THE PERIOD OF EARLY CHILDHOOD--Continued.
As we come to consider the soul of the child, using this term not in its
religious sense, but to include all of life but the physical, we
understand that in reality it is indivisible. There are no separate
parts or faculties possessing unique powers such as reasoning,
remembering, feeling or willing. The whole soul remembers, feels and
wills. However, for the sake of clearness and convenience, when it is
reasoning, we are accustomed to speak of soul power in that direction as
reason, or imagining as imagination or willing as will.
We must understand, also, that the soul of the child is as complete in
its possibilities as the soul of the adult, only they are undeveloped.
As life and environment grow more complex, new needs arise and these new
needs awaken soul power in a new direction. The expression "I didn't
know he had it in him," is frequently heard, as some one has shown
unexpected ability under sudden pressure of circumstances. Every brain
has millions of undeveloped cells, scientists affirm, signifying that
every life is infinitely poorer than it might be. The need is something
to arouse its latent power.
CURIOSITY
The little child is at first in a world of total mystery. Sights,
sounds, sensations from contact come to him and all are unintelligible.
As they are carried to his brain, somewhere, somehow, they awaken a
desire to know their meaning, and as the tiny fingers are extended
toward objects the soul is reaching also. This soul reaching is
curiosity, one of God's most gracious and wonderful provisions for the
life, but so often its significance is misunderstood. If there were no
curiosity, there would never be any eager attempt to explore the field
of knowledge. The disciplined spirit of inquiry that makes for the
world's progress, is only a fuller development of the untutored and
disastrous effort of the child to find out about things. We forget that
before there can be a flower there must be a bud. Before there can be a
scientist who shall pick the rock to pieces to learn its secret, there
must be a child who picks a doll to pieces to see what is inside. The
pathos of childhood is its bowed head and mute lips under the blow and
the stinging word, because judgment is passed, not on motives, as the
parent demands for himself, but on the external appearance of the act.
We look into our Heavenly Father's face, out of the wreckage and
mistakes of a day, and say, "I meant to do it aright, but I am so
ignorant," and we are comforted that He looks at the heart and
understands. Can we be less pitifully tender toward His little ones?
There are three marked manifestations of curiosity during this period of
childhood.
(1) Questions.
In the wordless years of earliest life, mysteries around the child can
receive only partial solution. But the day comes when language gives
him a key whereby to unlock the doors, and he begins to ask, "What is
it," then "Why," and "Where," and "How." This questioning period
commences about the age of three, and is in strong evidence for some
time. The answers involve for the most part nouns and verbs, not
adjectives nor adverbs, signifying that the child is not yet ready for
abstract qualities and characteristics. Simple facts only are sought at
first. Questions concern the names of things, activities connected with
them, causes and ends and the age-long mystery of origins.
Passing by reluctantly any further discussion of this most fascinating
subject of children's questions, four great facts bearing upon nurture
must be noted.
1. Repression of the sincere questioning of a child tends to weaken his
effort to acquire knowledge.
2. Questions reveal a need felt by the child, and are a guide to the
kind of instruction he is ready to receive.
3. A question not only reveals a need, but is also an assurance that
the instruction given will be received, for what the mind wants to
learn, it will learn.
4. A sincere question demands a sincere answer.
This statement would seem superfluous, if its need were not apparent in
questions dealing with the origin of life. God gives to the mother,
first, the sacred privilege of investing these most holy mysteries with
purity and sanctity, and through this confidence drawing the life of the
child into closer fellowship with her own. If the opportunity be cast
away through the evasive or untruthful answer, the facts may come with a
taint upon them which can never be wholly removed.
(2) Mischief.
(3) Destructiveness.
A word must suffice upon these other manifestations of curiosity. When
truly understood, they reveal only an eager mind trying to obtain new
experiences to add to knowledge. It is not total depravity that leads a
child to pull the articles from the workbasket, or tear the book, or
demolish the toy. He merely wants to see the object under as great a
variety of conditions as possible, to find out all he can about it. It
is identical with the spirit of the scientist who essays new
combinations to see what the results may be, only in its inception it is
crude and unskilled.
Assuredly, instead of dealing harshly with an instinct which in later
years may make the whole world richer, it would be wiser to give it
legitimate outlet. Toys and blocks which admit of being taken apart and
readjusted may begin the training of an Edison or a Stephenson.
INTERESTS
Just as in the realm of the physical, appetite for one sort of food may
be greater than for another, even in hunger, so a varying appetite
appears in connection with the soul hunger of curiosity. It is strongest
in the direction of that in which the life is naturally interested at
any given time.
The interests of early childhood are primarily in things which exhibit
or suggest activity and in simplest relationships, found in the little
world bounded by home, neighborhood, Kindergarten and Sunday School.
Nature makes strong appeal, not on the aesthetic side of tint and
shadow, but through the charm of her multiform movements and family life
akin to the child's. The bird's nest fascinates because there is
connected with it the story of the building and the hungry little brood
it sheltered. Tales of animals, fairies and real folk, busy in simple
and familiar occupations hold him entranced, and he will watch with rapt
attention the performance of most common tasks. It is noteworthy that
his interest in all this is not so much in the end to be accomplished,
as in the activity itself. Even in his play, the preparations are often
more delightful and satisfying than the game which follows.
All this has a deep meaning for one who is trying to help the little
life in its unfolding.
1. "Wise education takes the tide at the flood," says James. These
interests reveal the fact that in this period, instruction should deal
with things, not with statements of ideas, apart from things, or, in
other words, with the concrete, not the abstract.
2. The greater the knowledge of things gained while interest attaches to
them, the greater the resources for clear, broad thinking as life
matures.
3. When instruction is in line with interests, attention and consequent
learning are assured.
4. The child's religious interests will be identical in character with
the other interests of this period. He will not be interested in the
Being or attributes of God, but God in His great activities as Creator
and Wonder-Worker, and in His relation as Father. Jesus will make
appeal, not in His discourses, but in His acts of helpfulness and power,
and His love.
The great law of teaching is here involved, that interest in and
knowledge of the unknown can come only through interest in and knowledge
of something which is like it. Paul says in Romans, "For the invisible
things of Him since the world began are clearly seen, being perceived
through the things that are made, even His everlasting power and
divinity." Therefore the first definite religious instruction which the
child receives, must be upon spiritual truths illustrated in his own
known world of interests.
IMITATION
The result of the efforts of curiosity, senses and activity is a
constantly increasing store of ideas in the child's mind, relating to
these things in which he is interested. As these ideas enter his mind,
applying this term to the "intellectual function of the soul," he
immediately wants to act upon them, according to a law inborn that an
idea always tends to go out into action, unless it is held back. Adults
have fixed habits of expressing ideas that come to them, but not so the
child. An interesting activity is always a suggestion to him to
reproduce it exactly, if possible. This difference between habit and
suggestion in action is illustrated in the case of a long-suffering
kitten in the hands of a resourceful child. The sight will arouse in
another child an irresistible impulse to try the same experiment, while
it always leads his mother to attempt a rescue.
This tendency to exact reproduction of activity is the instinct of
imitation, and is a marked characteristic of childhood. As these words
are written, a glance through the window discloses surveyors at work
with tape and red chalk. Following in their wake is a five year old with
diminutive string and piece of red crayon, laying out distances and
taking measurements, in exact copy of his predecessors, a genuine
"pocket edition" of the original.
While such elaborate exactness characterizes imitation in this period of
childhood alone, the impulse to conform is never entirely lost. The
desire grows more complex and general as the years go on, and from
reproduction of definite acts, the life tries to emulate the spirit and
achievements of its hero, and later to be in some harmony, at least,
with public opinion. Brave, indeed, is the soul that dares to be a
nonconformist in regard to the standards "they" have established.
The results of imitation are profoundly important in character
building.
1. When a child re-enacts what he sees, he comes to a better
understanding of its meaning. This is one purpose of the imitation of
common activities in Kindergarten games.
2. The idea which is acted upon becomes an inseparable part of the life.
3. Habit is the outcome of repeated imitation.
4. Life grows like what it imitates.
With these facts in view, the application to the work of nurture is too
obvious for discussion.
IMAGINATION
The child is not content alone to imitate activities. He likes to
transform objects and make over familiar situations. This he does
through that power of his soul called imagination.
The imagination of this period is "fancy-full," crude, and unbridled by
reason or will. The child lives in a world of make believe. He sees
whole menageries in the back yard, and performs exploits worthy of a
David or Samson. He gives soul to inanimate objects, and endows them
with feelings like his own. He plays with companions of his own
creation, and peoples the dark with weird forms. Things are changed at
will to suit his whims, the stick becoming the untamed steed and the
rocking chair the storm-tossed boat. The magic of his alchemy may extend
to himself, and make him for days another person, or even an animal.
This world of make believe is as real to him as the world which is seen
through his eyes, and often he can not distinguish between the two. Many
a little heart has quivered over the punishment inflicted for "lying",
when willful misrepresentation was not in his thoughts. However, harsh
treatment of a vivid imagination may result in real deception later on,
for the child can not help "seeing things," too wonderful to be enjoyed
alone, and then, perforce, there must be deliberate planning to escape
the punishment.
This harshness also begins to raise an invisible barrier between the
child and parent. It was felt by a little maiden of rare fancy, who
said in a whisper at the conclusion of one of these marvellous tales,
"But don't tell Mamma." The impassable wall between many a mother and
daughter in later years, once consisted of but a scattered stone here
and there.
Passing by the play life of the child where the imagination has fullest
scope, the question arises as to the meaning of this power in character
building. One purpose stands paramount over every other. It is the
"ideal making factory" of the life. From transforming sticks and chairs,
the soul will one day pass to transforming memories and thoughts,
putting away the unattractive features and investing the attractive with
even more charm, through dreams of what might be. From constructing
houses out of blocks, the soul will begin to construct ideals out of its
experiences and visions, according to a pattern shown on some mount.
As childhood recedes and manhood beckons, the soul unveils this ideal,
fashioned in its secret workshop out of all that appeared most
desirable, and with strange, magnetic power, it begins to draw the life
after it. Worthy or unworthy, the years to come will see some part, at
least, of the ideal, a reality. The character of the imagination,
therefore, becomes a matter of supreme concern to nurture. It will be
healthy or diseased morally, according to the quality of the material
supplied for its use. The two great sources of this material are every
day experiences and the story. The meaning of these experiences to the
child's life has already been emphasized in various connections, and
repetition is unnecessary, but the story holds a unique place in point
of influence. Since it comes with deepest significance to the child in
the next period of development, when imagination is less mixed with
fancy, its discussion will be reserved for that time.
MEMORY
The child has an unfortunate experience with a hot stove and tender
fingers bear the cruel scar. Must some one always watch him, year after
year, to save him from a succession of burns? He is taken to school by
his mother; must she forever accompany him to insure his safe arrival?
Is there no way of understanding a present experience except by passing
through it? Life would be an unsatisfactory thing indeed, if this were
true, but the soul has the power of retaining past experiences in order
that they may throw light upon the present. The business man does not
deliberately do again that which was disastrous before, for he remembers
the past misfortune. The child will not tomorrow press his little burned
hand against the heated iron, for he recalls the pain of yesterday. This
gracious gift of God to life, we call memory. Without it, there could be
no understanding, no reasoning, no imagination, no knowledge, no growth.
The physical side of memory is most interesting. On the covering of the
brain, each in its own place, the images or impression brought in by the
senses and the activity are registered. So sensitive and susceptible are
the brain cells during childhood, that these impressions are received as
clay receives the touch of the sculptor's finger, and under right
conditions, they are ineffaceable. When the soul acts upon these images,
they live again, and we say, "We remember."
Two important questions are suggested by these facts. First, what kind
of impressions should we attempt to store in the memory during
childhood? Second, how may these impressions be made permanent?
To the first question, the child himself makes answer through what he
most easily retains and through his needs.
Since he is interested and curious in regard to things, since he spends
all his physical activity upon them, since he desires them and thinks
about them, we would expect that things, together with experiences and
ideas associated with them, would naturally fill his memory. Any
observer of childhood knows that this is true. The memory of a little
child is overwhelmingly for the concrete, the impressions through the
senses and from what he does being far more easily retained than ideas
alone. A child will recall the story of the Good Samaritan more readily
than the isolated verse, "Thou shalt love thy neighbor as thyself." The
reward or punishment of an act makes a more lasting impression than the
dissertation upon it. Since the concrete must be the starting point of
thinking, it must come to his soul at some time, and, judged by every
condition, this is God's time for it.
The child's needs are also a guide in this matter. The soul is growing
in every direction, intellectually, emotionally, and spiritually if
properly nurtured, and memory holds the constantly increasing food for
its growth. Is it to be treated as a stockroom, where packages
unavailable for the present are to be laid away until needed, or as a
store-house supplied with nourishing food for the present? If memory is
a stockroom, then it should be filled with definitions, statements,
terms, facts, anything which may be needed sometime. This can be done,
for the brain will retain the sound of the words, but meantime, what
shall the child feed on? What shall he use? The soul can feed on or make
use of only that which is at least partially understood. This means
largely the concrete, for abstract statements can be understood only
through the experience or reason, and the child has meagre resources in
either direction. Only when a thought embodies what he has experienced,
can he grasp and use it.
Is it not the work of nurture to see that memory is provided with that
out of which it can supply every need of the developing life today?
That, "Faith is the assurance of things hoped for, the evidence of
things not seen," may mean much to his mature heart, but what if the
child should be frightened tomorrow and need to have his budding faith
strengthened from memory? Would not the story of God's care over the
baby Moses, Jesus' care for the disciples in the blackness of the storm,
with the words, "He careth for you," if these were stored in memory,
quiet more quickly the beating heart, and more surely increase his
faith? True nurture will not starve life in the present to hoard for the
future. Memory now requires all its store for immediate use. Later,
after growth is well under way in every direction, memory not only can
supply present needs, but it will also demand a surplus for future use.
The second question, relating to the permanency of these impressions, is
answered in meeting the following conditions:
1. A healthy, non-fatigued brain when the impression is made.
2. Close attention.
3. A clear, easily understood and forceful presentation of the thing to
be remembered.
4. The use of as many senses as possible. When an impression has been
given through eye and ear and touch, for example, it is more definite in
the mind than when it has come only through the sense of hearing.
5. A natural association of the new impression with others well known
and interesting to the child.
6. Immediate and frequent recall.