and precision in thinking.” For this reason, Fischer argued that pure mathematics should be one of the Realgymnasium’s central topics, just as Latin was the central topic at the Sprachgymnasium. (44 f., 64 f.)

Thirdly, Fischer believed that students would not acquire true humanness (Humanität) if they did not study “humane” subjects in addition to real-topics. He explicitly stated that at the Realgymnasium “the same subjects” should be taught as at the Sprachgymnasium, albeit “in a different extension and proportion.” (70) Therefore, another main subject in the Realgymnasium would be German, from which Fischer expected benefits comparable to those afforded by classical education at the Sprachgymnasium. The central aim of German education would be to cultivate both the student’s analytical and rhetorical skills through thorough study of classical (German) writers: Let us “read (..) with pupils,” Fischer urged, “the classical writers of the nation. Train them in the (…) art of reading aloud correctly and with expression. Study with them carefully selected pieces (…) with just the critical accuracy [which is commonly applied when] studying an ancient writer. (…) Train them (…) in the form of conversation and cohesive presentation.” (41) So important were the benefits of thorough literary studies that, in Fischer’s view, even the classical languages (Latin as well as Greek) themselves should not be missing at the Realgymnasium, although they would only be offered to those who could make use of them.⁵⁸⁷ (68, 76 f.) Fourthly, Fischer’s humanistic view of education appears from the fact that he wanted to orient the curriculum of the Realgymnasium to the capacities of the very best students, thus largely neglecting the needs of a large number of students of more modest capabilities. With this orientation towards the ‘ideal’ student, Fischer clearly turned his back on earlier defenders of the Bürgerschule, who had sharply criticised the fact that the high claims of classical education could not possibly be met by the majority of pupils. In Fischer’s view, it would be a “sin, not only to the good student, but to science itself, if you stop him (i. e. the good student) from becoming what he could be.” (88 f.) Therefore, it was a “pernicious prejudice” to think that a man who “applies scientific knowledge in business (in Ge-schäftsverhältnissen), is enlightened enough if he only has piecemeal knowledge of the sciences.” (87) To Fischer, it was the Realgymnasium’s task to provide an exhaustive survey of the particular sciences which occupied a central place in its curriculum. (ibid.) Only by thus orienting the Realgymnasium to the highest possible ideal, Fischer felt entitled to propagate it as a true Humanitätsschule.

Fifthly, Fischer believed that a humanistic education was the best preparation, not just for academic, but also for higher skilled professions. The fact that around 1800, England and France far surpassed the Germanies in the fields of trade and economics, Fischer explained by pointing out that in these countries mathematics, physics and chemistry were taught as theoretical subjects, that is, as sciences (Wissenschaften), whereas in Germany a pragmatic spirit prevailed.⁵⁸⁸ (88 f.) Tellingly, it was precisely the English and French strength in practical matters that Fischer traced back to their humanistic, anti-utilitarian approach to Bürger education. (90 f.) We must conclude that Fischer’s concept of the Realgymnasium was inspired by the model provided by the traditional, humanistic Gymnasien. It is not coincidental, therefore, that Fischer greatly respected the latter schools, including the classical education they offered. In the same document in which he expounded his concept of the Realgymnasium, Fischer sang the praises of the ancient Greeks, “whom nature seems to have chosen as her favourite people before all [other] peoples of the earth.” (40) Like the most fervent humanists, Fischer emphasised that no future academic student should be exempted from Greek.⁵⁸⁹ (ibid.) The only thing that distinguished Fischer from traditional humanists was that he contested the exclusivity of the classics’ claim to humane education, maintaining that other topics such as mathematics and natural history could also contribute to this goal.

Realism as a form of humanism

Ernst Gottfried Fischer’s view of real-education is broadly representative for the period 1800 –1860. Throughout this period, the Bürgerschule (or Realschule) was usually defended in markedly humanistic terms.⁵⁹⁰ Like defenders of the classical Gymnasien, advocates of real-education pursued an ideal of Humanitätsbildung, ⁵⁹¹ allgemeine Humanitätsbildung,⁵⁹² allgemeine Menschenbildung,⁵⁹³ Menschenbildung, etc.⁵⁹⁴ Like classical humanists, they were convinced that the criterion of utility should be separated from the sphere of humane education.⁵⁹⁵ Bildung should be directed primarily towards the formal aim of fully developing the faculties of the human spirit (Geist).⁵⁹⁶ Moreover, most defenders of the Bürgerschule acknowledged the preeminent educational value of the ancient classics. Not only did they fully appreciate the classical languages’ formal capacity to strengthen the intellect,⁵⁹⁷ they also acknowledged the importance of studying the treasures of ancient wisdom and beauty.⁵⁹⁸ For this reason, most of them granted Latin an important place at the Bürgerschule.⁵⁹⁹ In other words, the gap that separated humanists from their ‘realistic’ opponents was not nearly as great as is commonly assumed. “Gymnasien and Realschulen,” we read in Schmid’s Enzyklopädie des gesammten Erziehungs- und Unterrichtswesens, did “not essentially differ in their goal, but in (…) the ways (…) [of achieving this] goal.”⁶⁰⁰

The common, misleading view of a classical humanism that was challenged by ‘realism’ was strongly reinforced by the fierce polemics that characterised the educational debates in the first half of the 19^th century. In tracts and journals as well as in the daily press, humanists and ‘realists’ could not get enough of caricaturing each other’s viewpoints. Classical humanists, on the one hand, were keen on branding their opponents as Nützlichkeitskrämer,⁶⁰¹ Materialisten,⁶⁰² or Industrielle,⁶⁰³ thus nurturing the impression that ‘realists’ were interested in the criterion of utility alone. Conversely, ‘realists’ did not grow weary of debunking classical humanists as Buchstabenmenschen,⁶⁰⁴ Sylbenstecher,⁶⁰⁵ Phrasenma-cher⁶⁰⁶ or Wortklauber,⁶⁰⁷ thus depicting them as close-minded quibblers blindly dedicated to an unworldly profession.⁶⁰⁸ In other words, the heat of the battle closed both parties’ eyes to their opponents’ true positions, suggesting a polarity which did not really exist. In order to obtain a clear view of the actual differences between humanism and ‘realism,’ then, we must try to see through the debate’s polemical acerbity.

The Bürgerschule as humanistic institution

In the period 1820 – 1860, defenders of the Bürgerschule advanced various arguments to prove the suitability of real-education for the pursuit of humanistic values. Firstly, they argued that real-topics were well suited to provide “formale Bildung.” Secondly, they maintained that real-topics could be taught in such a way as to direct the student’s mind towards the spiritual rather than the material world. Thirdly, they tried to conceive of a type of Bürger education that would be emphatically humanistic while differing fundamentally from the education offered at the Gymnasien. A fourth argument was that not the Gymnasium, but the Bürgerschule in its ideal form would be the true Humanitätsschule of modern times. I will discuss these four arguments in the following sections.

Formal education

In the first half of the 19^th century, defenders of the Bürgerschule invested much energy into proving that the argument of formale Bildung could easily be applied to a multitude of different real-topics. An illustrative example is provided by Karl von Raumer (1783 – 1865), a well known geologist, geographer and teacher at a private school in Nürnberg.⁶⁰⁹ In a tract called Über den Unterricht in der Naturkunde auf Schulen (1823), Raumer wrote down his experiences with teaching minerology (Steinkunde) in great detail.⁶¹⁰ Raumer started out with having his pupils look at many different minerals. They had to observe them as closely as possible and form for themselves an overall impression of the minerals, without yet analysing this impression. Secondly, Raumer asked them to describe the separate characteristics of the minerals, although the overall impression was still kept firmly in mind. Thirdly, he introduced the names of the species and the relations between them. Finally, he explained the theory of properties (Eigenschaftslehre). Only when the pupils, by going through these different stadia of studying minerals, had acquired proficiency in observing as well as naming them, were they allowed to study the writings of famous mineralogists, which would further sharpen their understanding and add a historical dimension. To Raumer, then, by encouraging pupils to think systematically, mineralogy contributed considerably to the formal training of the mind.⁶¹¹ Raumer was only one of many educationalists who undertook to prove that real-education was not only of practical, but also of formal use.⁶¹² Although many classical humanists held on to the conviction that with respect to formale Bildung the classical languages were unsurpassable,⁶¹³ most of them acknowledged the formal educative potential of at least some real-topics, especially mathematics, which most teachers granted a substantial place in the Gymnasium curricula.⁶¹⁴ When it comes to the humanistic argument of formale Bildung, then, humanists and ‘realists’ were not far apart. They all endorsed the typically humanistic principle that education should not aim primarily at practical use, but at “formally” educating a human being as a human being. Yet, as we have already seen, classical humanists aimed at much more than the purely formal training of the mind. To Karl Gottfried Siebelis, formale Bildung was only one of many arguments in favour of classical education. Friedrich Gedike considered formale Bildung to comprise the cultivation of one’s sense of beauty and truth. Friedrich Thiersch, for all the ardour with which he defended and recommended classical education’s formal educative potential, called the cultivation of a sense of beauty and morality a “completely different, higher, more comprehensive and more fruitful task” than the purely formal training of the mind.⁶¹⁵ Thiersch even described those educationalists as “opposed” to classical humanism who “observed in [classical studies] only a means to certain formal purposes.”⁶¹⁶ (it. added)

To advocates of Bürger education, then, adopting and applying the humanistic concept of formale Bildung was not nearly enough to substantiate their view that real- and classical education were of equal value to the pursuit of Humanität. To convince their opponents of this view, they had to prove that real-education laid a valid claim to other humanistic values as well. Above all they had to demonstrate that real-topics, contrary to appearances, could also be used to lift the student’s view above the material world and turn his gaze to spiritual values.

Ideal education

In the first half of the 19^th century there was not only a broad consensus among educationalists about the importance of formale Bildung, but also about the superiority of spiritual over material values. Supporters of both the Gymnasium and the Bürgerschule shared the typically humanistic vision that higher education had the noble task of exalting man above the material world and encouraging him to lead his life in accordance with his higher, spiritual nature. Therefore, many advocates of the Bürgerschule spilled much ink to prove that real-education, although primarily concerned with the material world, could ultimately transcend it. To this purpose, real-topics ought to be studied from a spiritual perspective. According to Moritz Drobisch (1802 – 1896), professor of mathematics at the University of Leipzig, education in natural history should ensure that children developed a sense for “the quiet-friendly glowworm, the royal splendour of the lily, (…) the sweet grace of the rose, the proud stature of the oak, (…) the meaningful-delicate construction of the passion flower [and] the seductive luster of metals.”⁶¹⁷ As his adjectives beautifully demonstrate, Drobisch wanted children to perceive nature not as a deadly machinery governed by random, mechanic laws, but as enlivened with meaning and as part of a coherent whole. When studying the treasures of nature, children should be in “awe of the teleological coherence (…)” and “compelled to recognise a superhuman, ordering wisdom whose purposes (…) [they] will gradually understand!”⁶¹⁸ It was this conception of an animated universe governed by God that led Drobisch to believe that “the mathematical-physical sciences [are] in no respect poorer in means to (…) promoting true humanness and religiosity than the philological-historical [sciences].”⁶¹⁹ Nearly all advocates of real-education shared Drobisch’s humanistic perspective on the study of nature. Karl von Raumer expected education on stones to nourish a “childlike admiration of the mysterious and (…) an alert contemplation of beautiful, fixed regularity.”⁶²⁰ Christian Nagel, professor of mathematics and physics at the Ulm Gymnasium, required education in mathematics to expose the “ideas laid down in nature: the simple, pure utterances of the deity.”⁶²¹ Karl Freese, director of the Gymnasium in Stargard (east-Prussia) asserted that from astronomical insights it is possible to fathom the “sovereignty and wisdom of the Creator.”⁶²² August Beger, director of the höhere Bürgerschule in Neustadt-Dresden, contended that in the various branches of industry the “power and greatness of the human spirit” manifests itself “in a brilliant way.”⁶²³ In the view of August Spilleke, director of the Realschule Berlin, the obligation to approach nature from a spiritual perspective was even laid upon us by Christianity. As Christianity “promises a kingdom of God on earth, in which everything is to be absorbed more and more into the life of the spirit,” man has the obligation to make nature “subservient to his purposes (…) so that all manual work, [all] mechanical labour turns into a free, spiritual act” (freie, geistige That).⁶²⁴ It appears, then, that defenders of the Bürgerschule adhered to a broadly humanistic perspective on the study of nature. It was precisely by propagating this humanistic perspective that they attempted to emancipate nature-focused real-education as a full humanistic equivalent of classical education. In doing so, however, they encountered major problems, as it remained largely unclear how the humanistic perspective on real-education could be implemented in practice. As real-topics were not spiritual by content, they could only be comprehended in a spiritual way by imposing on them a perspective which was alien to their outward appearance. Spiritual ideas or divine wisdom might very well be assumed to underlie the eternal laws of mathematics and astronomy, but what could a maths teacher possibly do in practice with such an abstract and elusive insight? Precisely for this reason, many classical humanists remained sceptical about the viewpoint proposed by advocates of real-education. Although many of them were willing to concede the equivalence of humane and real-topics at an abstract level,⁶²⁵ they did not expect much humanistic benefit from real-education in practice. Most classical humanists held on to the traditional viewpoint that humane education required a major emphasis on those topics that could not only be approached in a humanistic way, but were actually humanistic in content. As Karl Hirzel, director of the Latin school in Nürtingen (Württemberg), put it: “Where the spiritual and ideal approach is to prevail, empirical (sinnliche) and tangible subjects should not be placed at the fore.⁶²⁶ It is noteworthy that not only classical humanists like Hirzel, but also advocates of real-education were keenly aware of the problem. August Spilleke expressed the fear that through real-education pupils would entirely lose sight of the spiritual world.⁶²⁷ Friedrich Leizmann, author of a monograph on the position of the Realschule in modern times, admitted that he often felt “fear of real-topics” and warned against the Realschule’s natural tendency to favour “lower” (i.e. materialistic) educational aims to the detriment of “higher” (i.e. humanistic) ones.⁶²⁸ Karl Scheibert, one of the most inspired defenders of the Bürgerschule, acknowledged that civil servants (Staatsbeamte) who had attended a classical Gymnasium had “a position much more ideal, more pure and more secured against egoism than the höhere Bürgerstand.”⁶²⁹ August Beger, finally, even considered it the task of the Realgymnasium to counterbalance its natural “practical tendency” by the “power of ideas and ideals.”⁶³⁰ Thus, in the eyes of its defenders, the Bürgerschule had a strange obligation to protect pupils against the dangers inherent in its own curriculum. It goes without saying that this was anything but a compelling argument in favour of real-education.

Two types of humanness: Karl Scheibert

Another way to prove the fundamental equality of the Bürgerschule and the Gymnasium with respect to humanistic values was to make clear that both types of school pursued essentially different sorts of humanness. One of the educationalists to expound this vision with great ardour was Karl Scheibert (1803 – 1898), director of the Realgymnasium in Stettin (Prussia).⁶³¹ In Das Wesen und die Stellung der höheren Bürgerschule (1848), he gave a painstaking description of the precise type of humanness needed by students who were to occupy leading, though non-academic positions in society.

Scheibert began his analysis with observing that up to his day, the Realschule owed its success to partly taking over from the Gymnasien the preparatory education of lower civil servants. Since 1832, graduates from the Realschule were officially allowed to hold positions in postal and tax services and finance, mining and forest management.⁶³² (19 f.) The status of Realschulen often depended entirely on this possibility of acquiring a graduation certificate that would give access to certain privileged professions. (ibid.) The Realschule owed its increasing recognition, then, not to distinguishing itself from the Gymnasium, but to taking over some of its tasks.⁶³³ In Scheibert’s view, this was a highly dangerous development. For as it was clear that the highest and most desired offices in the civil service – the honourable positions of the higher Staatsdienerschaft (Staatsräte, Geheimräte, ministers, etc.) – still were, and would continue to be, monopolised by the Gelehrtenschulen, only the mediocre offices would be open to graduates from the Realschule. By taking over some of the privileges of the Gymnasium, the Realschule did not emancipate itself from it, but on the contrary consolidated its inferior status. (21– 3) This circumstance particularly worried Scheibert as it made the Realschule neglect its duty of providing a type of education that would be specifically tailored to Bürger. In his view, educated Bürger (“Gebildeten”) and academics were two clearly distinguishable social groups with clearly differentiated needs and tasks. He therefore proposed to reorganise the Bürgerschule in such a way as to make it cultivate a type of humanness specifically appropriate for Bürger.⁶³⁴ Scheibert began his argument by defining the Bürgerschule’s task as generating “zweckbewußte, gesinnungsvolle Thatkräftigkeit.” (43) It should prepare students to actively participate in society and shape their abilities towards their actions. For this reason, it was of crucial importance that children at the Bürgerschule not only passively collect knowledge, but also be able to put it into practice. Therefore, each Bürgerschule should have an extended “school life” (Schulleben), to which Scheibert devoted a major part of his book.⁶³⁵ At the Bürgerschule, students arrived at the level of ideas by way of induction. (56) The inductive method Scheibert also called the “natural-historical method” (naturhistorische Methode), as natural historians derived their knowledge from observation. (55 f.) Scheibert’s implication was that the Gymnasium mainly employed the “deductive” method: at the Gymnasium, students looked at the world from the perspective offered by “preconceived, intellectual concept[s]” (vorgegebnen, geistigen Begriff[e]).⁶³⁶ (56)

From his definition of the Bürgerschule’s task of preparing children for an active life by employing the inductive method, Scheibert derived the specific virtues and skills that the Bürgerschule should cultivate. One of these was “practical sense” (praktischer Sinn). (26) Children’s attention should be continuously directed towards the particular, the coincidental, the specific, because in their future lives, they would be required to act and make decisions in ever-changing situations. Of course, recognising the particular is only possible with some knowledge of the general, but the general should be derived from the particular and should never be a starting point (ibid.). In religious education, for example, children should study the lives of individual, pious men as recorded in Holy Scripture, and only by comparison and induction arrive at the Ten Commandments. Even the figure of Christ should not be granted apriorical authority. Only as a result of inductive biblical study would he finally appear to the students as “the personalised concept of the singular religious individuals.” (148)

Because of the same practical direction, the Bürgerschule should stimulate productivity. (26) As production was one of the Bürger’s important pursuits, pupils should be continuously urged to be creative. A sense of beauty should not be cultivated by observing the beautiful (as in Scheibert’s opinion was the case at the Gelehrtenschulen), but by imitation and creation. (64) Likewise, the Bürgerschule should lay major emphasis on the cultivation of taste (Geschmack). As knowledge of ethics alone would never suffice to generate virtuous behaviour, a practical moral theory was necessary to put moral knowledge into practice. As the Bürgerschule was the practical school par excellence, it had the particular responsibility to encourage students to make their moral education serve the common good. (35 f.) Finally, because of their practical participation in society, Bürger should have a “sympathising heart for humanity” (“ein teilnehmendes Herz für die Menschheit” (33), a strong “public spirit” (Gemeinsinn) (30) and a deep-felt love for their native country and royal family. (36 f.) From the particularities of the life of Bürger, then, Scheibert derived a broad range of specific abilities and virtues that, he argued, were distinct from those cultivated at the Gelehrtenschulen. However, even a glance at Scheibert’s argument is enough to conclude that the abilities and virtues he expected the Bürgerschule to cultivate were far from exclusively relevant to the Bürgertum. Although there are certainly methodological differences between the natural sciences and the humaniora, to suggest that the Gelehrtenschulen employ a narrowly deductive method and only study the world by forcing it into the framework of pre-existing concepts, is certainly to create a caricature of the Gymnasium. To imply that at the Gelehrtenschulen a sense of beauty is cultivated only by observation, rather than by creation, is simply to distort the facts – as the common practice of, for example, verse composition and the stimulation of rhetorical skills illustrates. To pretend that only the Bürgerschule aimed at practical moral behaviour is to overlook the fact that it was one of the classical humanists’ most forceful arguments in support of classical education that it cultivates one’s moral sense and encourages one to contribute to the common good.

Scheibert’s argument, then, ultimately foundered on a conceptual confusion. On the one hand, Scheibert wanted to conceive of a type of higher education that, both in its teaching methods and objectives, would be emphatically distinct from that offered by the traditional Gymnasien. On the other hand, by requiring this type of education to be humanistic, he could not avoid laying claim to a broad variety of abilities and virtues that were obviously of universal value. This conceptual confusion might explain why the type of school that Scheibert envisaged never materialised. Throughout the century, the Realschulen and höhere Bürgerschulen continued to aspire to the very same educational ideal as that pursued by the classical Gymnasien. Very few colleagues shared Scheibert’s belief that the phenomenon of Humanität could be divided into different types: just like classical humanists, most advocates of real-education believed humanness to be a universal phenomenon.

The modern Humanitätsschule: Karl Mager

In view of the universal claim of humane values, a number of educationalists became convinced that the Bürgerschule, if it was to have a future at all, must be conceived of as the only true Humanitätsschule. According to Moritz Rothert (1802 – 86), headmaster of the Gymnasium in Aurich (Lower Saxony), “the Gymnasium should be the allgemeine Bildungsanstalt of the entire higher class of Bürger (höhere Bürgerstand). It should fuse into the true höhere Bürgerschule. The true, höhere Bürgerschule of the future, that exactly is the pure Gymnasium.” ⁶³⁷ Rothert’s view of a “Gesammtgymnasium” or “Einheitsgymnasium” that would unite the traditional Gymnasium and the Bürgerschule under a common flag was shared by a large group of educationalists who rejected the possibility of defining two essentially different kinds of humanistic education.⁶³⁸ Acknowledging the universal nature of the concept of Humanität, they realised that the only way to bring the Bürgerschule to full recognition was by developing a distinctly new school that, by uniting the former Bürgerschule and the Gymnasium, would constitute the true Humanitätsschule of the future.

One of the most zealous advocates of this view was the famous pedagogue Karl Mager (1810 – 1858), who played a prominent role in consolidating the ideological foundation of the Bürgerschule.⁶³⁹ In Die Deutsche Bürgerschule (1840),⁶⁴⁰ he made a clean sweep of the educational debate by completely refuting the common distinction between humanism and ‘realism,’ denouncing both as “enemies and false friends” of true education (141; cf. 34). “The Bürgerschule,” Mager contended, “wants to have as little to do with technology as with Greek accents; it wants to be a Bildungsanstalt, a Humanitätsschule.” (11) Mager strongly preferred the term “Bürgerschule” above the term “Realschule,” not only because the latter hardly veiled its pejorative ring,⁶⁴¹ but also because the former helped restore the school’s connection to the concept of citizenship, which he considered of essential importance to a true Humanitätsschule. (11) For this reason, Mager embarked on his ideological defence of the Bürgerschule by tracing the concept of citizenship down through the centuries. In so doing, Mager drew heavily on values taken from classical civilisation. In Greek antiquity, he argued, the concept of citizenship was fully realised. In this era, mankind lived in “natural, reflectionless unity with the state” (12) and found “the measure of his life and the law of his existence not in himself, but in the whole.” (Ibid.) The sense of community, which Mager tellingly named “aristeia,” prevailed over individuality, so that Bildung was not put to private, but to public use. In antiquity, Bildung was a typically civic virtue (politische Tugend). (12) Correspondingly, Bildung did not yet comprise erudition (Gelehrsamkeit). Knowledge had not yet retreated from society to be pursued for its own sake, but took its meaning from being anchored in communal life. (18)

Although Mager highly admired the Greeks for their exemplary civic Bildung, he regarded the rise of Christianity as an essential step forward. The egalitarianism propagated by the new faith at least theoretically opened up citizenship to every human being and could therefore no longer be justified as a social privilege, as it used to be in the past.⁶⁴² (24 f.) It took an enormous amount of time, however, for this theoretical advantage to materialise. In the feudalism of the Middle Ages, the range of citizenship was still restricted to the nobility, the free imperial cities (freie Reichsstädte) and the like, but remained out of reach for the majority of the population. Moreover, the nobility was unconcerned with “poets, music, mathematics and rhetoric,” largely leaving them to the clergy, lawyers and doctors (24). This, in Mager′s view, was detrimental to true Bildung. For as those members of society who where invested with most authority in public and political affairs lost their interest in education, knowledge was put into the hands of the Gelehrtenstand. Being thus transmitted for its own sake, it was stripped of every connection with public life. Bildung, by losing its anchoring in communal life, dissipated into Gelehrsamkeit. (Ibid.)

In the 16^th to 18^th centuries, the wings of citizenship were clipped even more tightly, as the monarch’s absolute despotism ruled out the last traces of republican rule. The nobility exchanged its political rights for privileges. The Bürgerstand, which had enjoyed some standing in preceding centuries, dilapidated into the professions of scholars, clergymen, lawyers or doctors and, as the monarch availed himself of standing armies, was no longer expected to defend the country. As the concept of citizenship now fully disintegrated, so did that of Bildung. (21)

It was only with the dawn of modernity that the idea of citizenship experienced an eventual revival. Only when society’s hierarchical structure – estates, serfdom and, especially, priesthood, which Mager considered to be “essentially alien to the idea of Christianity” (21) – was finally overcome and even the monarch was obliged to obey the law, could the idea of citizenship fully merge with Christian thought and thus be raised to unprecedented heights. Of course, the monarchies remained in place, but they were permeated by republican idealism. (55) The world finally experienced the revival of Greek “aristeia,” not as the privilege of a minority, but as being in principle obtainable by everyone. “We are all noble (adlig),” Mager proudly exclaimed, “because we are citizens (Bürger).” (31) And last but not least, since general conscription had been introduced in Prussia in 1813, the citizens were soldiers again, prepared to sacrifice their lives to the common good. (32)

The recent revival of the idea of citizenship in Mager’s view opened up new perspectives for Bildung. Whereas its premodern neglect had forced Bildung to vegetate as erudition within the narrow confines of the academic world, now at last it was restored in its proper connection with the common good. Once the Bürgerstand (that is, non-scholars) had found renewed access to jurisdiction, administration and military service, it also reacquired an obligation to obtain Bildung. The social influence granted to non-academic Bürger required these people to be educated and well-informed citizens.

Mager’s historical analysis implied a critical stance towards the traditional Gymnasien. With their narrow focus on the Gelehrtenstand, they were representative of the sectarianism that in Mager’s view had overshadowed European civilisation for many centuries. Moreover, precisely because of their premodern outlook Mager considered them downright antithetical to what he saw as the true classical tradition that had been initiated by the ancient Greeks. As Mager put it, “if one institution on earth has a right to appeal to Greece, it is not (…) the Gymnasium, but the Bürgerschule.” (48)

In view of his hostility towards the traditional Gymnasien, it is notable that Mager proposed a curriculum that did not deviate that far from the traditional, classical schools. Admittedly, Mager deviated from most classical humanists in his belief that at a true Humanitätsschule, education should cover a wide variety of real-topics. At the same time, however, he realised that it was above all the humaniora that contributed to humanistic Bildung. As he put it, mathematics and natural sciences were “simply not able to constitute the main subject matter (Hauptgegenstand) of humanistic education (…), which cultivates not only the mind, but also the heart (Gemüth), will and character; therefore in all (!) schools, in academic, Bürger- and elementary schools, instruction in the humane subjects, in languages, literatures, history (…) ethics, must (…) be preponderant, because (…) in these humane subjects, more educative elements are found than in the natural [subjects].”⁶⁴³ Thus, at Mager’s Bürgerschule the largest curricular share would not be taken by the “natural,” but by the “ethical sciences,”⁶⁴⁴ of which the classical languages were an integral part.⁶⁴⁵ The ideal Bürgerschule that Mager envisioned, then, was substantially different from the Real- and Bürgerschulen that had been founded so far, as Mager himself fully realised.⁶⁴⁶ With its major emphasis on “humane subjects,” it was clearly inspired by the model set by the classical-humanistic Gymnasium.⁶⁴⁷ We might wonder, then, whether Mager was entirely clear about his true objectives. His fierce polemics against the humanistic Gymnasien seem hardly justified when compared to the curriculum he proposed. The Gesammtgymnasium of the future would have much more in common with the existing classical schools than he probably would have been willing to admit. The characteristic ambivalence which is found in most early and mid-19^th-century defences of real-education might explain why throughout the 19^th century the reputation of the Realschulen could hardly match that of the Gymnasien. Although advocates of real-education were keen to underline the fundamental equality of both school types in theory, in practice they were so obviously inspired by models set by the traditional, humanistic schools that they did not succeed in conceptualising the Realschule as a clearly defined, autonomous school type. As late as 1859, the year in which the first official Prussian regulation for the Realschule (Realschulordnung) was issued, A. Hauber wrote that “ideas on a wholly new type of Bildung chiefly based on real-topics” were “still not clarified.”⁶⁴⁸ It goes without saying that this was hardly a recommendation for real-education.

Conclusion

In sum, we can see that in the period 1770 – 1860, the Bürgerschule faced a major identity problem. On the one hand, it fulfilled the vocational needs of large numbers of pupils who would never attend university and for whom classical education seemed little more than an awkward detour. As these vocational needs substantially increased over time, by the mid-19^th century, the Bürgerschule had developed into a highly important, indeed indispensable institution.

The same circumstance, however, which explained the success of the Bürgerschule, accounts for the lack of full recognition it faced throughout the period. It was precisely because of its clearly vocational, utilitarian orientation that it proved so hard for the Bürgerschule to gain recognition as a full equivalent of the Gymnasium. Thus, the Bürgerschule was clearly torn between practical needs and humanistic objectives. In order to reinforce its humanistic justification, its defenders had to downplay the vocational orientation to which it primarily owed its success. Therefore, for a very long time, it proved almost impossible for educationalists to agree on its proper outlook. The Gymnasium, on the contrary, developed in an opposite direction. While the practical use of classical education was rapidly shrinking, its ideological foundation only grew firmer. Humanistic ideas were so deeply embedded in educational thought, that even at a time of profound social change and professional differentiation, the classical Gymnasium was not seriously jeopardised. Of course, the heated debates with advocates of Bürger education indicate that the predominance of classical education was becoming increasingly problematic. For a long time, however, solving this problem was a task left to the Bürgerschulen, whereas the Gymnasien could securely continue steering their traditional course. We must conclude, then, that the common view that 19^th-century classical humanism was an “anachronism” that could only arouse increasing astonishment and opposition in an essentially ‘realistic’ age is fundamentally mistaken. Humanistic ideas and values were so widely endorsed by educationalists of such widely different signature that the unwavering popularity of classical humanism is anything but surprising. Even the most zealous advocates of real-education were guided by values and principles that could ultimately be traced back to the very classical-humanistic tradition against which they conducted their polemics. Despite its increasingly ‘realistic’ outlook, then, the period 1770 – 1860, might reasonably be described in its entirety as a heyday of educational humanism.