Review Article-The Cartography of Education: R. S. Peters‘ Ethics and Education

BY DONALD ARNSTINE

IN ANY EDUCATIONAL CONTEXT, T W O QUESTIONS ARE ALWAYS WORTH ASKING. How do we achieve what we are aiming at? Is what we are aiming at worth achieving? The second question is an ethical one, but so is the first, although less obviously so. For when effective means to certain ends are sought and found, those means usually result in a variety of other consequences in addition to the ends that have been chosen. Hence before those means are adopted, it is worth asking if ethical grounds for their use can be found in light of all of their foreseen consequences. Ethics, then, is always relevant to questions of education.

Logic and the analysis of concepts are also relevant to matters of education, but they are equally relevant to anything that becomes a topic of human discourse. Presupposing conceptual care, then a philosophy of education is an ethical study, and a book entitled Ethics and Education1 would be expected to focus on the central ethical problems of the philosophy of education.

This is not, however, the focus of R. S. Peters’ book, for his aim has been more modest. He has attempted “to provide a few signposts for others and to map the contours of the field for others to explore;” he has been “charting a comparatively unexplored region.” ( Introduction: no page number ) Mr. Peters may then best be understood as a sort of conceptual cartographer, and his effort might best be called the cartography of education. What the region is that is being charted, and where the signposts lead, may depend entirely on who is making the trip, and where he wants to go. For this reason, it may be expected that readers who react to Mr. Peters’ maps will react in very different ways.

Before examining the maps in detail, it will be helpful to follow Mr. Peters’ exploratory route, so that we may anticipate what will and what will not be included in his maps and charts. Ethics and Education may be divided into four major parts. It begins with an analysis of the concept of education, at the conclusion of which is a set of criteria for the proper use of the term. Mr. Peters’ task in this opening chapter is like the Cartographer‘s when he announces that his atlas will include maps of the Western hemisphere only, and when he picks out some boundary line beyond which his maps will not go.

DONALD ARNSTINE is Associate Professor in the Department of Foundations of Erluca- tion, Boston University, Boston, Massachusetts.

1R. S . Peter.;, Ethic7 and Edzicntion (Atlanta: Scott, Foreman, 1967)

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In another major section Mr. Peters discusses, under the heading of “worthwhile activities,” the nature of the curriculum. Here he argues that some activities are worth pursuing in schools and others are not. It is not clear that the cartographer has an analogous task; he does not tell us where to go when we use his maps, or what the best route is (although the user may infer the best route upon examining the map). It may be suspected that Mr. Peters has, in this chapter, stepped out of his role as educational cartographer.

In a third major part which covers several chapters, Mr. Peters analyzes and defends four “fundamental ethical principles” which will serve as criteria for judging educational practices. The cartographer’s analogous task might be that of deciding wh’at shall count as being worth inclusion on his map. There is, of course, an element of choice in this task. Just as Peters must decide whether the consideration of interests and fairness shall be relevant to his educational charts, so the cartographer must decide whether mountain ranges and national boundaries shall be relevant to the making of his maps.

Finally, Mr. Peters discusses three areas of concern for educators: authority, punishment, and democracy. He does not argue strongly for any particular policies in these areas of concern, but instead attempts only to exhibit various dimensions of the areas. Analogously, the cartographer may wish to include in his atlas detail maps of certain cities, on the assumption that they will be visited by many who use his maps, and that the detail will keep some travelers from getting lost.

This last section may offer some special difficulties for readers. Although Mr. Peters is not reluctant to lay down a policy for the curriculum, or to offer pedagogical hints to teachers, he explicitly eschews concern for educational policy in many other places. A reader concerned about the ethics of education will still want to know who is legitimately responsible for the making of educational policies, and what would constitute sensible ones.

(There is a fifth section in Ethics and Education in which Peters sets forth and then refutes some traditional ethical points of view. Since the author did not attempt to exhibit the point of this discussion for educational thought and practice, it will not be analyzed here.)

Thus the four major parts of Ethics and Education are: (1) an analysis of the concept of education; (2) a defense of selected activities for the curriculum; ( 3 ) a defense of certain ethical principles; and ( 4 ) an explication of some problem areas in education. Each of these parts will be treated in turn.

I. In the opening chapter it is claimed that the term, education, is properly

applied when something wobrthwhile has been transmitted in a morally accept- able way. In order to be worthwhile, what is transmitted must have engendered a functional cognitive perspective in the learner. And for it to have been transmitted in a morally acceptable way, the pTocedures of transmission must engender the learner’s witting and voluntary involvement.

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If it was Mr. Peters’ intention to describe how the term, education, is used, then he is obviously quite wrong. Children are ordinarily compelled to go to school, and compelled to do assignments. Despite the absence of their voluntary involvement, the business is still called education. Children are also asked to acquire information which is frequently inert (i.e., non- functional beyond examination-time), and which fails to engender cognitive perspective in a great many students. Again, the enterprise is still called education.

But it is not likely that Mr. Peters is concerned to describe how the term, education, is normally used. Rather, he is explicating how he will use the term. Hence we must ask, has he been clear and unambiguous in his explication? and does his explication imply a worthy educational program?2

It is not likely that any reasonable person would, prima facie, object to the program implied in Peters’ stipulation. Of course what is transmitted to the young should be worthwhile, should broaden their cognitive perspective, and should be transmitted in a morally lacceptable way. Taking the last of these points first, we find Peters excluding from his category of “morally acceptable” processes the operation of which the learner is unaware. Thus conditioning, brainwashing, and some forms of drill are proscribed. While other forms of drill, certain commands, and indoctrination remain grey areas, he is clear enough on this point for the reader to feel comfortable about this procedural feature of the program. Instructional program writers, other behaviorists, and like-minded philosophers will not, of course, accept Mr. Peters’ exclusions. But there is probably IittIe profit in raising, in an explicitly ethical context, the objections of those who claim that human behavior is caused, not wittingly chosen.

Must activities pursued by students result in cognitive perspective in order for us to apply the term, education, to those activities? Since by cognitive perspective Peters means to exclude learnings which are narrowly specialized and isolated, this feature of his program would appear unobjection- able. But a more explicit understanding and defense of “cognitive perspective” must await Mr. Peters’ later discussion (in Chapter 4) of what he calls “worthwhile activities.”

Finally, could anyone object to the notion that what is transmitted to the young be worthwhile? Only if, however worthwhile it was to somebody, it turned out not to be worthwhile to the student. The focal question is, to whom shall the activities be worthwhile? Peters seems not to answer this clearly, for he emphasizes an intrinsic value to activities. That is, they are said to be worthwhile in themselves.

The trouble with the notion of an activity’s being worthwhile in itself is that one cannot conceive of an activity independent of some agent’s performing it. Either it is worthwhile (or not) to the performer, or the notion of its being intrinsically worthwhile is without meaning. Thus we might hope that

2See Israel Schemer, The Language of Education (Springfield, Ill.: Charles C . Thomas, 1960), Chapter 1 .

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the worthwhile activity to be transmitted to the student be worthwhile to him. If this is what Mr. Peters intended, there could be no objection. But did he intend this? There is reason to doubt it.

Mr. Peters considers education in two senses: as the outcome of a process, or an achievement; and as a process or task. When someone has been educated (the achievement sense), we are to assume that intrinsically worth- while activities have been transmitted. But when someone is being educated (the task sense), the activities may not be perceived by the student as intrinsically worthwhile. In Peters’ own words:

. . . the implications of “education” as an achievement word do not necessarily carry over to it as a task word. The scientist may have been forced, while he was a boy, to do experiments in which he had not the slightest interest (p. 13).

Mr. Peters concludes that students compelled to study in this way may or may not profit from the experience. That, he says, is an empirical question (but how would we test it?). While there is an empirical dimension to such a question, that is not aU that is of concern in the matter. For if we are to considel- the ethics of education, there is no reason to leave the ethical dimension - as Peters has left it - out of consideration.

We may ask, of a group of students who have been forced to study something contrary to their desires or inclinations, how many became skilled at it later on, and were disposed to carry on further study of it? Given certain refinements, such a question merits an empirical inquiry. But we may also ask (as Peters has not), ought students to be forced to carry on activities contrary to their desires or inclinations? This is not simply an empirical question. Yet if it is not raised and dealt with, one may seriously doubt whether he is engaged in the study of ethics and education. Mr. Peters’ failure to consider this question may leave a reader hesitant about accepting any program of activities the outcome of which may be worthwhile, but the carrying on of which may be onerous if not actually repugnant, both psychologioally and morally.

In sum, the explication of the concept of education in Chapter 1 has a prima facie reasonableness that only erodes a little when it is noticed that important ethical considerations have been omitted. To inquire further into the matter, we turn to Chapter 4: “Worth-while Activities.”

11.

As the first chapter suggests, Mr. Peters never does ask the question, to whom shall the activities transmitted by the school be worthwhile? He does not ask it because his lanswer is implicit throughout the discussion: some activities are worthwhile for eve y o n e who understands what is involved in them. That is what he means by “intrinsically worthwhile.” Anyone who understands them well enough to engage in them will find it worthwhile to engage in them - not to achieve some further, extrinsic end, but simply for the immediately realized satisfaction of the activity itself,

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These activities are, in short, the arts and sciences.3 Yet bridge and golf also seem worthwhile, in Peters’ sense, to those who know enough to engage in them. His task is thus to show on what grounds the arts and sciences qualify, and bridge and golf do not qualify, as answers to the seriously asked question, “Why do this rather than that?” If he is able to exhibit these grounds, and the arts land sciences are thus justified as worthwhile activities (in ways in which bridge and golf are not), then the arts and sciences must become the substance of the school curriculum.

In brief, the form of Mr. Peters’ argument for the curriculum is Kantian. He attempts to exhibit what must be presupposed in anyone’s seriously asking the question, “Why do this rather than that?”

Any reflective person who seriously asks the question, Peters claims, “must already have a serious concern for truth built into his consciousness” (p. SO). Thus he must want to be acquainted with the situation from which his question arises. The arts and sciences (unlike bridge and golf) have a cognitive concern which enables them to iIluminate many areas of life; indeed, they cannot - as bridge and golf can - be isolated from the many and varied aspects of living. Thus it is only the arts and sciences which can effectively explore the situation from which the question, “Why do this rather than that?” arises. To put this another way, one who asks, “Why do this rather than that?” must be committed to pursuing the arts and sciences because only these pursuits, in virtue of their cognitive concern, are relevant to answering his question.

Mr. Peters thus argues that the answer to the question is presupposed in the very asking of it. The main problem with the argument, as far as practical curriculum building is concerned, is that whoever “seriously” ayks Peters’ question (“Why do this rather than that?”) already has the answer, while those who might profit from finding the answer will not, unfortunately, seriously ask the question.

It may be true that any reflective person who seriously asks the question has a serious concern for truth built into his consciousness. Rut such people are the products of an effective education, not its raw materials. To them, the arts and sciences are indeed worthwhile activities. But children and youth in schools are not yet reflective; they do not ask questions of the sort that exercises Peters, and many things other than truth are objects of their serious but often transitory concerns. Mr. Peters may answer that his argument was never intended to convince children and youth. But if not, then those whom he intends to educate may not see his curriculum as worthwhile to them. If these are the people for whom curriculum activities must be worthwhile, neither they nor those who have the unenviable task of teaching them will be convinced by the logic of Mr. Peters’ argument.

3Under these head4 Peter5 also includes philosophy and history. More generally, what he terms worlthwliile activities are named b y the subjects normally found listed in high school brochures arid college catalogues.

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Even so, a way out of the dilemma might have appeared had Peters introduced some flexibility into his concept of the arts and sciences. In his first chapter he suggests that those activities will introduce conceptual schemes and principles; in the present chapter he cites reading and digesting Burke, and seeing Othello; as instances of worthwhile curriculum activities. Such activities, it is claimed, will equip the student with “a cognitive content that spills over and transforms his view of other things in life.” For some students, conceptual schemes and principles, Burke and Othello, may have such results, but the transfer value of academic studies can seriously be questioned. And while in theory such cognitive content is not isolated from wider practical and social concerns, in fclct the cognitive content promoted by Mr. Peters has in schools been notoriously isolated from nearly everything that is conceivably relevant to it.

Yet this isolation and questionable transfer value of school studies might be overcome were the arts and sciences conceived in a less static way. Instead of tradition-bound bodies of content, they can be conceived as different ways of treating the events of ordinary experience: ways which, through practlce and refinement, may for some students eventually resemble the more disciplined activities of professionals. But the conception of worthwhile activities does not make it clear whether such an interpretation of them is permissible.

In fact, Mr. Peters’ discussion of the curriculum shifts back and forth between an emphasis on activities and an emphasis on cognitive content. There is little reason to expect much transfer to result from the mere presentation of content; what matters is the sort of activities undertaken that are relevant to that content. This is to say that the method of study is of crucial importance. Yet in Chapter 1 Peters claimed that it is the achievement to which educational criteria apply, and not the task. This would appear to deny the importance of educational method. Again one is left to wonder why the author is so convinced that his proposed activities will in fact be worth- while to those who are expected to engage in them.

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While the conception of worthwhile activities serves as a foundation for the point of view expressed in Ethics and Education, that foundation is broadened by the addition of four other “fundamental principles.” These are the principles of equality (or fairness ), the consideration of interests, freedom, and respect for persons. Each principle is to serve as an ethical criterion for education, and each is justified in much the same way as the conception of worthwhile activities is justified. That is, Mr. Peters argues that each of these principles must be accepted as a presupposition for asking the question, “Why do this rather than that?” or “What ought I to do?”

The principle of equality or fairness is stated in terms that will recall the “generalization principle” elaborated by Marcus Singer4: what ought to

4St.e Maicus Singer, Gene?aZriation i7t Ethics (Sew York: Knopf, 1961), pp. 13-20.

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be done in any situation or by any person ought to be done in any other situation or by any other person, unless there is some relevant difference in the situation or person in question. The principle is said to be justified in virtue of the fact that anyone who seriously asks, “What ought I to do?” is asking for reasons for choosing, and this principle is fundamental to the conception of acting with reasons. As is the case with all formal ethical principles based on Kantian models, the strength of the principle lies in its formal defensibility. But what is equally true of all such formal principles, we find them of only minimal help in adjudicating practical disputes. For the crucial question of what constitutes a “relevant difference” cannot be determined by the principle of equality. (Moreover, the principles to follow will not help, either.) The failure of this principle to be of much practical use will become more clear in Section IV, when we examine Mr. Peters’ treatment of socioeconomic inequality.

The ethical principles of the consideration of interests, freedom, and respect for persons are all justified in the way in which equality is justified: all are said to be presupposed in the very asking of the question, “What ought I to do?” Asked in public discourse, the question is said to presuppose a situation in which men are concerned about practical policy; the help of others is thus needed. Since what applies to the questioner must apply to anyone else (the principle of equality), the consideration of the interests of all is presupposed in asking the question. Likewise, to ask the question seriously presupposes the freedom to answer; freedom to speak about practice demands freedom of action; hence freedom, too, is presupposed in asking, “What ought I to do?” Finally, to ask the question presupposes that whoever is asked is a “person,” in the sense of being a distinct center of valuation and choice. So to regard someone is thus to respect him as such, and the asking of the question, “What ought I to do?“ thus presupposes the principle of respect for persons.

The formal validity of these ethical principles will not help a teacher very much who wants guidance in determining the sort of behavior toward students that fulfils the criterion of the consideration of interests. Nor will it help him in trying to decide how much freedom to extend to students, and in what areas of choice. Finally, the principle of respect for persons does not suggest the form, in actual practice, that that respect is to take. Nor do any of the principles take into account the fact that in practical situations the question “What ought I to do?” is not asked of everyone. Should administrators ask it of teachers? On what occasions? Should teachers ask it of students? When? People are sometimes undecided, and often selective, about whose interests they shall consider, tvhose freedom they shall allow, and which individuals they shall respect as persons. Mr. Peters’ principles, as stated and justified in their abstract form, leave unexamined a question which is crucial for any sort of practical reasoning: how shall the principles be applied in practical situations? Our only source of help may be to see how Peters him- self has used his ethical maps and charts in treating some current and perennial educational problems.

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IV.

Since the bulk of Ethics and Education is devoted to the analysis of concepts and principles, Mr. Peters’ discussion of practical educational problems is relatively short and mainly illustrative. Even so, his opinions are stated clearly, and they leave little doubt about the way in which he, at least, would use his maps.

Mr. Peters is aware that educational opportunities are not always equal. In the U S A . , he notes the several dimensions of inferiority of segregated schools, the possibility of inequalities in the “tracking” system of secondary schools, and the differences in financial capacity among various school districts. In England, he notes inequalities in assigning different children to different schools, a situation aggravated by the eleven-plus examinations which not only discriminate against children from lower social classes, but which also fail to pick out promising students in localities with limited openings in grammar and technical schools. Given the obvious fact of inequalities, will Mr. Peters’ fundamental ethical principles give guidance in reducing them? There appears to be no hope. He writes that it is an “obvious fact” that “there is no equality of opportunity and never can be unless equalitarians are prepared to control early upbringing, size of families, and breeding”

By offering this concluding opinion, Mr. Peters appears to turn his back on the problems of inequality in education. Yet he assures us that particular judgments cannot be made by philosophical analysis or argument. Instead, they depend upon “practical judgment which has to be exercised in the light of a multitude of contingent circumstances” ( p. 68). Philosophers, he writes, “can only map the contours of such arguments.” Thus when we seek guidance in an ethically ambiguous situation where decisions are being made daily, Mr. Peters’ educational cartography lets us down. A high wall has been built between practical judgment and philosophical reasoning. Different sorts of people are assigned to each task, and neither is much help to the other.

Mr. Peters approaches the problem of the freedom of the child in a similar vein. He argues, with good reason, that constraints cannot be avoided; for to remove all official constraints would simply consign the child to the often more stringent constraints of his peers. Granting this, the reader may want to know what kinds of constraints Peters believes to be defensible. Children must go to school, he insists, order must be kept, and the range of curriculum choices must be limited. But he neither explores the ethical dimensions of these generalizations,5 nor does he expand upon his incontest- able but uninteresting point that “the fewer restrictions the better, and all such rules must have some point” (p. 119). Anyone who doubted this would never have bothered to consult a book called Ethics and Education.

(P. 67).

5For example, children are compelled to go to school, but not because they have done home wrong. Is society then obligated to insure that school is of benefit to them? If the obligation (if there is one) is not met, should children have some means of redress? This general question has a thousand specific dimensions. For example, should children have legal counsel when treated brutally for resisting incompetent teachers and bumbling progidms?

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At this point, however, Mr. Peters again exposes his views about the relation between philosophical thought and practice:

What [the rules] are, how they are decided upon, and how they are enforced will depend upon all sorts of contingent questions to do with the age of the children, the size of the school . . . and so on. . . . About such contingencies there is very little, philosophically speaking, to say; for common sense is not to be passed off as philosophical analysis. (p. 119)

Of course, common sense - whatever it is - is not philosophical analysis. But one could still hope that philosophical analysis might be of some use to common sense. When the practitioner asks, “How shall we decide what to do?” Mr. Peters answers, “Make sure your rules have some point.” The practical man is very likely to answer, “Yes, I know that, but how can I tell what the point is? How can I justify these rules?” And Peters’ answer is, “Well, it all depends . . .”

The very same reasoning appcars a few pages later when Mr. Peters examines the status of private schools. Does their existence afford healthy competition to public schools, or do they have a deleterious effect on public schools? What public posture should be taken toward the support and control of private schools? Mr. Peters writes that some compromise will have to be found. But “the point at which such a compromise can be found must depend on the ingenuity of practical men. It cannot be determined by philosophical analysis alone, though such analysis can do much to get clearer on what fundamental points decisions have to be made.” (p. 129) As in the case of every other practical issue that Peters raises, we have already got more clarity on the “fundamental points” than he has begun to provide. Thus again, Peters gives us maps for places we have already visited, and we may well feel that it’s not a map that we need so much as a way of finding out what to do once we’re there.

There is little point in recording all of the issues that Peters handles in this characteristic way. His analyses result in the same emptiness whether he is discussing the reasons why pupils should respect the authority of teachers (p. 1%); the fact that pupils may perceive as punishing what was not intended by teachers to be punishment (p. 175); the positive and negative values of particular punishments (p. 184); the extent of autonomy that should be accorded to teachers (pp. 208, 209); or the teaching of democratic attitudes to children (pp. 215, 216). In this latter instance, Mr. Peters argues that only by practicing democratic behavior can the appropriate attitudes be acquired - even though he earlier (pp. 117, 118, 211) excluded pupils from making choices in the areas that matter - order, discipline, and the curriculum.

Yet Mr. Peters’ treatment of two more educational issues bears a closer look; the first, because it discloses an issue at the heart of nearly all other school problems; and the second because it focuses directly on ethical judg- ment. Many of the teacher’s problems of discipline and punishment, he writes, stem directly from the fact that “education” itself is poorly organized:

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“An unimaginative curriculum, selection into homogeneous ability groups, and frequent examinations may foster no desire to learn” (p. 181). The teacher is in a dilemma: neither “whacking” the pupils for misbehavior nor looking the other way is likely to be of much help, for the real answer is “to do something radical about schools where such conditions prevail” (p. 181). A sentence later, Mr. Peters brings the issue to an ignominious end:

But with a shortage of teachers and shortage of money for education such measures will take a long time. In the meantime many teachers are in an unenviable practical dilemma of which no philosopher can provide a satisfactory resolution. (p. 181)

Mr. Peters surely must know that there will always be a shortage of teachers and a shortage of money. Waiting for heaven and claiming that nothing can be done in the meantime is an effective, if rather unoriginal, way of guaranteeing the maintenance of the status quo. Yet if no suggestions can either be found or inferred from those whose business it is to consider the ethical dimensions of education, then people concerned to change the status quo will have to look elsewhere for ideas.

Whether to punish, when to punish, and how to punish are all funda- mental ethical questions. Punishment in an educational context complicates the issue, for the offender is also a learner - that is, one whom the school is trying to teach, or to make better in some way. Thus punishment that is merely retributive in its effect on the offender would be quite contrary to the intention to educate him - i.e., to make him better, or “re-form” him. 111-conceived punishment, then, can result in the offender’s becoming resentful of the school, resentful of authority, and more wary (hence more effective) in the conduct of future misbehavior. Mr. Peters recognizes this latter contingency: “Of course the student may only become rather more prudent as a result [of the ‘sharp shock‘ of punishment]. But is not prudence a virtue?” (P. 181)

It may come as a “sharp shock” to the reader when a writer on ethics leaves us with an offender who is more prudent - that is, more cunning. For if some students, when punished, become more antisocial, the grafting of prudence to such a disposition only makes them more of a problem. Even Polemarchus saw that it could not be counted as virtuous for “the just man to exercise his justice by making men unjust.”6 Either the level of ethical analysis of this topic is extraordinarily shallow, or Mr. Peters is writing with tongue-in-cheek. If the latter is true, it is not a very satisfactory substitute for treating seriously a pervasive and highly sensitive ethical problem faced daily by teachers.

In a credential-oriented world such as ours is rapidly becoming, the school is the place to get the credentials. Thus the school drop-out is increasingly the social and economic dropout, the occupational drop-out,

6F. M. Cornford (trans.), The Republic of Plato (London: Oxford University Press, 1911), p. 14.

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and the political drop-out. In short (and whether they teach anything worth- while or not), schools make a difference. Matters like equality of educational opportunity and the democratic control of schools are not simply the creative playthings of academicians sharpening analytic tools in their cloisters, The role of formal education as a major determinant in the lives of almost everyone growing up precludes this. At a time when the public is becoming genuinely concerned about the morality of caning children in schools,7 it is no help for a philosopher of education to tell us that “in some schools the tradition of the community may make [caning] the only really effective deterrent” (p. 183). Ethical issues are hardly hidden in educational contexts; they stare us in the face. R. S. Peters’ cartography of education supplies us with maps for getting to places which we have for some time been eager to leave.

What disturbs, then, is the very enterprise of a cartography of education: the assiduous construction of maps and charts for later use in an undertaking which is dominantly practical, For Peters, the philosopher makes maps and the practical man makes decisions on the basis of ingenuity and common sense. But the relation between philosophy and education ( a form of practical action) is des’troyed when reason and practice are defined as if they occurred in different realms. Arthur Murphy put the issue very clearly: in a world in which we are required to act, we can and must ask how practice can be reasonable. For Murphy, the job of an ethical philosopher, whatever his love for conceptual maps, is to try to understand “the normatively cogent use of language in the guidance and appraisal of action^."^ For action may not make practical sense without such understanding. Can we achieve it? R. S. Peters’ answer appears to be a resounding “NO.”

‘iSee, for example, Jonathan Kozol, Death at an Early Age (Boston: Houghton Mifflin, 1967) .

8 l r thur E. Murphy, T h e T k e o i y of Practical R ~ a s o n (LaSalle, Ill.: Open Court, 1964), p. 19.