FOOTNOTE:[3]It must be remembered also that our knowledge of the right ethical relations is still extremely imperfect, and that the duty of extending the knowledge and promoting the recognition of them is perhaps the highest of all—to which, on occasion, every lesser end must be sacrificed.
[3]It must be remembered also that our knowledge of the right ethical relations is still extremely imperfect, and that the duty of extending the knowledge and promoting the recognition of them is perhaps the highest of all—to which, on occasion, every lesser end must be sacrificed.
[3]It must be remembered also that our knowledge of the right ethical relations is still extremely imperfect, and that the duty of extending the knowledge and promoting the recognition of them is perhaps the highest of all—to which, on occasion, every lesser end must be sacrificed.
The school should be to the pupil not an intellectual drill-ground, but a second home; a place dear at the time, and to be gratefully remembered ever after; a place in which his whole nature, and especially what is best in him, may expand and grow. The educational aim should be, not merely to pave the pupil's way to future success, not merely to make of his mind a perfect instrument of thought, a kind of intellectual loom, capable of turning out the most complicated intellectual patterns. The aim should be, above all; to build up manhood, to develop character. There is no school in which moral influence is wanting. The pity is, that in many schools it is incidental, not purposed. And yet there are manifold opportunities in every school for influencing the moral life. Let us consider a few of these.
1.The teaching ofsciencelends itself to the cultivation of truthfulness. Truthfulness may be defined as the correspondence between thought and word and fact. When the thought in the mind fits the fact, and the word on the tongue fits the thought, then the circuit of truth is complete. Now, with respect to the inculcating of truthfulness, scienceteaching has this advantage above other branches, that the palpable nature of the facts dealt with makes it possible to note and check the least deviation from the truth. The fact is present, right before the pupil, to rebuke him if he strays from it in thought or speech. And this circumstance may be utilized even in the humble beginnings of science teaching, in the so-called object-lessons. For instance, a bird, or the picture of one, is placed before the child. The teacher says, "Observe closely and tell me exactly what you see—the length of the neck, the curve of the beak, the colors of the plumage," etc. The pupil replies. The teacher objects: "You have not observed accurately. The color is not what you describe it to be. Look again. The curve of the beak does not resemble what you have just drawn on the blackboard. You must tell me exactly what you see. Your words must tally with the facts." And the same sort of practice may be continued in the science-lessons of the upper classes.
Scientists are distinguished from other observers by their greater accuracy. Intellectual honesty is that moral quality which science is best calculated to foster. All the great scientists have been haunted by a high ideal of truth, and a gleam of that ideal, however faint, may be made to shed its light even into the school-room. It is obvious that this realistic tutoring into veracity will be of special use to children who are led into lying by a too vivid imagination.
Let me add the following remarks in regard toindirect means of promoting truthfulness: The teacher can do a great deal to cultivate respect for the truth among his pupils by frankly admitting an error whenever he has fallen into one. Some teachers try to save their dignity by glossing over their mistakes. But even young children are shrewd enough to estimate such trickery at its worth; while he who manfully confesses that he has been in the wrong, earns the respect of his class, and sets them an invaluable example.
It is well also to observe strict accuracy even in matters which of themselves are of no moment. For instance, in giving an account of a botanizing expedition, you begin, perhaps, by saying, "It was half-past ten when we arrived at our destination." Suddenly you stop and correct yourself. "No, I was mistaken; it could not have been later than ten o'clock." Does this strike you as pedantic? But if you fix the time at all, is it not worth while to fix it with approximate exactness? True, it makes no difference in regard to what you are about to relate, whether you arrived at half-past ten or at ten. But, precisely because it makes no difference, it shows the value which you set on accuracy even in trifles. And by such little turns of phrase, by such insubstantial influences, coming from the teacher, the pupil's character is molded.
2.The study of history, when properly conducted is of high moral value. History sets before the mind examples of heroism, of self-sacrifice, of love of country, of devotion to principles at the greatestcost. How can such examples fail to inspire, to ennoble, to awaken emulation? The great and good men of the past, the virtuous and the wise, serve as models to the young, and often arouse in them an enthusiastic admiration, a passionate discipleship. In the next place, the study of history may be used to exercise the moral judgment. The characters which history presents are not all good; the characters even of the good are by no means faultless. It is in the power of the teacher to train the moral judgment and to increase the moral insight of his pupils by leading them to enter into the motives, and to weigh the right and wrong of the actions which history reports. He will also find many an occasion to warn against being dazzled by brilliant success to such a degree as to condone the moral turpitude by which it is often bought. The study of history can thus be made the means of enlightening the conscience as well as of awakening generous aspirations—but, let me hasten to add, only in the hands of a teacher who is himself morally mature, and fully imbued with the responsibilities of his task. Lastly, the study of history among advanced pupils may be used to confirm the moral idea of the mission of mankind, and to set it in its true light. The human race, as, from the moral point of view, we are bound to assume, exists on earth in order to attempt the solution of a sublime problem—the problem of the perfect civilization, the just society, the "kingdom of God." But on every page of history there are facts that warn us thatprogress toward this high ideal is of necessity slow. Whether we review the evolution of religion, or of political institutions, or of industrial society, we are still forced to the same solemn conclusion, that in view of the ultimate goal, "a thousand years are as a day," and that while we may not relax our efforts to attain the ideal, we must be well content in case we are permitted to advance the mighty work even a little. This conviction is calculated to engender in us a new spirit of piety and self-abnegation, which yet is consistent with perfect alacrity in discharging the duty of the hour.
There could be no better result from the study of history among young men and young women than if it should have the effect of impressing on them this new piety, this genuine historic sense, in which the average citizen, especially of democratic communities, is so conspicuously deficient. But this is a digression which I must ask you to pardon.
3.The moral value of thestudy of literatureis as great as it is obvious. Literature is the medium through which all that part of our inner life finds expression which defies scientific formulation. In the text-books of science we possess the net result of the purely intellectual labors of the past; in universal literature we have composite photographs, as it were, of the typical hopes, sentiments, and aspirations of the race. Literature gives a voice to that within us which would otherwise remain dumb, and fixity to that which would otherwise be evanescent. The best literature, and especially the best poetry, is aglass in which we see our best selves reflected. There is a legend which tells of two spirits, the one an angel, the other a demon, that accompany every human being through life, and walk invisibly at his side. The one represents our bad self, the other our better self. The moral service which the best literature renders us is to make the invisible angel visible.
4.I can but cast a cursory glance at some of the remaining branches of instruction.
Manual traininghas a moral effect upon the pupil, of which I have spoken at some length on another occasion.[4]
Music, apart from its subtler influences, which can not be considered here, has the special function of producing in the pupil a feeling of oneness with others, or of social unity. This is best accomplished through the instrumentality of chorus singing, while particular moral sentiments, like charity, love of home, etc., can be inculcated by means of the texts.
Gymnasticexercises likewise have a moral effect in promoting habits of self-control, prompt obedience at the word of command, etc. Indeed, it is not difficult to show the moral bearings of the ordinary branches of instruction. It would, on the contrary, be difficult to find a single one, which, when rightly viewed, is not surrounded by a moral photosphere.
Science, history, literature, and the other brancheslend themselves in various ways to the development of character. But there are certain other opportunities which every school offers, apart from the teaching, and these may be utilized to the same end. The discipline of the school, above all, has an immense effect on the character. If it is of the right kind, a beneficial effect; if not, a most pernicious one.
The mere working of what may be called the school machinery tends to inculcate habits of order, punctuality, and the like. The aggregation of a large number of scholars in the same building and their intercourse with one another under the eye of the teachers, afford frequent opportunities for impressing lessons of kindness, politeness, mutual helpfulness, etc.
The recitations of lessons give occasion not only to suppress prompting, but to eradicate the motives which lead to it, and to impress deeply the duty of honesty.
The very atmosphere of the class-room should be such as to encourage moral refinement; it should possess a sunny climate, so to speak, in which meanness and vulgarity can not live.
But there is especially one avenue of influence, which I have much at heart to recommend. The teacher should join in thegamesof his pupils. He will thus at once come to stand on a friendly footing with them, and win their confidence, without in the least derogating from his proper dignity. And thus will be removed that barrier which in many schoolsseparates pupils and teachers to such a degree that there actually seem to exist side by side two worlds—the world to which the teacher has access, and the world from which he is shut out. Moreover, while they are at play, the true character of the pupils reveals itself. At such times the sneak, the cheat, the bully, the liar, shows his true colors, and the teacher has the best opportunity of studying these pathological subjects and of curing their moral defects. For, while playing with them, as one concerned in the game, he has the right to insist on fair dealing, to express his disgust at cowardice, to take the part of the weak against the strong, and his words spoken on the playground will have tenfold the effect of any hortatory address which he might deliver from the platform. The greatest and most successful of teachers have not disdained to use this device.
Finally, let me say that the personality of the master or principal of the school is the chief factor of moral influence in it. Put a great, sound, whole-souled nature at the head of a school, and everything else may almost be taken for granted. In every school there exists a public opinion among the scholars, by which they are affected to a far greater degree than by the words of their superiors. The tactful master will direct his chief attention to shaping and improving this public opinion, while at the same time interfering as little as possible with the freedom of his pupils. He can accomplish his purpose by drawing close to himself those scholars who make the public opinion of the school, andthese in turn he can win to fine and manly views only by the effect of his personality. The personality of the head-master is everything. It is the ultimate source of power in the school, the central organ which sends out its life-giving currents through the whole organism. And let me here add that, if I am in favor of excluding direct religious teaching from our schools, I am not in favor of excluding religious influence. That, too, flows from the personality of the true master. For if he be reverent, a truly pious soul, humble in his estimate of self, not valuing his petty schoolmaster's authority on its own account, but using it lovingly as an instrument for higher ends, he will be sure to communicate of his spirit to his pupils, and by that spirit will open their hearts, better than by any doctrinal teaching he could give, to the reception of the highest spiritual truths.
By all these means—by the culture of the intellect, the taste, and the feelings, by his daily dealings with the young, in work and play—the teacher helps to create in them certain moral habits. Why, then, should not these habits suffice? What need is there of specific moral instruction? And what is the relation of moral instruction to the habits thus engendered?
The function of moral instruction is to clinch the habits. The function of moral instruction is to explicate in clear statements, fit to be grasped by the intellect, the laws of duty which underlie the habits. The value of such intellectual statements is that theygive a rational underpinning to moral practice, and, furthermore, that they permit the moral rules to be applied to new cases not heretofore brought within the scope of habit. This thought will be more fully developed and explained as we proceed.
FOOTNOTE:[4]In the address on the subject, reprinted in the Appendix.
[4]In the address on the subject, reprinted in the Appendix.
[4]In the address on the subject, reprinted in the Appendix.
The topics of which moral instruction treats are the duties of life. To teach the duties, however, we must adopt some system of classification. To which system shall we give the preference? The difficulty which we encountered at the outset seems to meet us here in a new guise.
For most if not all of the systems of classification commonly proposed are based upon some metaphysical theory or some theological doctrine. To adopt any one of these would be tantamount to adopting the theory or theology on which it is founded; would be equivalent to introducing surreptitiously a particular philosophy or creed into the minds of the pupils; and this would be a plain departure from the unsectarian principle to which we are pledged. Thus, Plato's fourfold division of the virtues into the so-called cardinal virtues of temperance, courage, justice, wisdom, is based on his psychology. Aristotle's division of the virtues into dianoetic and what he calls ethical virtues is clearly dependent on what may be termed Aristotle's intellectualism—i. e., the supreme importance which he assigns to the functions of the intellect, or νοὑς [Greek: noûs], in the attainment of the perfect life.
Kant's division of duties into complete and incomplete is an outgrowth of the ideas developed in his Critique of Pure Reason; the philosopher Herbart's fivefold classification reflects his metaphysical theory of reality; while the systems of ethical classification which are to be found in theological handbooks betray still more clearly the bias of their authors.
We can, I think, find a simple way out of this difficulty by proceeding in the following manner: Let us take for our guidance the objects to which duty relates, and disregard the sources from which it flows. It is conceded on all hands that every one is to himself an object of duty, that he has certain duties to perform with respect to himself, as, for instance, the duty of intellectual development; furthermore, that every person owes certain duties to his fellow-men generally, in virtue of the fact that they are human beings; again, that there are special duties which we owe to particular persons, such as parents, brothers, and sisters; finally, that there are certain duties, into which, so to speak, we are born, like the ones last mentioned, and others which we can freely assume or not, like the conjugal duties, but which, once assumed, become as binding as the former. Thus the very structure of human society suggests a scheme of classification. And this scheme has the advantage of being a purely objective one. It keeps close to the facts, it is in harmony with the unsectarian principle, and it is perfectly fair. It leaves theproblem of first principles entirely untouched. That we have such duties to perform with respect to self and others, no one questions. Let philosophers differ as to the ultimate motives of duty. Let them reduce the facts of conscience to any set of first principles which may suit them. It is our part as instructors to interpret the facts of conscience, not to seek for them an ultimate explanation.
Let me briefly indicate how the different duties may be made to fall into line according to the plan of classification which has just been suggested. The whole field of duty may be divided into three main provinces:[5]those duties which relate to ourselves, those which we owe to all men, and those which arise in the special relations of the family, the state, etc.:
I. The Self-regarding Duties.
These may again be subdivided into duties relating to our physical nature, to the intellect, and to the feelings.
Under the head of physical duties belong the prohibition of suicide, and the duties of physical culture, temperance, and chastity.
Intellectual Duties.—Under this head may be ranged the duty of acquiring knowledge and thesubsidiary duties of order, diligence, perseverance in study; while, for those who are beyond the school age, special stress should be laid on the duty of mental genuineness. This may be expressed in the words: To thine own mental self be true. Study thine own mental bent. Try to discover in what direction thy proper talent lies, and make the most of it. Work thine own mine: if it be a gold-mine, bring forth gold; if it be a silver-mine, bring forth silver; if it be an iron-mine, bring forth iron. Endeavor to master some one branch of knowledge thoroughly well. It is for thee the key which opens the gates of all knowledge. The need of general culture is felt by all, but the concentration of intellectual efforts on special studies is not inconsistent with it. On the contrary, special studies alone enable us to gain a foothold in the realm of knowledge. A branch of knowledge which we have mastered, however small, may be compared to a strong fortress in an enemy's country, from which we can sally forth at will to conquer the surrounding territory. Knowledge may also be likened to a sphere. From every point of the circumference we can, by persistent labor, dig down to the center. He who has reached the center commands the sphere.
Duties which relate to the Feelings.—The principal duty under this head may be expressed in the twofold command—control and purify thy feelings! The feelings which need to be repressed are anger, fear, self-complacency. Let the teacher, when hereaches this point, dwell upon the causes and the consequences of anger. Let him speak of certain helps which have been found useful for the suppression of angry passion. Let him distinguish anger from moral indignation.
In dealing with fear let him pursue the same method. Let him distinguish physical from moral cowardice, brute courage from moral courage, courage from fortitude.
In dealing with self-complacency let him discriminate between vanity and pride, between pride and dignity. Let him show that humility and dignity are consistent with one another, yes, that they are complementary aspects of one and the same moral quality. Not the least advantage to be reaped from lessons on duty is the fixing in the pupil's mind of the moral vocabulary. The moral terms as a rule are loosely used, and this can not but lead to confusion in their application. Precise definitions, based on thorough discussion, are an excellent means of moral training.[6]
II. The duties which we owe to all men are Justice and Charity:
Be just is equivalent to—Do not hinder the development of any of thy fellow-men. Be charitable is equivalent to—Assist the development of thy fellow-men. Under the head of charity the teacherwill have occasion to speak not only of almsgiving, the visitation of the sick, and the like, but of the thousand charities of the fireside, of the charity of bright looks, of what may be called intellectual charity, which consists in opening the eyes of the mentally blind, and of the noblest charity of all, which consists in coming to the aid of those who are deep in the slough of moral despond, in raising the sinful and fallen.
III. Special social duties:
Under this head belong the duties which arise in the family: the conjugal, the parental, the filial, the fraternal duties.
Under the head of duties peculiar to the various avocations should be discussed the ethics of the professions, the ethics of the relations between employers and laborers, etc.
The consideration of the duties of the citizen opens up the whole territory of political ethics.
Lastly, the purely elective relationships of friendship and religious fellowship give rise to certain fine and lofty ethical conceptions, the discussion of which may fitly crown the whole course.
I have thus mentioned some of the main topics of practical ethics, from which we are to make our selection for the moral lessons.
But a selective principle is needed. The field being spread out before us, the question arises, At what point shall we enter it? What topics shall we single out? It would be manifestly absurd, for instance, to treat of international ethics, or of conjugalethics, in a course intended for children. But especially the order in which the different topics are to follow each other needs to be determined. The order followed in the above sketch is a purely logical one, and the logical arrangement of a subject, as every educator knows, is not usually the one most suitable for bringing it within reach of the understanding of children. It would not be in the present instance. Clearly a selective principle is wanted.
Let me here interrupt myself for a moment to say that the problem which we are attacking, so far from being solved, has heretofore hardly even been stated. And this is due to the fact that moral instruction has been thus far almost entirely in the hands of persons whose chief interest was religious, and who, whatever their good intentions might be, were hardly qualified to look at the subject from the educator's point of view. The work of breaking ground in the matter of moral instruction has still to be done. As to the selective principle which I have in view I feel a certain confidence in its correctness; but I am aware that the applications of it will doubtless require manifold amendment and correction, for which purpose I invoke the experience and honest criticism of my fellow-teachers. This being understood, I venture to ask your attention to the following considerations:
The life of every human being naturally divides itself into distinct periods—infancy, childhood, youth, etc. Each period has a set of interests and of corresponding duties peculiar to itself. The moral teachingshould be graded according to periods. The teaching appropriate to any period is that which bears upon the special duties of that period. To illustrate, the ethics of childhood may be summarized as follows: The personal duties of a child are chiefly the observance of a few simple rules of health and the curbing of its temper. It owes social duties to parents, brothers and sisters, and kinsfolk, to its playmates, and to servants. The child is not yet a citizen, and the ethics of politics, therefore, lie far beyond its horizon; it does not yet require to be taught professional ethics, and does not need to learn even the elements of intellectual duty, because its energies are still absorbed in physical growth and play. The duties of childhood can be readily stated. The peculiar duties of the subsequent stages of development, for instance, of middle life and old age, are complex, and not so easy to define. But I believe that the attempt to describe them will throw light on many recondite problems in ethics.
My first point therefore is, that the moral teaching at a given period should be made to fit the special duties of that period. Secondly—and this touches the core of the matter—in every period of life there is some one predominant duty around which all the others may be grouped, to which as a center they may be referred. Thus, the paramount duty of the young child is to reverence and obey its parents. The relation of dependence in which it stands naturally prescribes this duty, and all its other duties can be deduced from and fortified by this one. The correctness of its personal habits and of its behaviortoward others depends primarily on its obedience to the parental commands. The child resists the temptation to do what is wrong, chiefly because it respects the authority and desires to win the approbation of father and mother. Secondary motives are not wanting, but reverence for parents is the principal one.
Thirdly, in each new period there emerges a new paramount ethical interest, a new center of duties. But with the new system of duties thus created the previous ethical systems are to be brought into line, into harmonious correlation. And this will be all the more feasible, because the faithful performance of the duties of any one period is the best preparation for the true understanding and fulfillment of those of the next. From these statements the following conclusions may be drawn with respect to the question under discussion—namely, the proper sequence of the topics of duty in a course of moral lessons.
The moral lessons being given in school, must cover the duties which are peculiar to the school age. The paramount duty should be placed in the foreground. Now the paramount duty of children between six and fourteen years of age is to acquire knowledge. Hence we begin the lessons with the subject of intellectual duty. In the next place, the duties learned in the previous periods are to be brought into line with the duties of the school age. At each new step on the road of ethical progress the moral ideas already acquired are to be reviewed, confirmed, and to receive a higher interpretation.
We have already seen that, before the child enters school, its personal duties are such as relate to the physical life and the feelings, and its chief social duties are the filial and fraternal.
Therefore, the order of topics for the lessons thus far stands: The duty of acquiring knowledge; the duties which relate to the physical life; the duties which relate to the feelings; the filial duties; the fraternal duties.
Again, a child that has learned to respect the rights of its brothers and sisters, and to be lovingly helpful to them, will in school take the right attitude toward its companions. The fraternal duties are typical of the duties which we owe to all our companions, and, indeed, to all human beings.
The next topic of the lessons, therefore, will be the duties which we owe to all human beings.
Finally, life in school prepares for life in society and in the state, and so this course of elementary moral lesson will properly close with "The elements of civic duty."
FOOTNOTES:[5]It may be urged by some that duties toward God ought to be included in such a scheme of moral lessons as we are proposing. I should say, however, that the discussion of these duties belongs to the Sunday-schools, the existence of which alongside the daily schools ispresupposed throughout the present course of lectures.[6]The duties which relate to the moral nature, as a whole, such for instance as the duty of self-scrutiny, may be considered either at the end of the chapter on self-regarding duties, or at the close of the whole course.
[5]It may be urged by some that duties toward God ought to be included in such a scheme of moral lessons as we are proposing. I should say, however, that the discussion of these duties belongs to the Sunday-schools, the existence of which alongside the daily schools ispresupposed throughout the present course of lectures.
[5]It may be urged by some that duties toward God ought to be included in such a scheme of moral lessons as we are proposing. I should say, however, that the discussion of these duties belongs to the Sunday-schools, the existence of which alongside the daily schools ispresupposed throughout the present course of lectures.
[6]The duties which relate to the moral nature, as a whole, such for instance as the duty of self-scrutiny, may be considered either at the end of the chapter on self-regarding duties, or at the close of the whole course.
[6]The duties which relate to the moral nature, as a whole, such for instance as the duty of self-scrutiny, may be considered either at the end of the chapter on self-regarding duties, or at the close of the whole course.
It is difficult to trace the beginnings of the moral life in children. The traveler who attempts to follow some great river to its source generally finds himself confused by the number of ponds and springs which are pointed out to him with the assurance in the case of each that this and no other is the real source. In truth, the river is fed not from one source but from many, and does not attain its unity and individuality until it has flowed for some distance on its way. In like manner, the moral life is fed by many springs, and does not assume its distinctive character until after several years of human existence have elapsed. The study of the development of conscience in early childhood is a study of origins, and these are always obscure. But, besides, the attention hitherto given to this subject has been entirely inadequate, and even the attempts to observe in a systematic way the moral manifestations of childhood have been few.
Parents and teachers should endeavor to answer such questions as these: When do the first stirrings of the moral sense appear in the child? How do they manifest themselves? What are the emotionaland the intellectual equipments of the child at different periods, and how do these correspond with its moral outfit? At what time does conscience enter on the scene? To what acts or omissions does the child apply the terms right and wrong? If observations of this kind were made with care and duly recorded, the science of education would have at its disposal a considerable quantity of material from which no doubt valuable generalizations might be deduced. Every mother especially should keep a diary in which to note the successive phases of her child's physical, mental, and moral growth; with particular attention to the moral; so that parents may be enabled to make a timely forecast of their childrens' characters, to foster in them every germ of good, and by prompt precautions to suppress, or at least restrain, what is bad.
I propose in the present lecture to cast a glance at the moral training which the normal child receives before it enters school, and the moral outfit which it may be expected to bring with it at the time of entering. Fortunately, it is not necessary to go very deeply into the study of development of conscience for this purpose. A few main points will suffice for our guidance.
First Point.—The moral training of a child can be begun in its cradle. Regularity is favorable to morality. Regularity acts as a check on impulse. A child should receive its nourishment at stated intervals; it should become accustomed to sleep at certain hours, etc. If it protests, as it often doesvigorously enough, its protests should be disregarded. After a while its cries will cease, it will learn to submit to the rule imposed, and the taking of pleasure in regularity and the sense of discomfort when the usual order is interrupted become thenceforth a part of its mental life. I do not maintain that regularity itself is moral, but that it is favorable to morality because it curbs inclination. I do not say that rules are always good, but that the life of impulse is always bad. Even when we do the good in an impulsive way we are encouraging in ourselves a vicious habit. Good conduct consists in regulating our life according to good principles; and a willingness to abide by rules is the first, the indispensable condition of moral growth. Now, the habit of yielding to rules may be implanted in a child even in the cradle.
Second Point.—A very young child—one not older than a year and a half—can be taught to obey, to yield to the parent's will. A child a year and a half old is capable of adhering to its own will in defiance of the expressed will of father or mother. In this case it should be constrained to yield. We shall never succeed in making of it a moral person if it does not realize betimes that there exists a higher law than the law of its will. And of this higher law, throughout childhood, the parent is, as it were, the embodiment. When I say that obedience can be exacted of a child of such tender age, that a child so young is capable of deliberately opposing the will of the parent, I speak fromexperience. I know a certain little lady who undertook a struggle with her father precisely in the way described. The struggle lasted fully thirty-five minutes by the clock. But when it was over, the child stretched out her little arms and put up her lips to be kissed, and for days after fairly clung to her father, showing him her attachment in the most demonstrative manner. Nor should this increase of affectionateness excite surprise—it is the proper result of a conflict of this sort between father and child when conducted in the right spirit. The child is happy to be freed from the sway of its wayward caprice, to feel that its feeble will has been taken up into a will larger and stronger than its own.
Third Point.—What is called conscience does not usually begin to show itself until the child is about three years old. At this age the concept self usually emerges, and the child begins to use the personal pronoun I. This is one of these critical turning points in human development, of which there are several. The beginning of adolescence marks another. I am inclined to suspect that there is one at or about thirty-three. There seem to be others later on. At any rate the first turning point—that which occurs at three—is marked unmistakably. At this time, as we have just said, the child begins to be distinctly self-conscious; it says "I," and presently "you," "he," and "they." Now, moral rules formulate the relations which ought to subsist between one's self and others, and to comprehend the rules it is clearly necessary to be able to hold apart in the mind andto contrast with one another the persons related. It is evident, therefore, that the emergence of the concept self must have a decided effect on moral development.
I feel tempted to pause here a moment and to say a word in passing about the extreme importance of the constituent elements of the concept self. For it must not be supposed that the pronoun "I" means the same thing on the lips of every person who uses it. "I" is a label denoting a mass of associated ideas, and as these ideas are capable of almost endless variation, so the notion of selfhood is correspondingly diversified in different individuals. In the case of children, perhaps the principal constituents of the concept are supplied by their outward appearance and environment. When a child speaks of itself, it thinks primarily of its body, especially its face, then of the clothes it usually wears, the house it lives in, the streets through which it habitually walks, its parents, brothers, sisters, school-masters, etc.[7]If we analyze the meaning of "I" in the case of two children, the one well-born and well brought up, the other without these advantages, we shall perhaps find such differences as the following: "I" in the one case will mean a being living in a certain decent and comfortable house, always wearing neat clothing, surrounded by parents,brothers, and sisters who speak kindly to one another and have gentle manners, etc. In the other case, the constituents of the concept self may be very different. "I" in the case of the second child may mean a creature that lives in a dark, filthy hovel and walks every day through narrow streets, reeking with garbage. "I" may mean the child of a father who comes home drunk and strikes the mother when the angry fit is upon him. "I" stands for a poor waif that wears torn clothes, and when he sits in school by the side of well-dressed children is looked at askance and put to shame. It is obvious that the elements which go to make up the concept self affect the child's moral nature by lowering or raising its self-esteem. I remember the case of one, who as a boy was the laughing-stock of his class on account of the old-fashioned, ill-fitting clothes which he was compelled to wear, and who has confessed that even late in life he could not entirely overcome the effect of this early humiliation, and that he continued to be painfully aware in himself, in consequence, of a certain lack of ease and self-possession. Hence we should see to it that the constituent elements of the concept self are of the right kind. It is a mistake to suppose that the idea of selfhood stands off independently from the elements of our environment. The latter enter into, and when they are bad eat into, the very kernel of our nature.
We have seen that the development of the intellect as it appears in the growing distinctness of self-consciousness exercises an important influenceon the development of the moral faculty. But there is still another way in which this influence becomes apparent. The function of conscience further depends on the power of keeping alternative courses of action before the mind. Angels capable only of the good, or fiends actuated exclusively by malice, could not be called moral creatures. A moral act always presupposes a previous choice between two possible lines of action. And until the power of holding the judgment in suspense, of hesitating between alternative lines of conduct, has been acquired, conscience, strictly speaking, does not manifest itself. We may say that the voice of conscience begins to be heard when, the parent being absent, the child hesitates between a forbidden pleasure and obedience to the parental command. Of course, not every choice between alternative courses is a moral act. If any one hesitates whether to remain at home or to go for a walk, whether to take a road to the right or to the left, the decision is morally indifferent. But whenever one of the alternative courses is good and the other bad, conscience does come into play.
At this point, however, the question forcibly presents itself, How does it come to pass in the experience of children that they learn to regard certain lines of action as good and others as bad? You will readily answer, The parent characterizes certain acts as good and others as bad, and the child accepts his definition; and this is undoubtedly true. The parent's word is the main prop of the budding conscience. But how comes the parent's word toproduce belief? This is indeed the crucial question touching the development of the moral faculty. Mr. Bain says that the child fears the punishment which the parent will inflict in case of disobedience; that the essential form and defining quality of conscience from first to last is of the nature of dread. He seems to classify the child's conscience with the criminal conscience, the rebel conscience which must be energized by the fear of penalties. But this explanation seems very unsatisfactory. Every one, of course, must admit that the confirmations of experience tend greatly to strengthen the parent's authority. The parent says, You must be neat. The child, if it does as it is bidden, finds an æsthetic pleasure in its becoming appearance. The parent says, You must not strike your little brother, but be kind to him; and the child, on restraining its anger, is gratified by the loving words and looks which it receives in return. The parent says, You must not touch the stove, or you will be burned. The disobedient child is effectually warned by the pain it suffers to be more obedient in future. But all such confirmations are mere external aids to parental authority. They do not explain the feeling of reverence with which even a young child, when rightly brought up, is wont to look up to his father's face. To explain this sentiment of reverence, I must ask you to consider the following train of reasoning. It has been remarked already that the parent should be to the child the visible embodiment of a higher law. This higher lawshining from the father's countenance, making its sublime presence felt in the mother's eye, wakens an answering vibration in the child's heart. The child feels the higher presence and bows to it, though it could not, if it tried, analyze or explain what it feels. We should never forget that children possess the capacity for moral development from the outset. It is indeed the fashion with some modern writers to speak of the child as if it were at first a mere animal, and as if reflection and morality were mechanically superadded later on. But the whole future man is already hidden, not yet declared, but latent all the same in the child's heart. The germs of humanity in its totality exist in the young being. Else how could it ever unfold into full-grown morality? It will perhaps serve to make my meaning clearer if I call attention to analogous facts relating to the intellectual faculty. The formula of causality is a very abstract one, which only a thoroughly trained mind can grasp. But even very young children are constantly asking questions as to the causes of things. What makes the trees grow? what makes the stars shine?—i. e., what is the cause of the trees growing and the stars shining? The child is constantly pushing, or rather groping, its way back from effects to causes. The child's mind acts under what maybe called the causative instinct long before it can apprehend the law of causation. In the same way young children perfectly follow the process of syllogistic reasoning. If a father says, on leaving the house for a walk: I can take with meonly a child that has been good; now, you have not been good to-day; the child without any difficulty draws the conclusion, Therefore I can not go out walking with my father to-day. The logical laws are, as it were, prefigured in the child's mind long before, under the chemical action of experience they come out in the bright colors of consciousness. Or, to use another figure, they exert a pressure on the child of which he himself can give no account. And in like manner the moral law—the law which prescribes certain relations between self and others—is, so to speak, prefigured in the child's mind, and when it is expressed in commands uttered by the parent, the pressure of external authority is confirmed by a pressure coming from within. We can illustrate the same idea from another point of view. Whenever a man of commanding moral genius appears in the world and speaks to the multitude from his height, they are for the moment lifted to his level and feel the afflatus of his spirit. This is so because he expresses potentialities of human nature which also exist in them, only not unfolded to the same degree as in him. It is a matter of common observation that persons who under ordinary circumstances are content to admire what is third rate and fourth rate are yet able to appreciate what is first rate when it is presented to them—at least to the extent of recognizing that it is first rate. And yet their lack of development shows itself in the fact that presently they again lose their hold on the higher standard of excellence, and are thereaftercontent to put up with what is inferior as if the glimpses of better things had never been opened to them. Is it not because, though capable of rising to the higher level, they are not capable of maintaining themselves on it unassisted. Now, the case of the parent with respect to the child is analogous. He is on a superior moral plane. The child feels that he is, without being able to understand why. It feels the afflatus of the higher spirit dwelling in the parent, and out of this feeling is generated the sentiment of reverence. And there is no greater benefit which father or mother can confer on their offspring than to deepen this sentiment. It is by this means that they can most efficiently promote the development of the child's conscience, for out of this reverence will grow eventually respect for all rightly constituted authority, respect and reverence for law, human and divine. The essential form and defining quality of conscience is not, therefore, as Bain has it—fear of punishment. In my opinion such fear is abject and cowardly. The sentiment engendered by fear is totally different from the one we are contemplating, as the following consideration will serve to show: A child fears its father when he punishes it in anger; and the more violent his passion, the more does the child fear him. But, no matter how stern the penalty may be which he has to inflict, the child reveres its father in proportion as the traces of anger are banished from his mien and bearing, in proportion as the parent shows by his manner that he acts from a sense of duty, that he has his eyefixed on the sacred measures of right and wrong, that he himself stands in awe of the sublime commands of which he is, for the time being, the exponent.
To recapitulate briefly the points which we have gone over: regular habits can be inculcated and obedience can be taught even in infancy. By obedience is meant the yielding of a wayward and ignorant will to a firm and enlightened one. The child between three and six years of age learns clearly to distinguish self from others, and to deliberate between alternative courses of action. It is highly important to control the elements which enter into the concept self. The desire to choose the good is promoted chiefly by the sentiment of reverence.
We are thus prepared to describe in a general way the moral outfit of the child on entering school. We have, indeed, already described it. The moral acquirements of the child at the age of which we speak express themselves in habits. The normal child, under the influences of parental example and command, has acquired such habits as that of personal cleanliness, of temperance in eating, of respect for the truth. Having learned to use the pronouns I and thou, it also begins to understand the difference betweenmeumandtuum. The property sense begins to be developed. It claims its own seat at table, its own toys against the aggression of others. It has gained in an elementary way the notion of rights.
This is a stock of acquirements by no means inconsiderable. The next step in the progress of conscience must be taken in the school. Until now the child has been aware of duties relating only or principally to persons whom it loves and who love it. The motive of love is now to become less prominent. A part of that reverence which the child has felt for the parents whom it loves is now to be transferred to the teacher. A part of that respect for the rights of equals which has been impressed upon it in its intercourse with brothers and sisters, to whom it is bound by the ties of blood, is now to be transferred to its school companions, who are at first strangers to it. Thus the conscience of the child will be expanded, thus it will be prepared for intercourse with the world. Thus it will begin to gain that higher understanding of morality, according to which authority is to be obeyed simply because it is rightful, and equals are to be treated as equals, even when they are not and can not be regarded with affection.
I have in the above used the word habits advisedly. The morality of the young child assumes the concrete form of habits; abstract principles are still beyond its grasp. Habits are acquired by imitation and repetition. Good examples must be so persistently presented and so often copied that the line of moral conduct may become the line of least resistance. The example of parents and teachers is indeed specially important in this respect. But after all it is not sufficient. For the temptations of adultsdiffer in many ways from those of children, and on the other hand in the lives of older persons occasions are often wanting for illustrating just the peculiar virtues of childhood. On this account it is necessary to set before the child ideal examples of the virtues of children and of the particular temptations, against which they need to be warned. Of such examples we find a large stock ready to hand in the literature of fairy tales, fables, and stories. In our next lecture therefore we shall begin to consider the use of fairy tales, fables, and stories as means of creating in children those habits which are essential to the safe guarding and unfolding of their moral life.