On a certain occasion Socrates assumed the rôle of listener, while
Protagoras discoursed upon the theme “Can Virtue Be Taught?” Protagoras
shows that there are some essential qualities which, regardless of
specific calling, should be common to all men, such as justice,
temperance, and holiness—in a word, manly virtue. He holds it absurd
and contrary to experience to assume that virtue cannot be taught. He
says that, in fact, “Education and admonition commence in the first
years of childhood, and last to the very end of life.” Mother and
nurse, and father and tutor ceaselessly set forth to the child what is
just or unjust, honorable or dishonorable, holy or unholy; the teachers
look to his manners, and later put in his hands the works of the great
poets, full of moral examples and teachings; the instructor of the lyre
imparts harmony and rhythm; the master of gymnastics trains the body to
be minister to the virtuous mind; and when the pupil has completed his
work with the instructors, the state compels him to learn the laws, and
live after the pattern which they furnish. “Cease to wonder, Socrates,
whether virtue can be taught.”
We can but accept the principles of Protagoras, that the essential
qualities of a rational and moral being are to be considered at each
stage of growth and in all relations of life; that all education is to
be the ally of virtue. We can but accept, too, the fact that guidance,
instruction, and authority help to bring the child to self-realization,
and help to determine modes of conduct. The remaining question relates
to the ways and means adapted to a given stage of education. When
the pupil enters the high school he is already a trained being. His
training, however, has been more or less mechanical. He is now at an
age when his capacity, his studies, and his social relations admit him
to a broader field—a field in which he makes essays at independent
action; when his physical development brings new problems and dangers;
when contact with the world begins to acquaint him with the vicious
maxims of selfish men; when there is a tendency to break away from
the moral codes, without the wisdom of experience to guide him in his
growing freedom. It is a critical period—one that tests in new ways his
mental and moral balance. If the pupil is not wrecked here, he has many
chances in his favor, although the college or business life or society
may later sorely tempt him. That the teachings and influences of the
period of secondary education have much to do with making character is
recognized by the colleges. Some schools become known for the vigor of
their intellectual and ethical training, and the successful preparation
of their pupils to meet the demands and temptations of college life.
The subject of ethics in the high school thus becomes a proper one for
inquiry.
Shall we employ the formal study of ethics? Hardly. The scientific
or theoretical treatment of the subject belongs to the period of
reflection, of subjective insight, and should follow psychology, if
not philosophy. Such study hardly accomplishes much practically
until experience and reflection have given one an interest in the
deepest problems of life. It belongs to a period when the commonplaces
are fraught with meaning, when a rational conviction has the force
which Socrates gave to insight into wisdom—when to understand virtue
is to conform the life to it. But, nevertheless, the whole period
of high-school work should be a contribution to the end of moral
character. Let us get rid, at the outset, of the idea that a moral
life is a mechanical obedience to rules and conventionalities, a
cut-and-dried affair, a matter that lies in but one province of our
nature, a formalism, and learn that the whole being, its purposes
and activities, the heroic impulses and the commonplace duties lie
within its circle. Everything a man is and does, learns and becomes,
constitutes his moral character.
Ethics is the science of conduct—conduct on both its subjective
and its objective side. It considers the relation of the self to
all consequences of an act as foreseen and chosen by the self, and
to the same consequences as outwardly expressed. Practically it
teaches control of impulse with reference to results as expressing
and revealing the character—results both immediate and remote. Some
acts show a one-sided inclination, uncontrolled by regard for the
claims of other and better impulses; only a part of the individual
is asserted, not the whole self in perfect balance. For example, the
pupil plays truant, acting with sole regard for the impulse to seek
ease and sensuous pleasure. He neglects other more important impulses,
all of which might have been satisfied by attending faithfully to his
school duties: the impulse of ambition, to gain power and become a
useful and successful citizen; the desire for culture, with all its
superior values; the impulse of wonder, leading ever to the acquisition
of knowledge; the impulse of admiration, to seek and appreciate the
beautiful; the filial and social affections, which regard the feelings
and wishes of the home and the sentiments of companions; the impulse
to gratitude, as shown toward parents and teachers; the sentiment of
reverence, as shown toward law and order and those who stand as their
representatives. And all these neglected demands rise up and condemn
him; he is divided from himself and his fair judgment, is not his
complete self. On the other hand, the pupil spends the day in devotion
to work, he maintains the integrity and balance of his nature, gives
each impulse due consideration and makes a symmetrical and moral
advance in his development. In restraining the impulse to play truant,
he does justice to all the claims of his being; the resulting values
as estimated in subjective experiences are the highest possible—the
act is good. The problem, then, is to bring the pupil to a fuller
understanding of the character of his impulses to action, and the
relative value of each. In many ways the neglected elements of his
nature may be brought into consciousness and emphasized. Everything
that creates conceptions of ideal conduct, all concrete illustrations
in the social life of the school, all conscious exercise of power in
right ways, contribute toward his self-realization. The high-school
pupil has not had a large personal experience; hence the need, in the
ways proposed, of teaching virtue. In the first place, the situation
is advantageous. It is conceded by every school of ethical thinkers
that one finds his moral awakening in contact with society. Society
is the mirror in which one sees a reflection of himself, and comes to
realize himself and his character. The school of the people, which is
in an important sense an epitome of that larger world which he is to
enter, furnishes an admirable field for development. Moreover, it is a
community where the restraint, the guidance, the ideals come of right
from properly constituted authority. The whole problem of objective
relations and corresponding subjective values may find illustration
and experiment in the daily life of the school. The constructive
imagination may be employed to infer from experiences in school
to larger experiences of kindred quality in the field of life. By
judging real or supposed cases of conduct the pupil makes at least a
theoretical choice. By learning and interpreting characters and events
in history his view is broadened.
The whole school curriculum should contribute to moral development.
Whatever of intellect, emotion, and will is exercised in a rational
field expands the soul normally. The pursuit of studies with the right
spirit, and with regard for the activities and relations incidental
thereto, is moral growth. Studies awaken rational interest, cultivate
habits of industry, are devoted to the discovery of truth, reveal
important relations of the individual to society, and present the
purest ideals of the race. There is hardly a more valuable moralizer
than healthy employment itself, employment that engages the whole
man—perception, imagination, thought, emotion, and will—employment that
looks toward ennobling and useful consequences, employment that has the
sanction of every consideration that regards man’s full development.
If the studies of the high-school course do not make for good, it is
because they fail to get hold of the pupil, to awaken his interest and
energies. If the subject matter and the instruction are adapted to the
pupil’s need, if conceptions are clearly grasped, if healthy interest
is aroused and the attention turns spontaneously to the work, the
pupil’s growth will be in every way beneficent. One who regards the
moral development of his pupils will conscientiously study the method
of his teaching, and learn whether the source of neglect and rebellion
lies there.
The personality of the teacher is one of the most important factors in
ethical training. It is ethics teaching by example; it is the living
embodiment of conduct. The ideas that find expression in the life of
the teacher are likely to be imitated. The sympathy of the teacher
with the endeavor of the pupil infuses life into his effort. We do not
refer to a certain kind of personal magnetism; this may be pernicious
in the extreme. It may exist to the extent of partially hypnotizing
the independent life of the pupil, robbing him for a time of part of
his individuality. The ideal instructor should be earnest and noble,
impressing one with the goodness, dignity, and meaning of life. An
easy-going regard for duties, a half-way attachment to labor are sure
to impress themselves on the minds of pupils; as readily will honor,
sincerity, and pure ideals be reflected in their endeavors. You will
ask: What are some of the specific ways in which a teacher may direct
his efforts? We often look far for the means of accomplishment when
they are already at hand. The means of moral influence are not the
exclusive possession of learning or genius; they may be used by every
teacher, and we should have faith in what the schools are already doing
to make good character. The successful use of methods depends upon
the teacher’s judgment and tact. One may do harm by conscientious but
ill-directed effort. With Solomon we must remember that there is a time
for everything. Amongst other impulses, natural or acquired, the pupil
has impulses to regard honor, honesty, truthfulness, gentlemanliness,
good thoughts, respect, gratitude, sympathy, industry, usefulness. In
a fit of rage, with desire to harm the object of his vindictiveness,
he may disregard nearly every one of the above qualities. The
impulse of anger acts blindly, heedless of external consequences
and of the subjective values that attach to the execution of every
desire. All cases of bad conduct, varying in degree, show a similar
disproportionate estimate of the value of motives. Our problem is to
plant in the consciousness of the pupil an appreciation of neglected
qualities. It may be noted in passing that there are some cases of
physical tendency, amounting to monomania. Conscious wrong never is
able fully to conceal itself, and when the truth becomes evident to
the teacher, as it may, he should seek the confidence of the home, and
through the home the influence upon the pupil of a trusted physician
who possesses both medical skill and moral force.
In approaching the specific ways of moral education, we may first
make our obeisance to habit. The limitations as to time, place, and
activity, which are incidental to all school life, help to form
habits which turn the growing youth still more from the condition of
uncontrolled liberty into one of well-regulated conduct, civilize
him, and make him a fit member of society. Habits of regard for the
rights of others further lay the foundation of altruism. Habit has
its value. It establishes tendencies of conduct, although in a more
or less mechanical way, which make easier the adherence to virtue in
the advanced period of reflective insight. Too, these same duties
mechanically performed may later be known in their full significance,
and become moral acts.
The judicious use of maxims, also, has a value. Maxims are the first
formal expression of the experience of the race as to the things to do
or avoid. Since we act from ideas, maxims may serve practically for
many concrete cases. This is especially true if the full meaning of a
maxim has been presented. Next to maxims, and greater in importance,
are the events and characters of history and biography. Embodied
virtues and vices, real events that show the movements and reveal
the motives of a people, appeal strongly to the interest. Yet, being
remote in time and place, they allow the freest discussion and may be
made permanent types for the instruction and improvement of mankind.
The value lies in the fact that qualities thus known hasten the
self-realization of the same qualities. The life of a Socrates, an
Aristides, of a Cato, a Savonarola, a Luther, a Cromwell, a Lincoln,
a Whittier, of all men and women who exemplify virtue, heroism,
self-denial, all struggles for the right, are the high-water mark for
every aspiring nature. And in the teaching of history and biography it
is not necessary at every turn to deliver a homily; rather lead the
pupil into the spirit and understanding of the subject—some things
shine with their own light.
A yet more fertile source of ideal conceptions is the choice literature
of the world. From this rich treasury we draw the poetry which we apply
to life. In literature truth is given life and color, idealized and
made attractive. Qualities are abstracted, refined, perfected, and
glorified. They serve to show us the meaning of those qualities in
us. Literature presents emotions that in their purity and refinement
seem to transcend the material world; heroes and martyrs idealized and
embodying self-sacrifice and devotion; sentiments that touch the whole
range of chords in the heart and awaken tenderness or heroism. The
pupil reads Homer and gains conceptions of heroic virtues; the “Lays
of Ancient Rome,” and gains ideas of perfect honor and devotion to
country; Tennyson, and he follows the pure conceptions and feels that
life has taken on a nobler coloring; Carlyle’s doctrine of work and
duty, and feels his moral sinews strengthened. Thoughts that aspire,
emotions of transcendent worth, courage, heroism, benevolence, devotion
to country or humanity—all these are at the command of the instructor,
if he has the skill to lead the pupil into the spirit and understanding
of literature. If he has not the skill, let him not touch it.
The study of science itself offers opportunities. Science searches for
truth, judges not hastily, removes all prejudice, employs the judicial
spirit. It should suggest lessons in fairness, justice, and truth in
the field of human conduct. Hasty inference, prejudiced judgment are
responsible for half the sins of this world, and the scientific spirit
should be made to pass from the abstract field over into practical
life.
Something can be done by daily assembly of pupils. While men have
various occupations, there are certain interests that belong to men
as men, as human beings. As there are hymns set to noble music which
are sung for centuries without diminution of interest, because they
are adapted to the want of man’s essential nature, so there are gems
of æsthetic and ethical literature which have stood the test of time
and are approved by common consent. The reading of vigorous, healthful
selections can but have an influence sooner or later upon the listener.
The teacher, in a brief address, may express some thought or experience
or ideal or sentiment, that will reach the inner life. In no way,
however, will the good sense and skill of the teacher be put to severer
test than in the selection of these teachings. They easily become
monotonous instead of giving vital interest.
Professor John Dewey, in an admirable article on the subject of
interest, defines it thus: “Interest is impulse functioning with
reference to an idea of self-expression.” He further says: “The
real object of desire is not pleasure, but self-expression.... The
pleasure felt is simply the reflex of the satisfaction which the self
is anticipating in its own expression.... Pleasure arrives, not as
the goal of an impulse, but as an accompaniment of the putting forth
of activity.” These expressions mean simply that the human being has
native impulses to activity; that these impulses, under rational
control, aim at proper ends; that pleasure is not the end of action
but merely accompanies the putting forth of activity; that interest
is the mental excitement that arises when the self-active mind has
an end in view and the means of its attainment—a feeling that binds
the attention to the end and the means. His doctrine denies hedonism.
We are not to aim at a good, but to act the good. We are not to work
for the pleasure, but to find pleasure in working. This is a doctrine
of vast importance to the educator. External and unworthy rewards
for effort are false motives. The work itself must furnish interest,
because suited to the activities of the pupil. The great problem of
the teacher is to invite a self-activity that finds its reward in the
activity.
False motives should not be held before pupils. There is a view of life
called romanticism, the condemnation of which gives Nordau his one
virtue. The adherents claim for themselves the fill of a constantly
varying round of completely satisfying emotional life. The history
of prominent adherents of this view is a warning to this generation.
The devotees either become rational and satirize their own folly, or
become pessimists, railing at the whole that life has to offer, or
commit suicide, and thus well rid the world of their useless presence.
Carlyle points out that not all the powers of christendom combined
could suffice to make even one shoeblack happy. If he had one half the
universe he would set about the conquest of the other half. And then
follows the grand exhortation to useful labor, the performance of duty,
as the lasting source of satisfaction. If we do not find happiness
therein, we may get along without happiness and, instead thereof, find
blessedness. This is the doctrine of Goethe’s Faust. Faust at first
wishes to enjoy everything and do nothing. He runs the whole round of
pleasure, of experience, and emotional life, and finds satisfaction in
nothing. Finally, in the second book, he finds the supreme moment in
the joy of useful labor for his fellow men. It is to be noted, however,
that as soon as he is fully satisfied he dies, as, metaphorically,
people in that state always do. Pleasure does not make life worth
living, but living the fulness of our nature is living a life of worth.
Laying aside all theories, even the theoretical correctness of what
follows, it is necessary to hold practically to the transcendental
will. This is a large word, but it means simply going over beyond the
mere solicitation of present pleasure, and holding with wisdom and
courage to the claims of all the impulses of our being—in a word,
living a life of integrity. The transcendental will can suffer and
persevere and refuse pleasure, and endure and work out good and useful
results. It is important to give pupils a little touch of the heroic,
else they will be the sport of every wind that blows and least of all
be able to withstand the tempest or the wintry blast.
There is a well-worn figure of speech, essentially Platonic in its
character, which, once well in the mind of a young man or woman, will
surely influence the life for good. As the healthy tree grows and
expands in symmetry, beauty, and strength, and blossoms and yields
useful fruit, instead of being dwarfed or growing in distorted and
ugly forms, so the normal soul should expand and develop in vigor and
beauty of character, and blossom and yield a life of usefulness. A
stunted soul, one that has gone all awry, is a spectacle over which men
and gods may weep. In some way the nobility of life, the grandeur of
upright character must be impressed upon the mind of youth.
And moral growth must be growth in freedom. Rules and maxims, petty
prohibitions, and restraints alone will not make morality, but rather
bare mechanism and habit. Moral freedom means that, by an insight that
comes of right development, one views the full bearing of any problem
of conduct, and chooses with a wisdom that is his own. Morality is
not mechanism, but insight. Doctrine does not constitute morality.
Pharisaism is immorality and will drive any one to rebellion and
sin. Mechanical rule has no vitalizing power. A moral life should be
self-active, vigorous, joyous, and free. So far as spontaneous conduct
can be made to take the place of rule and restraint will you secure a
growth that will expand, when, well-rooted by your fostering care, you
finally leave it to struggle with the elements.
Following in substance the thought of a prominent educator,—not so
much pedagogical preaching as skilful stimulating, not so much perfect
ideals as present activities, not so much compulsion as inviting
self-activity are to-day the needs of the schools. Through guidance of
present interest the child may later attain to the greater interests of
life in their full comprehension.