EARLY CHILDHOOD
The first period of life, Early Childhood, includes the years from birth
to about six or, in Sunday School phraseology, the "Cradle Roll," from
birth to three, and the "Beginners," from three to six.
It is a temptation to note at length the marvelous achievements of a
little life in its earliest years, as it comes,
"Out from the shore of the great unknown,
Blind and wailing and alone,
Into the light of day.
* * * * *.
"From the unknown sea that reels and rolls,
Specked with the barks of little souls,
Barks that were launched on the other side,
And slipped from Heaven on an ebbing tide."
The wealth of material, however, clustering around each period of
developing life is so great that selection must be made. Therefore only
those facts illuminating the chosen theme of religious nurture will be
considered.
The baby's world is a "big, blooming, buzzing confusion," according to
James, but gradually, cosmos emerges from chaos. The senses, clouded at
first, become clear and active. Adjustment and voluntary control of the
larger muscles are secured. The art of walking is mastered, and the
great feat of learning a language practically unaided, is well under
way. The awakening mind learns to know certain objects and simplest
relationships within a very limited sphere, and through ceaseless
activity, new experiences are constantly coming in to the soul.
Guided by instinct and impulse, responding to any wind that blows,
sensitive and retentive as the plate of a camera,
"Just a-yearning
To be learning
Anything at all,"
can any religious nurture be given to this tiny little bundle of
possibilities? Manifestly, it will not be through precept and
admonition, for they are meaningless, yet never will life be more open
to the influences of impression and atmosphere than at this time. The
child can not understand their import as they come, but he will feel
them. He does not understand love, but he feels it. He can not
comprehend personality, but his restless little body grows quiet in the
tender arms of a strong father. He responds to the fretfulness or
gentleness of the mother, the noisy confusion or peace of the home.
These multitudinous impressions become his life, though he can not grasp
their meaning.
Just as surely does he drink in impressions which have the Divine
element. What they speak to him only God knows, but some message is
theirs. The picture of the "Good Shepherd," of "Jesus Blessing Little
Children," of the "Madonna and Child," perform their silent ministry to
his soul. He is peculiarly sensitive to the reverence and worship in
lofty music. In the evening tide of a Sabbath day, a father was seated
at the piano, while the two older children stood near, and a wee one of
two and a half years listened from his mother's arms. The songs used in
Sunday School were sung one after the other, and then came the baby
voice, "Papa, sing about Dod." "Do you mean, 'Holy, Holy, Holy is the
Lord'?" he asked. "Yes," was the answer, and in the hush of the
twilight, the worship of the children blended with the worship of the
angels, and who shall say they did not all behold the Father's face?
The nurture of these years is as silent as that of the dewdrop upon the
blade of grass, but it is as real. God's voice is the still, small voice
that ever speaks in quietness. The stillness of the moment at the
mother's knee, the prayer repeated in the reverent, low tone of the
mother's voice, the earnest prayer for him offered in his presence, the
Christ-like living in the home, all carry their holy influence to his
soul. He feels God, without knowing Him. But there shall come a day when
the Voice that has gently called him will be recognized, and he will
say, "Speak, Lord, for thy servant heareth."
But general nurture must be supplemented by the definite nurture of
each growing possibility. Though the principles underlying this careful
watch care and training are stated in connection with Early Childhood,
they are applicable to every succeeding period where the same power is
developing.
PHYSICAL ACTIVITY
The most marked characteristic of the entire period of early childhood
is physical activity, manifesting itself largely in restlessness. The
nervous force which later will be used in complex mental processes, now
seeks expression through hands and feet and tireless body.
In early infancy activity is entirely purposeless and unwilled, merely
the instinctive movement of every part of the body. Gradually, however,
through the contact with different objects brought about by his
restlessness, the baby learns to reach out for what he wants, and
purpose in the activity begins to appear. Later, play affords an outlet
for the constant flow of this pent-up power, and the child lives over
again those activities of the busy life around which appeal to him.
From the previous discussion of activity, we know that the child is
bringing about far-reaching results, all unconscious to himself, through
this never ceasing restlessness of every waking moment. He is growing,
through the kneading process of constant movement; he is developing
freer use of his muscles; he is building new experiences into character,
and he is forming habits of life. How then may this great force be
nurtured so that greatest results shall follow?
The law of activity must first be understood. It has been very
succinctly stated, "Activity must act, explode or cease to generate."
If it cease to generate entirely it means death, for every organ of the
body is using it. If it lessen in amount, it means lowered vitality, and
indicates illness or abnormal conditions in some way. The over-strained
mother who says to a little one of this age, "I wish you could keep
still for five minutes," does not realize what she is expressing. It has
been demonstrated in scientific tests, that the perfectly normal child
under six can keep absolutely still but few consecutive seconds,
therefore the desire could only be fulfilled through some disturbed
physical condition which would lessen the amount of life itself. Any
diminution is everywhere felt, for the same activity which impels hands
and feet, impels also the hungry senses, the eager curiosity and every
part of a growing mental life. Fortunately for the child, God's finger
is on the dynamo of his life, and as long as He wills the activity can
not cease to generate.
There are but two alternatives left, an action or an explosion, for
activity can no more be confined than steam in an engine. If the
explosion has occurred, it has resulted from successful repression. The
stopper, "Don't," has been inserted in the last opening through which
the nervous force could expend itself, and after a moment of dangerous
calm, the inevitable occurs, and the happiness and peace of the entire
home is for the time destroyed. The result is just as sure as that of
confining an expanding gas, while its disaster is wrought in the mental
and moral as well as the physical realms. Fortunately again for the
well-being of the child, it is difficult to secure the last outlet, so
fertile is his busy brain.
But without the explosion, the results that come to a child from a
policy of repression are very serious. Briefly stated, they are first,
irritability and nervousness. The refinement of cruelty is dealt to a
little child, compelled by superior force to act contrary to God's law
for him and "Keep quiet." Activity which should normally be expended,
when confined, reacts upon the cells of the body so that soon there are
physical reasons beyond the child's control for his nervousness and
crossness.
Second, Friction, in which defiance and stubbornness appear. The
severest test which could be imposed upon adults would be a constant and
apparently arbitrary thwarting of their desires. Is it to be wondered at
that a little, unreasoning life which hears "don't" by the scores of
times from morning till night, grows rebellious, vindictive and
obstinate?
Third, Unhappiness and a sense of alienation. Sympathy between two
persons is impossible when they are at cross purposes, and happiness
which is God's gift to childhood can never be realized when souls are
out of touch. Further, discouragement and consequent loss of incentive
to effort must inevitably overwhelm a little life that never does
anything right.
Fourth, weakened will and character. This is the most serious result of
all. One of the great principles already stated makes it clear that
development can come only through the activity of the individual
himself. If the child is constantly withheld from doing by the word
"don't," he can not reach the fullest development of character.
Furthermore, character is not built negatively but positively. A
building can never be erected by merely keeping out of it all unworthy
material. There must be an actual putting together of brick and mortar,
and the great truth is evident that whenever a place is filled by the
good, the bad is in that very act kept out, whether in buildings or
character. The motive back of many a "don't" is worthy, and often there
may be no alternative but to instantly check an action, but for the
effect on character building there is a more excellent way than
repression. It lies in the expression suggested in the law of activity,
but expression under direction.
Some parents realize the necessity of allowing the child's activity to
be expended, but fail to see the other side of the matter, namely, that
while activity means development, the sort of development that follows
will depend on the character of the activity. It is important that a
boy's energy be given an outlet, but it is more important whether it
make of him a gentleman or a hoodlum. The guidance or neglect of the
activity will determine which it is to be.
Too frequent emphasis can not be put upon the fact that every outgoing
activity traces a little deeper some pathway that tends toward a habit.
The mistake is often made of thinking that habits can be formed only by
"taking thought." It is true that some of the finest habits of life are
built into character with painstaking effort, but untidiness and
selfishness and irreverence and all their kin reach fullest unfolding in
the thoughtless outflow of activity, when no one is attending.
But activity, untrammeled, means more than wrong habits. It means
lawlessness and undisciplined character. The child who has learned no
higher authority for his acts than his own erratic whims, has laid good
foundation for future disregard of the laws of man and God.
The converse of all that has been said concerning both repression and
neglect of activity characterizes its wise direction. When the child,
ignorant and unskilled, hears a voice saying, "This is the way, walk ye
in it," his willing response means activity going out in right channels
or the formation of right habits. It means a dual joy for him, the joy
of activity itself and also the joy from the approval and sympathy of
the parent or teacher. Under encouragement he puts forth greater
effort, which means constant development of greater power. Yet more than
all, it means that he is learning the greatest lesson of early life,
obedience.
Obedience is only activity under law. It begins with submission to the
will of the parent, but when at last it is a response of the whole life
to the will of God and rendered of voluntary and loving choice, it has
reached its highest unfolding. This is the goal toward which all nurture
of activity must be directed, else no life is safe after it goes out
from the restraints of the home. In the heart of the parent who is a
seer, the mere closing of the door or putting away of the toy in
response to a request is not the thing most desired, for that is
external and true obedience is internal. The father, possessing insight,
wants the heart as well as the hand of the boy to close the door or put
away the toy. Without this, no victory is gained. The act itself is the
least of all. "Sacrifice and offering thou didst not desire. ... Then
said I, Lo, I come. ... I delight to do Thy will, O my God; yea, Thy law
is within my heart." This attitude of voluntary heart acquiescence to
the will of another is never the product of compelling power, else God
would force His children to obey, since obedience is the thing He most
desires. Force can sway the hand but not the heart. Paul, whose tireless
activity spent itself out under the direction of his Master, discloses
the great secret when he says, "The love of Christ constraineth us." The
eternal Father says to His child, "I have loved thee with an everlasting
love; therefore with loving kindness have I drawn thee."
It is by love, by words of approval, by patient encouragement and help,
and also by experiencing the consequences of each act, whether joyous or
painful, that the child is led to follow the one who points out the path
for his activity. Soon he faces the words, "right," and "wrong," and
though knowing only at first that "right" is the thing permitted, and
"wrong," the thing denied, he feels the difference in the results of
each. Then he learns that the pathway of the thing called "right," is
not an arbitrary one laid down by mother or teacher, but the pathway
traced by God Himself, wherein we all must walk, parent and child,
teacher and pupil alike. When with dimmest understanding but loving
heart, he first sets faltering foot in that path, because he catches
glimpse of its shining light, that "shineth more and more unto the
perfect day," the one who has nurtured him will hear God's voice
speaking to his soul, "Well done, good and faithful servant."
HUNGRY SENSES
Hungry senses, directed in their quest by a hungrier mind, mark the
second great characteristic of early childhood. These are the channels
through which the world around comes into the life of the child. The
sights and sounds of the physical realm, when carried beyond the portals
of the senses, under the marvelous transmutation of God's touch, become
ideas. The process, in so far as its secret has been revealed, will not
be discussed at this point, but rather the relation of these impressions
to character.
In early years the senses are undiscriminating as far as the real worth
of an impression is concerned. The vulgar picture will be admired as
quickly as the beautiful one, if its colors are attractive. The impure
word is caught as readily as the pure. There is no standard of values;
even taste is not yet formed, and eyes and ears hungrily reach out for
anything to satisfy their voracious appetite. Each sensation which is
reported to the mind through the senses and intricate nervous system,
supplies an idea, embodying itself. It is with these that all the
thinking of the child is done, these rouse his feelings and prompt his
actions and, finally, mean character. Manifestly, then, his life can be
no better than the things he sees and hears, handles and tastes, for he
lives in a world of sensations and not of ideas. This was the thought of
the mother who said, "I never wash my little children's faces at night,
and put them to bed all sweet and clean on the outside, that I don't
think that I would give all the world if I could somehow get inside and
wash that too." But the inner cleansing from the influence of sight and
sound no hand can perform. God forgives sin, but even His touch does not
remove the impression of the picture or the word which memory has put
away. The only hope of beautiful character lies in bringing to the
unfolding life helpful influences which shall be stronger in their power
than the vitiating. When some definite counteracting impression is
needed, it is in the sacred confidences of the twilight hour, and at the
confessional of a mother's knee, that it can be most effectively given.
Aside from the moral import of the impressions, there is a vital
relationship between the senses and the quality of the intellectual
life. Since knowledge can come to the child only through his senses, the
amount of knowledge, as well as its sort, depends upon the story the
senses tell. If they be dull, the knowledge is meagre and life has
little with which to build. If they be defective, the impression is
either falsely reported or not at all. Tests have revealed the amazing
fact that over fifty per cent of children have imperfect sight and
hearing. This means that the first idea given through eye or ear may be
wrong; consequently each subsequent idea growing out of it is wrong, at
least in part, and ultimately, false conceptions and mistaken courses of
action appear, all traceable directly to the ear that did not hear
accurately and the eye that told a false tale.
There is also a direct connection between defective senses and conduct.
Naturally, the boy who can't see the blackboard, pays no attention to
the work placed upon it, and the child partially deaf, disregards the
words of the teacher. The overwhelming number of personally observed
cases of difficult discipline, disclosed the unvarying fact of defect,
either in the senses or the body itself. Therefore a teacher or parent
should be very sure that the "bad boy problem" is not physical rather
than moral, lest cruel injustice be done.
While the dull senses call for limitless patience, that life be not
pitifully narrow, and the defective senses call for wise and remedial
attention, the normal, keen, wide-awake senses exact the most from the
conscientious parent or teacher. Eternal vigilance is the price of
beautiful building material for the character in such an unfolding life.
Each day adds to the store put away in the brain, to reappear later. "We
must soon be careful what we do before the baby," says the mother who
half grasps the connection between impressions and character building,
not realizing that the work is already far under way, that foundations
are in. Nurture of the senses must begin with the first dim reaching out
for impressions, that only the best may enter, that right tastes may be
formed, and self control in this fiercest battle-field of life be
learned.