own minds as to whether we mean "natural"--_i.e._, primitive,
uncivilised, savage--or natural,--suited to man's present character
and conditions. Primitive man did not send his children to school, but
we do not consider it unnatural that we do send ours. Primitive woman
carried her naked baby in her arms; modern woman pushes her
much-dressed infant in a perambulator. But there is nothing unnatural
in preferring the perambulator. It is natural to do what is easiest
for the mother and best for the baby; and our modern skill and
intelligence, our knowledge and experience, are as natural to us as
ignorance, superstition, and ferocity were to our primal ancestors.
With this in mind, let us look at the use of the term "natural" as
applied to mothers. What sort of mother do we praise as natural, and
what sort do we blame as "unnatural"? Is our term used with reference
to a period of development, "natural" motherhood, meaning primitive,
savage motherhood? or is it used with reference to the exercise of
that intelligence, acquired knowledge and skill, and array of
conveniences, which are natural to civilised man to-day? I think it
will be found that in most cases we unconsciously use it in the first
sense, natural meaning merely primitive or even animal, and with but
too good reason, if we study the behaviour we are describing.
Motherhood is pre-eminently a "natural" function in both senses. It might
almost be called _the_ natural function, as reproduction seems to be more
important in the evolution of species than even self-preservation. It
would seem as if the instinct of self-preservation were given merely to
keep the creatures alive for purposes of reproduction; for, when the two
forces come into conflict, the reproductive instinct is the stronger.
The reproductive functions are performed by both male and female; but,
as species developes and more conscious effort is applied to the great
task, the female has the larger share.
In furnishing nutrition to the young, order mammalia gives the entire
task to the mother; and their care, protection, and defence are mainly
hers.
With the human species, in proportion to its development, the scales
have turned the other way. With us the father furnishes food, shelter,
and protection, save for the first period of suckling. In many cases
the mother fails even to provide this assuredly "natural" contribution
to the child's nourishment. This would be a good opportunity to call
her "unnatural"; but, if she is sufficiently assiduous with the bottle
or wet-nurse, we do not. Beyond that period the human mother merely
waits upon and watches her children in the shelter provided by the
father, and administers to them such food, clothing, and other
supplies as he furnishes.
Her educational office, too, has largely passed from her, owing to the
encroachments of the school and kindergarten. She still moulds their
morals and manners as far as she is able, and has command of their
education during the earliest and most important years.
Now is it "natural" for a mother to take no part in getting food for
children? If ever there was a natural function pertaining to
motherhood, that seems to be one. If we use the word in its primitive
sense, she certainly is "an unnatural mother" for relinquishing this
primal duty. But, if we use it in the other sense, she is quite
natural in accepting the conditions of civilised life as far as they
are advantageous to the child. Is it "natural" for a mother to submit
her children to the instruction of other extra-maternal persons? or to
call the doctor when they are sick, engage the dentist to fill their
teeth, and hire persons to help take care of them? These things are
not primitive surely, but neither are they "unnatural." The "nature"
of motherhood is to provide what is best for the child; and the
multiplied services and facilities of our socially developed lives are
as natural to us as our smooth white skins, once "naturally" brown and
shaggy.
In all fair thinking, speaking, and writing, we should decide clearly
upon our meaning, and see that it would be very unnatural for modern
women to behave as was natural to primitive women.
The main duty remains the same,--to benefit the child. Methods and
materials are open to choice and change. Motherhood is as open to
criticism as any other human labour or animal function. Free study,
honest criticism and suggestion, conscientious experiment in new
lines,--by these we make progress. Why not apply study, criticism,
suggestion, and experiment to motherhood, and make some progress
there?
"Progress in motherhood" is a strange phrase to most of us. We would
as soon speak of progress in digestion.
That shows how we persist in confounding the physical functions of
reproduction with the elaborate processes that follow; and yet we do
not apply our scornful term of "unnatural mother" to the weak,
unhealthy woman who cannot compete with a cow in this stage of
motherhood. We should think fairly one way or the other. Success in
the physical functions of maternity we shall do well to keep up to a
level with the performance of the "lower animals." The ensuing
processes are the ones open to progress.
No bottle is as good as the breast. "You cannot improve on nature!"
But you can improve in methods of clothing, feeding in later years,
house and school building, teaching, and every other distinctly human
process.
If the human mother does not compare favourably with other animals in
the physical processes of reproduction, she is therein "unnatural." If
she does not keep up with the opportunities of her race and time in
all the ensuing care of the child, she is therein unnatural. Such care
and culture as was natural to give a cave-baby would be unnatural
to-day. Is not the average mother of to-day too prone to content
herself with a very low-grade performance of a modern mother's
duties, on the plea that her methods are "natural,"--namely,
primitive?
The grade of "care" given by the mother of to-day is too often exactly
that of the mother of many thousand years ago. We depend almost
altogether on what is known as "the maternal instinct," which is a
"natural instinct," to be sure, just as it is a natural instinct for
the male to fight. The right education of a child to-day requires more
than instinct to produce the best results. Because we have not used
the helpful influences of association, study, and experience in this
most important labour of life, we keep our progress as a living
species far below the level of our progress in material improvements.
When anything is said of improving the human stock, we instantly think
of the methods of breeders of cattle, and are at once convinced of the
undesirability and impossibility of applying any such means to
humanity.
But there remain open to us two immense avenues of improvement, both
free to mothers. One is the mother's modifying influence upon the
race through selection,--that duty of wise choice of a superior father
for her children, which is "natural" enough to the lower animals, but
which we agree to ignore in the bringing up of our young women.
Careful and conscientious training to this end would have a great
effect upon the race.
This does not mean the self-conscious forcing of a young heart to
marry a "superior" man without the blessed leading of true love; but
such open knowledge of what constituted an inferior or positively
injurious man as would lower the likelihood of nice girls loving the
undesirables.
The other and far more practical road of racial advance is in
improving the environment of our young children, both materially and
psychically, by the intelligent co-ordinate action of mothers. If we
improve the individual as far as possible, it is better not to meddle
too much with the subtle forces which lead to mating. These processes
are not cerebral, and ought not to be made self-conscious. But
educational processes are conscious, and should be studied.
The "natural" mother gives no thought to her approaching duties during
youth. The animals do not, the savages do not, and our charming young
girls do not. Is it not time for us to show a generation of mothers
sufficiently "unnatural" to give honest thought and study to the great
duty which lies before them? Clear-headed, intelligent girls, as yet
unhampered by the blind brute instinct of maternal passion, might be
able to plan together for the good of the child, as they never would
be able to plan separately for the good of their own individual
children.
A year or two of thorough study and practice in the arts and sciences
of child-culture would soon convince the girl as to whether she was
adapted to be an educator of little children or merely a mother. I say
"merely a mother" in this rather derogatory way, alluding to the
process of bearing young and perhaps suckling them. This is an
essential physical function, common to all the higher animals, and
usually fulfilled by them much better than by us. The continuous and
subtle processes of education which come after, and the wise care
required for the physical health and comfort of the child, do not
come "naturally" to every mother. It is here that the skill and
training are needed. Maternity is one thing, and education another.
It cannot be too strongly reiterated that maternal love does not
necessarily include wisdom. It is "natural" for every mother to love
her children, but it does not follow that she knows what is best for
them. The animal mother does know by instinct; and we, content to take
our pattern of motherhood from the beasts, have imagined that we
needed nothing more.
The individual animal has the necessary knowledge of its kind lodged
in each specimen. One bear, lion, or sheep, can teach its young all
that any of them know, and care for them one as well as another.
There is an immense difference between this "natural" condition and
ours, where individuals differ so widely in wisdom, and where the
material conditions essential to the good of the child are not open to
every mother to select from as instinct dictates and procure according
to her individual skill, but are produced by us collectively, and only
to be secured by combined intelligence. For our mothers to insure
good conditions for their children requires more than maternal
instinct.
The "natural" mother of to-day is reared without an inkling of what
lies before her; and no preacting instinct warns her of the effect of
her girlhood's wasted opportunities. She marries still by "instinct,"
which often leads her astray; or, when she uses her conscious reason,
it is generally in lines of financial advantage, irrespective of the
to-be-father's health or character. She fulfils the physical functions
of maternity rather reluctantly and with poor success, being
frequently much the worse for the performance, and then rather
boasting of her enfeebled condition, as if it was in some mysterious
way a credit to her.
Then she brings to the care and education of her children merely her
rudiments of maternal instinct,--an instinct so far painfully lacking
in wise prevision of the event and preparation for it.
Where failing health or "social duties" or any other causes prevent
her constant attendance on the child, the rich mother hires a
low-class woman to take care of him; and, if the poor woman has too
much work to be able to constantly attend upon the child, she gets
along as she individually can without taking much care of him. Or, if
she is of that small class who do really "take care of" their children
personally, the care she gives is the mere chance outcome of her
personal character and conditions, and may or may not be beneficial.
All this conduct we call "natural," and see no blame in it. We assume
that every mother knows how to care for her children; and, if we only
see her keeping at it incessantly, we never criticise the methods or
results. That is not, in general, a charge against motherhood. We do
criticise individual cases very freely, yet make no deduction from our
own wide observations.
Now let us picture an "unnatural" mother. As a young girl, she
thoughtfully considers her approaching duties. She says to herself: "I
am to be a mother; to contribute my personal share to the improvement
of humanity by bringing into the world some one better than I am. I
must do all I can to be better personally, in character and physique,
for the child's sake. Whatever I may be able to do for it afterward, I
will give it good endowment at birth." And then this unnatural young
girl proceeds to train herself in all right living, avoiding anything
in dress or food or late hours that might injure her health, because
she hopes to be a mother some day. She studies child-culture eagerly,
hoping that she may be fit for the splendid work, but is disappointed
here perhaps, having a strong musical temperament, or a good head for
business, or capacity for prompt and skilful manual labour, but not
the faculties that go to make the good educator.
This is a blow, for she considers the training of little children as
the highest work on earth, but she recognises that only about one in
twenty has the requisite capacity; and the knowledge gained in her
careful study in these lines shows her the importance of giving
children the _best_ conditions, which involves association with those
specially endowed with the teacher's power. So she studies her own
profession cheerfully, resolved to make good progress there, to be a
mother her children can be proud of, and to be able to guarantee them
all they need. She loves and marries, led by the deepest force in
organic life, but governed by a clear and conscious wisdom even here.
If she has the misfortune to be attracted to a man diseased or immoral
or defective, she will not accept him, for the sake of her children.
But marry she will, for this is the law of life; and the exceptions go
to extinction. This fair woman, vigorous and beautiful, with her
well-trained body, clear mind, and tender spirit of mother-love
waiting within her, would not go unloved. She marries. She bears
healthy, beautiful children, and nourishes them at her proud and
loving breast. She has provided beforehand for their care and
training, knowing from the study and experience she has given the
subject, and the reading she has kept up, what are now the best
obtainable conditions. Her home has been chosen with a view to its
proximity to the best baby-garden and child-home she knew, where some
of the teachers were old friends of hers, and all were known by
reputation.
Having chosen a profession with a view to the physical limitations of
motherhood, and prepared during her plentiful time of waiting such
arrangement of hours and substitutes as shall enable her to meet the
mother's duties properly, she takes a complete vacation for the months
that need it; and then gradually resumes her work for part of the day,
as her hours between nursing the child lengthen. She goes gladly to
her work because she loves it, is well trained for it, and by doing it
she serves her child. She comes more gladly to the child, the deep
primal instinct coming out strongly; and at night the healthy little
one sleeps near her in the quiet home.
Between the hours of nursing, the baby sleeps peacefully or wakes
happily, in the beautiful home that his mother--working with the other
mothers--have made for their children; and is watched and cared for by
the wise and tender women who have proved their fitness for this
precious work.
His mother is not worried about him. She knows that in that home there
is no possible danger, in that trained care no least neglect; and
that, if any sudden illness smote him, the visiting physician is there
daily, and others in instant call. This place was made for babies, and
is not in charge of servants. She is at ease about the child. Eagerly
she goes to him when work is done. No weariness, no anxious
uncertainty, only the glad triumphant mother-love which is content in
knowing that the best possible conditions are secured to the child,
and a constantly renewed delight in its health and beauty and good
progress. Owing to her previous study, she knows enough not to undo
the good effects by foolishness at home. She is in daily communication
with the teachers,--and nurses and doctors, if necessary. She does not
lose touch with the little life. Her untired affection surrounds him
always, and to the child she is probably the most agreeable of the
several agreeable persons in whose society he finds himself. Unless
she falls terribly below the common standard, he will love her the
best; for the beautiful background of nursing won and held his dawning
affection, and the sweet home-coming every night is a constantly
strengthening tie. Any clean, comfortable, human home should be
suitable for a healthy child to sleep in; but it is in his
impressionable day-time hours that he needs more appropriate
surroundings.
It will be seen that this unnatural mother has her child in her own
care for sixteen hours out of the twenty-four, and during the eight
hours of a working day she herself places him in what she knows to be
better conditions than her own home could offer. If she does chance to
possess that degree of educational genius essential to the best care
of young children, her eight hours of work will be spent in taking
care of them, and the remaining sixteen in still taking care of her
own. Thus the exceptional mother, who is also an educator, will have
her own all the time; and her unusual ability will benefit many other
little ones for part of the time.
The "natural" mother, of course, believes that her own care of her own
child is better than any one's else. She can give no proof of this,
and would be very unwilling to submit to any examination or
competition. She simply thinks she is the best educator because she
is a "mother." The sickness and death of her children, or the
accidents which happen to them, or their inferior development and
disagreeable behaviour, she never takes as proof of her incompetence.
Where an experienced teacher could remove half a dozen bad habits in
as many months without the child's knowing it, the mother scolds and
spanks along the years, or resignedly lets the small people trample
upon the rights of their elders, in serene conviction that her methods
must be right; for is she not their mother?
The unnatural mother, who is possessed of enough intelligence and
knowledge to recognise her own deficiencies, gladly intrusts her
children to superior care for part of the time, and constantly learns
by it herself.
The mother-love, which is so far strained by the difficulties of
rearing children in the home as to frequently give way to
irritability, weariness, and even bad temper, would be kept fresh and
unworn by the eight-hour rest; and the child would never learn to
despise his mother's irascibility and lack of self-control, as,
unfortunately, so many children do. To the child, happy and busy in
his day hours of education, the home-coming would be an ever new
delight, and the home--"papa and mamma's house"--a lovely place to
respect and enjoy.
Many will wonder why the mother is described as "working" during eight
hours. The able-bodied and able-minded human being who does not work
is a contemptible object. To take from the labour of others so large a
share of human products as is necessary to our comfort to-day, and
contribute nothing in return, is the position of a devouring parasite.
Most women do work, hard and long, at house-service. The "natural"
mother is content to mingle her "sacred duties" of child-care with the
miscellaneous duties of a house-servant; but the "unnatural mother,"
for the sake of her children, refuses to be the kitchen-maid,
parlour-maid, and chamber-maid of the world any longer. She recognises
that her real duties are too important to be hindered in their
performance any longer by these primitive inconveniences; and, with
combined intelligence, she and the others arrange their households on
a basis of organised professional service, with skilled labour by the
hour, and so each has time to perform some professional service
herself, and pay well for the better performance of the "domestic"
tasks.
This subject is treated in a special volume on "Women and Economics,"
but here it is sufficient to present the position of the mother, the
"unnatural" mother, who would refuse to maintain any longer our
grossly defective system of household service (either by herself or by
a hired woman), on the ground that it was not conducive to the best
development of her children.
To those who for any reason prefer, or are compelled by circumstances,
to pursue the profession of private house-servant, it will, however,
be of inestimable advantage to have their children taken out of the
dirt and danger, and placed in proper conditions, while the mother
follows her profession at home. The natural mother cares only for her
own children. She loves and labours without knowledge, and what
experience she gains by practising on her own children is buried with
her. The unnatural mother cares for Children,--all of them,--and knows
that she can best serve her own by lifting the standard of
child-culture for all.
We have urgent need of the unnatural mother,--the mother who has added
a trained intellect to a warm heart; and, when we have enough of them,
the rarest sound on earth will be that now so pitifully common,--the
crying of a little child.
XV.
SOCIAL PARENTAGE.
The mother does her duty by her children as best she can. The father
does his duty by his children. But we do not do our duty by our
children. The relation of the State to the child is little thought of,
much less understood. We have discussed it only as an alternative to
the parental relation, involving the removal of the child from the
home and family, and the substitution of civic for domestic care. Such
a proposal naturally excites the hot opposition of parental love and
instinct, and cannot stand. It has been tried more or less thoroughly,
as in Sparta, but does not appeal to the human heart or head, and is
not in the least what is here under discussion. The true relation of
the State to the child includes the parental relation, and in no way
controverts the love and instinct of those invaluable public
functionaries.
It is not necessary, or in any way desirable, for the State to remove
the child from the parent. Parents are evolved for the purpose of
rearing children, and possess highly specialised and urgent impulses
in that direction,--far too useful forces to be ignored.
But the civilised human parent lives as part of an elaborate
society,--a State; and, as a member of the State, he holds a new
relation to his child--she holds a new relation to her child:
they--and they are the State--hold a new relation to their children.
This is what we so generally ignore.
The individual parents do their individual duty fairly well; but the
collective parents, who constitute society, fail shamefully in their
collective duties. What is a society? It is an organisation of human
beings, alive, complex, exquisitely developed in co-ordinate
inter-service. What is it for? It is for development, growth,
progress, like any other living thing. How does a society improve? By
combinations of individuals evolving social processes which react
favourably upon the individual constituents, and develope in them
better social faculties. For instance, early combinations of
individuals evolve low forms of legal protection for the citizens of
the early State. Under those protective enactments, citizens grow up
in comparative peace, and become capable of enacting further and
superior laws.
In recent and particular instance, our American forefathers
established a system of public education under which many citizens
were developed to a degree of intelligence sufficient to see the need
and the means of extending and improving that education. Education is
a social process, impossible--in any human degree--among detached
individuals.