CHARACTER I.
"La vertu maitresse d'aujourd'hui est la spontaneite
resolue, reglee par les principes interieurs et les
disciplines volontairement acceptees."--Y. LE QUERDEC.
The value set on character, even if the appreciation goes no further
than words, has increased very markedly within the last few years, and
in reaction against an exclusively mental training we hear louder and
louder the plea for the formation and training of character.
Primarily the word _character_ signifies a distinctive mark, cut,
engraved, or stamped upon a substance, and by analogy, this is
likewise character in the sense in which it concerns education. A "man
of character" is one in whom acquired qualities, orderly and
consistent, stand out on the background of natural temperament, as the
result of training and especially of self-discipline, and therefore
stamped or engraved upon something receptive which was prepared for
them. This something receptive is the natural temperament, a basis
more or less apt to receive what training and habit may bring to bear
upon it. The sum of acquired habits tells upon the temperament, and
together with it produce or establish character, as the arms engraved
upon the stone constitute the seal.
If habits are not acquired by training, and instead of them
temperament alone has been allowed to have its way in the years of
growth, the seal bears no arms engraven on it, and the result is want
of character, or a weak character, without distinctive mark, showing
itself in the various situations of life inconsistent, variable,
unequal to strain, acting on the impulse, good or bad, of the moment;
its fitful strength in moods of obstinacy or self-will showing that it
lacks the higher qualities of rational discernment and self-control.
"Character is shown by susceptibility to motive," says a modern
American, turning with true American instinct to the practical side in
which he has made experiences, and it is evidently one of the readiest
ways of approaching the study of any individual character, to make
sure of the motives which awaken response. But the result of habit and
temperament working together shows itself in every form of spontaneous
activity as well as in response to external stimulus. Character may be
studied in tastes and sympathies, in the manner of treating with one's
fellow creatures, of confronting various "situations" in life, in the
ideals aimed at, in the estimate of success or failure, in the
relative importance attached to things, in the choice of friends and
the ultimate fate of friendships, in what is expected and taken for
granted, as in what is habitually ignored, in the instinctive attitude
towards law and authority, towards custom and tradition, towards order
and progress.
Character, then, may stand for the sum of the qualities which go to
make one to be _thus_, and not otherwise; but the basis which
underlies and constantly reasserts itself is temperament. It makes
people angry to say this, if they are determined to be so completely
masters of their way in life that nothing but reason, in the natural
order, shall be their guide; but though heroism of soul has overcome
the greatest drawbacks of an unfortunate physical organization, these
cases are rare, and in general it must be taken into account to such
an extent that the battle against difficulties of temperament is the
battle of a lifetime. There are certain broad divisions which although
they cannot pretend to rest upon scientific principles yet appeal
constantly to experience, and often serve as practical guides to
forecast the lines on which particular characters may be developed.
There is a very striking division into assenting and dissenting
temperaments, children of _yes_ and children of _no_; a division which
declares itself very early and is maintained all along the lines of
early development, in mind and will and taste and manner, in every
phase of activity. And though time and training and the schooling of
life may modify its expression, yet below the surface it would seem
only to accentuate itself, as the features of character become more
marked with advancing years. Where it touches the religious
disposition one would say that some were born with the minds of
Catholics and, others of Nonconformists, representing respectively
centripetal and centrifugal tendencies of mind; the first apt to see
harmony and order, to realize the tenth of things that must be as they
are, the second born to be in opposition and with great labour
subduing themselves into conformity. They are precious aids in the
service of the Church as controversialists when enlisted on the right
side, for controversy is their element. But for positive doctrine, for
keen appreciation, for persuasive action on the wills of others, they
are at a disadvantage, at all events in England, where logic does not
enter into the national religious system, and the mind is apt to
resent conviction as if it were a kind of coercion. There are a great
number of such born Nonconformists in England, and when either the
grace of Catholic education or of conversion has been granted to them,
it is interesting to watch the efforts to subdue and attune themselves
to submission and to faith. Sometimes the Nonconformist temperament is
the greatest of safeguards, where a Catholic child is obliged to stand
alone amongst uncongenial surroundings, then it defends itself
doggedly, splendidly, and comes out after years in a Protestant school
quite untouched in its faith and much strengthened in militant
Christianity. These are cheerful instances of its development, and its
advantages; they would suggest that some external opposition or
friction is necessary for such temperaments that their fighting
instinct may be directed against the common enemy, and not tend to
arouse controversies and discussions in its own ranks or within
itself. In less happy cases the instinct of opposition is a cause of
endless trouble, friction in family life, difficulty in working with
others, "alarums, excursions" on all sides, and worse, the get
attitude of distrust towards authority, which undermines the
foundations of faith and prepares the mind to break away from control,
to pass from instinctive opposition to antagonism, from antagonism to
contempt, from contempt to rebellion and revolt. Arrogance of mind,
irreverence, self-idolatry, blindness, follow in their course, and the
whole nature loses its balance and becomes through pride a pitiful
wreck.
The assenting mind has its own possibilities for good and evil, more
human than those of Nonconformity, for "pride was not made for men"
(Ecclus. x 22), less liable to great catastrophes, and in general
better adapted for all that belongs to the service of God and man. It
is a happy endowment, and the happiness of others is closely bound up
with its own. Again, its faults being more human are more easily
corrected, and fortunately for the possessor, punish themselves more
often. This favours truthfulness in the mind and humility in the
soul--the spirit of the _Confiteor_. Its dangers are those of too easy
assent, of inordinate pursuit of particular good, of inconstancy and
variability, of all the humanistic elements which lead back to
paganism. The history of the Renaissance in Southern Europe testifies
to this, as it illustrates in other countries the development of the
spirit of Nonconformity and revolt. Calvinism and a whole group of
Protestant schools of thought may stand as examples of the spirit of
denial working itself out to its natural consequences; while the
exaggerations of Italian humanism, frankly pagan, are fair
illustrations of the spirit of assent carried beyond bounds. And those
centuries when the tide of life ran high for good or evil, furnish
instances in point abounding with interest and instruction, more
easily accessible than what can be gathered from modern characters, in
whom less clearly defined temperaments and more complex conditions of
life have made it harder to distinguish the characteristic features of
the mind. To mention only one or two--St. Francis of Sales and Blessed
Thomas More were great assentors, so were Pico de Mirandola and the
great Popes of the Renaissance, an example of a great Nonconformist is
Savonarola.
The old division of temperaments into phlegmatic or lymphatic,
sanguine, choleric, and nervous or melancholy, is a fairly good
foundation for preliminary observation, especially as each of the four
subdivides itself easily into two types--the hard and soft--reforms
itself easily into some cross-divisions, and refuses to be blended
into others. Thus a very fine type of character is seen when the
characteristics of the sanguine and choleric are blended the qualities
of one correcting the faults of the other, and a very poor one if a
yielding lymphatic temperament has also a strain of melancholy to
increase its tendency towards inaction. It is often easy to discern in
a group of children the leading characteristics of these temperaments,
the phlegmatic or lymphatic, hard or soft, not easily stirred, one
stubborn and the other yielding, both somewhat immobile, generally
straightforward and reliable, law abiding, accessible to reason, not
exposed to great dangers nor likely to reach unusual heights. Next the
sanguine, hard or soft, as hope or enjoyment have the upper hand in
them; this is the richest group in attractive power. If hope is the
stronger factor there is a fund of energy which, allied with the power
of charm and persuasion, with trustfulness in good, and optimistic
outlook on the world, wins its way and succeeds in its undertakings,
making its appeal to the will rather than to the mind. On the softer
side of this type are found the disappointing people who ought to do
well, and always fail, for whom the _joie de vivre_ carries everything
before it, who are always good natured, always obliging, always
sweet-tempered, who cannot say no, especially to themselves, whose
energy is exhausted in a very short burst of effort, though ever ready
to direct itself into some new channel for as brief a trial. The
characters which remain "characters of great promise" to the end of
their days, great promise doomed to be always unfulfilled. Of all
characters, these are perhaps the most disappointing; they have so
much in their favour, and the one thing wanting, steadiness of
purpose, renders useless their most beautiful gifts. These two groups
seem to be the most common among the Teutons and Celts of Northern
Europe with fair colouring and tall build; perhaps the other two types
are correspondingly more numerous among the Latin races. They are
choleric, ambitious, or self-isolated, as the cast of their mind is
eager or scornful and generally capable of dissimulation; the world is
not large enough for their Bonapartes. But if bitterness and sadness
predominate, they are carried on an ebbing tide towards pessimism and
contemptuous weariness of life; their soft type, in so far as they
have one, has the softness of powder, dry and crushed, rather than
that of a living organism. In children, this type, fortunately rare,
has not the charm or joy of childhood, but shows a restless straining
after some self-centred excellence, and a coldness of affection which
indicates the isolation towards which it is carried in later life.
Lastly, there is the unquiet group of nervous or melancholic
temperaments, their melancholy not weighed down by listless sadness as
the inactive lymphatics, but more actively dissatisfied with things as
they are--untiringly but unhopefully at work--hard on themselves,
anxious-minded, assured that in spite of their efforts all will turn
out for the worst, often scrupulous, capable of long-sustained
efforts, often of heroic devotedness and superhuman endurance, for
which their reward is not in this world, as the art of pleasing is
singularly deficient in them. Here are found the people who are "so
good, but so trying," ever in a fume and fuss, who, for sheer
goodness, rouse in others the spirit of contradiction. These
characters are at their best in adversity, trouble stimulates them to
their best efforts, whereas in easy circumstances and surrounded with
affection they are apt to drop into querulous and exacting habits. If
they are endowed with more than ordinary energy it is in the direction
of diplomacy, and not always frank. On the whole this is the character
whose features are least clearly defined, over which a certain mystery
hangs, and strange experiences are not unfrequent It is difficult to
deal with its elusive showings and vanishings, and this melting away
and reappearing seems in some to become a habit and even a matter of
choice, with a determination _not to be known_.
Taking these groups as a rough classification for observation of
character, it is possible to get a fair idea of the raw material of a
class, though it may be thankfully added that in the Church no
material is really raw, with the grace of Baptism in the soul and
later on the Sacrament of Penance, to clear its obscurities and
explain it to itself and by degrees to transform its tendencies and
with grace and guidance to give it a steady impulse towards the better
things. Confirmation and First Communion sometimes sensibly and even
suddenly transfigure a character; but even apart from such choice
instances the gradual work of the Sacraments brings Catholic children
under a discipline in which the habit of self-examination, the
constant necessity for effort, the truthful avowal of being in the
wrong, the acceptance of penance as a due, the necessary submissions
and self-renunciations of obedience to the Church, give a training of
their own. So a practicing Catholic child is educated unconsciously by
a thousand influences, each of which, supernatural in itself, tells
beyond the supernatural sphere and raises the natural qualities, by
self-knowledge, by truth, by the safeguard of religion against
hardness and isolation and the blindness of pride, even if the minimum
of educational facilities have been at work to take advantage of these
openings for good. A Catholic child is a child, and keeps a childlike
spirit for life, unless the early training is completely shipwrecked,
and even then there are memories which are means of recovery, and the
way home to the Father's house is known. It may be hoped that very
many never leave it, and never lose the sense of being one of the
great family, "of the household of faith." They enjoy the freedom of
the house, the rights of children, the ministries of all the graces
which belong to the household, the power of being at home in every
place because the Church is there with its priesthood and its
Sacraments, responsible for its children, and able to supply the wants
of their souls. It is scarcely possible to find among Catholic
children the inaccessible little bits of flint who are not _brought_
up, but bring up their own souls outside the Church--proud in their
isolation, most proud of never yielding inward obedience or owning
themselves in the wrong, and of being sufficient for themselves. When
the grace of Q-od reaches them and they are admitted into the Church,
one of the most overwhelming experiences is that of becoming one of a
family, for whom there is some one responsible, the Father of the
family whose authority and love pass through their appointed channels,
down to the least child.
There is no such thing as an orphan child within the Church, there are
possibilities of training and development which belong to those who
have to educate the young which must appeal particularly to Catholic
teachers, for they know more than others the priceless value of the
children with whom they have to do. Children, souls, freighted for
their voyage through life, vessels so frail and bound for such a port
are worthy of the devoted care of those who have necessarily a
lifelong influence over them, and the means of using that influence
for their lifelong good ought to be a matter of most earnest study.
Knowledge must come before action, and first-hand knowledge, acquired
by observation, is worth more than theoretic acquirements; the first
may supply for the second, but not the second for the first. There are
two types of educators of early childhood which no theory could
produce, and indeed no theory could tell how they are produced, but
they stand unrivalled--one is the English nurse and the other the
Irish. The English nurse is a being apart, with a profound sense of
fitness in all things, herself the slave of duty; and having certain
ideals transmitted, who can tell how, by an unwritten traditional
code, as to what _ought to be_, and a gift of authority by which she
secures that these things _shall be_, reverence for God, reverence in
prayer, reverence for parents, consideration of brothers for sisters,
unselfishness, manners, etc., her views on all these things are like
the laws of the Medes and Persians "which do not alter "--and they are
also holy and wholesome. The Irish nurse rules by the heart, and by
sympathy, by a power of self-devotion that can only be found where the
love of God is the deepest love of the heart; she has no views,
but--she knows. She does not need to observe--she sees' she has
instincts, she never lays down a law, but she wins by tact and
affection, lifting up the mind to God and subduing the will to
obedience, while appearing to do nothing but love and wait. The stamp
that she leaves on the earliest years of training is never entirely
effaced; it remains as some instinct of faith, a habit of resignation
to the will of God, and habitual recourse to prayer. Both these types
of educators rule by their gift from God, and it is hard to believe
that the most finished training in the art of nursery management can
produce anything like them, for they govern by those things that
lectures and handbooks cannot teach--faith, love, and common sense.
Those who take up the training of the next stage have usually to learn
by their own experience, and study what is given to very few as a
natural endowment--the art of so managing the wills of children that
without provoking resistance, yet without yielding to every fancy,
they may be led by degrees to self-control and to become a law to
themselves. It must be recognized from the beginning that the work is
slow; if it is forced on too fast either a breaking point comes and
the child, too much teased into perfection, turns in reaction and
becomes self-willed and rebellious; or if, unhappily, the forcing
process succeeds, a little paragon is produced like Wordsworth's
"model child":--
"Full early trained to worship seemliness,
This model of a child is never known
To mix in quarrels; that were far beneath
Its dignity; with gifts he bubbles o'er
As generous as a fountain; selfishness
May not come near him, nor the little throng
Of flitting pleasures tempt him from his path;
The wandering beggars propagate his name.
Dumb creatures find him tender as a nun,
And natural or supernatural fear,
Unless it leap upon him in a dream,
Touches him not. To enhance the wonder, see
How arch his notices, how nice his sense
Of the ridiculous; not blind is he
To the broad follies of the licensed world,
Yet innocent himself withal, though shrewd,
And can read lectures upon innocence;
A miracle of scientific lore,
Ships he can guide across the pathless sea,
And tell you all their cunning; he can read
The inside of the earth, and spell the stars;
He knows the policies of foreign lands;
Can string you names of districts, cities, towns,
The whole world over, tight as beads of dew
Upon a gossamer thread; he sifts, he weighs;
All things are put to question; he must live
Knowing that he grows wiser every day
Or else not live at all, and seeing too
Each little drop of wisdom as it falls
Into the dimpling cistern of his heart:
For this unnatural growth the trainer blame,
Pity the tree,"--
"The Prelude," Bk. V, lines 298-329.
On the other hand if those who have to bring up children, fear too
much to cross their inclinations, and so seek always the line of least
resistance, teaching lessons in play, and smoothing over every rough
peace of the road, the result is a weak, slack will, a mind without
power of concentration, and in later life very little resourcefulness
in emergency or power of bearing up under difficulties or privations.
We are at present more inclined to produce these soft characters
than to develop paragons. But such movements go in waves and the
wave-lengths are growing shorter; we seem now to be reaching the end
of a period when, as it has been expressed, "the teacher learns the
lessons and says them to the child." We are beginning to outgrow too
fervid belief in methods, and pattern lessons, and coming back to
value more highly the habit of effort, individual work, and even the
saving discipline of drudgery. _We_ are beginning, that is those who
really care for children, and for character, and for life; it takes
the State and its departments a long time to come up with the
experience of those who actually know living children--a generation is
not too much to allow for its coming to this knowledge, as we may see
at present, when the drawbacks of the system of 1870 are becoming
apparent at last in the eyes of the official world, having been
evident for years to those whose sympathies were with the children and
not with codes. America, open-minded America, is aware of all this,
and is making generous educational experiments with the buoyant
idealism of a young nation, an idealism that is sometimes outstripping
its practical sense, quite able to face its disappointments if they
come, as undoubtedly they will, and to begin again. In one point it is
far ahead of us--in the understanding that a large measure of freedom
is necessary for teachers. Whereas we are, let us hope, at the most
acute stage of State interference in details.
But in spite of the systems the children live, and come up year after
year, to give us fresh opportunities; and in spite of the systems
something can be done with them if we take the advice of Archbishop
Ullathorne--"trust in God and begin as you can."
Let us begin by learning to know them, and the knowledge of their
characters is more easily gained if some cardinal points are marked,
by which the unknown country may be mapped out. The selection of these
cardinal points depends in part on the mind of the observer, which has
more or less insight into the various manifestations of possibility
and quality which may occur. It is well to observe without seeming to
do so, for as shy wild creatures fly off before a too observant eye,
but may be studied by a naturalist who does not appear to look at
them, so the real child takes to flight if it is too narrowly watched,
and leaves a self conscious little person to take its place, making
off with its true self into the backwoods of some dreamland, and
growing more and more reticent about its real thoughts as it gets
accustomed to talk to an appreciative audience. With weighing and
measuring, inspecting and reporting, exercising and rapid forcing, and
comparing, applauding and tabulating results, it is difficult to see
how children can escape self-consciousness and artificiality, and the
enthusiasts for "child study" are in danger of making the specimen of
the real child more and more rare and difficult to find, as
destructive sportsmen in a new country exterminate the choice species
of wild animals.
Too many questions put children on their guard or make them unreal;
they cannot give an account of what they think and what they mean and
how far they have understood, and the greater the anxiety shown to get
at their real mind the less are they either able or willing to make it
known; so it is the quieter and less active observers who see the
most, and those who observe most are best aware how little can be
known.
Yet there are some things which may serve as points of the compass,
especially in the transitional years when the features both of face
and character begin to accentuate themselves. One of these is the
level of friendships. There are some who look by instinct for the
friendship of those above them, and others habitually seek a lower
level, where there is no call to self-restraint. Boys who hang about
the stables, girls who like the conversation of servants; boys and
girls who make friends in sets at school, among the less desirable,
generally do so from a love of ease and dislike of that restraint and
effort which every higher friendship calls for; they can be _somebody_
at a very cheap cost where the standard of talk is not exacting,
whereas to be with those who are striving for the best in any station
makes demands which call for exertion, and the taste for this higher
level, the willingness to respond to its claims, give good promise
that those who have it will in their turn draw others to the things
that are best.
The attitude of a child towards books is also indicative of the whole
background of a mind; the very way in which a book is handled is often
a sign in itself of whether a child is a citizen born, or an alien, in
the world for which books stand. Taste in reading, both as to quality
and quantity, is so obviously a guiding line that it need scarcely be
mentioned.
Play is another line in which character shows itself, and reveals
another background against which the scenes of life in the future will
stand out, and in school life the keenest and best spirits will
generally divide into these two groups, the readers and the players,
with a few, rarely gifted, who seem to excel in both. From the readers
will come those who are to influence the minds of others here, if they
do not let themselves be carried out too far to keep in touch with
real life. From the players will come those whose gift is readiness
and decision in action, if they on their side do not remain mere
players when life calls for something more.
There are other groups, the born artists with their responsive minds,
the "home children" for whom everything centres in their own home-world,
and who have in them the making of another one in the future; the
critics, standing aloof, a little peevish and very self-conscious,
hardly capable of deep friendship and fastidiously dissatisfied with
people and things in general; the cheerful and helpful souls who have
no interests of their own but can devote themselves to help anyone;
the opposite class whose life is in their own moods and feelings. Many
others might be added, each observer's experience can supply them, and
will probably close the list with the same little group, the very few,
that stand a little apart, but not aloof, children of privilege,
with heaven in their eyes and a little air of mystery about them,
meditative and quiet, friends of God, friends of all, loved and
loving, and asking very little from the outer world, because they have
more than enough within. They are classed as the dreamers, but they
are really the seers. They do not ask much and they do not need much
beyond a reverent guardianship, and to be let alone and allowed to
grow; they will find their way for they are "taught of God."
It is impossible to do more than to throw out suggestions which
any child-naturalist might multiply or improve upon. The next
consideration for all concerned is what to do with the acquired
knowledge, and how to "bring up" in the later stages of childhood and
early youth.
What do we want to bring up? Not good nonentities, who are merely good
because they are not bad. There are too many of them already, no
trouble to anyone, only disappointing, so good that they ought to be
so much better, if only they _would_. But who can make them will to be
something more, to become, as Montalembert said, "a _fact_, instead of
remaining but a shadow, an echo, or a ruin?" Those who have to educate
them to something higher must themselves have an idea of what they
want; they must believe in the possibility of every mind and character
to be lifted up to something better than it has already attained; they
must themselves be striving for some higher excellence, and must
believe and care deeply for the things they teach. For no one can be
educated by maxim and precept; it is the life lived, and the things
loved and the ideals believed in, by which we tell, one upon another.
If we care for energy we call it out; if we believe in possibilities
of development we almost seem to create them. If we want integrity of
character, steadiness, reliability, courage, thoroughness, all the
harder qualities that serve as a backbone, we, at least, make others
want them also, and strive for them by the power of example that is
not set as deliberate good example, for that is as tame as a precept,
but the example of the life that is lived, and the truths that are
honestly believed in.
The gentler qualities which are to adorn the harder virtues may be
more explicitly taught. It is always more easy to tone down than to
brace up; there must fist be something to moderate, before moderation
can be a virtue; there must be strength before gentleness can be
taught, as there must be some hardness in material things to make them
capable of polish. And these are qualities which are specially needed
in our unsteady times, when rapid emancipation of unknown forces makes
each one more personally responsible than in the past. It is an
impatient age: we must learn patience; it is an age of sudden social
changes: we have to make ready for adversity; it is an age of
lawlessness: each one must stand upon his own guard and be his own
defence; it is a selfish age, and never was unselfishness more
urgently needed; love of home and love of country seem to be cooling,
one as rapidly as the other: never was it more necessary to learn the
spirit of self-sacrifice both for family life and the love and honour
due to one's country which is also "piety" in its true sense.
All these things come with our Catholic faith and practice if it is
rightly understood. Catholic family life, Catholic citizenship,
Catholic patriotism are the truest, the only really true, because the
only types of these virtues that are founded on truth. But they do not
come of themselves. Many will let themselves be carried to heaven, as
they hope, in the long-suffering arms of the Church without either
defending or adorning her by their virtues, and we shall but add to
their number if we do not kindle in the minds of children the ambition
to do something more, to devote themselves to the great Cause, by
self-sacrifice to be in some sort initiated into its spirit, and
identified with it, and thus to make it worth while for others as well
as for themselves that they have lived their life on earth. There is a
price to be paid for this, and they must face it; a good life cannot
be a soft life, and a great deal, even of innocent pleasure, has to be
given up, voluntarily, to make life worth living, if it were only as a
training in _doing without_.
Independence is a primary need for character, and independence can
only be learnt by doing without pleasant things, even unnecessarily.
Simplicity of life is an essential for greatness of life, and the very
meaning of the simple life is the laying aside of many things which
tend to grow by habit into necessities. The habit of work is another
necessity in any life worth living, and this is only learnt by
refraining again and again from what is pleasant for the sake of what
is precious. Patience and thoroughness are requirements whose worth
and value never come home to the average mind until they are seen in
startling excellence, and it is apparent what a price must have been
paid to acquire their adamant perfection, a lesson which might be the
study of a lifetime. The value of time is another necessary lesson of
the better life, a hard lesson, but one that makes an incalculable
difference between the expert and the untried. We are apt to be always
in a hurry now, for obvious reasons which hasten the movement of life,
but not many really know how to use time to the full. Our tendency is
to alternate periods of extreme activity with intervals of complete
prostration for recovery. Perhaps our grandparents knew better in a
slower age the use of time. The old Marquise de Gramont, aged 93,
after receiving Extreme Unction, asked for her knitting, for the poor.
"Mais Madame la Marquise a ete administree, elle va mourir!" said the
maid, who thought the occupation of dying sufficient for a lady of her
age. "Ma chere, ce n'est pas une raison pour perdre son temps,"
answered the indomitable Marquise. It is told of her also that when
one of her children asked for some water in summer, between meals, she
replied: "Mon enfant, vous ne serez jamais qu'un etre manque, une
pygmee, si vous prenez ces habitudes-la, pensez, mon petit coeur, au
fiel de Notre Seigneur Jesus Christ, et vous aurez le courage
d'attendre le diner." She had learned for herself the strength of
_going without_.
One more lesson must be mentioned, the hardest of all to be
learnt--perfect sincerity. It is so hard not to pose, for all but the
very truest and simplest natures--to pose as independent, being eaten
up with human respect; to pose as indifferent though aching with the
wish to be understood; to pose as flippant while longing to be in
earnest; to hide an attraction to higher things under a little air of
something like irreverence. It is strange that this kind of pose is
considered as less insincere than the opposite class, which is rather
out of fashion for this very reason, yet to be untrue to one's better
self is surely an unworthier insincerity than to be ashamed of the
worst. Perhaps the best evidence of this is the costliness of the
effort to overcome it, and the more observation and reflection we
spend on this point the more shall we be convinced that it is very
hard to learn to be quite true, and that it entails more personal
self-sacrifice than almost any other virtue.
In conclusion, the means for training character may be grouped under
the following headings:--
1. Contact with those who have themselves attained to higher levels,
either parent, or teacher, or friend. Perhaps at present the influence
of a friend is greater than that of any power officially set over us,
so jealous are we of control. So much the better chance for those
who have the gift even in mature age of winning the friendship of
children, and those who have just outgrown childhood. In these
friendships the great power of influence is hopefulness, to believe in
possibilities of good, and to expect the best.
2. Vigilance, not the nervous vigilance, unquiet and anxious, which
rouses to mischief the sporting instinct of children and stings the
rebellious to revolt, but the vigilance which, open and confident
itself, gives confidence, nurtures fearlessness, and brings a steady
pressure to be at one's best. Vigilance over children is no insult to
their honour, it is rather the right of their royalty, for they are of
the blood royal of Christianity, and deserve the guard of honour which
for the sake of their royalty does not lose sight of them.
3. Criticism and correction. To be used with infinite care, but never
to be neglected without grave injustice. It is not an easy thing to
reprove in the right time, in the right tone, without exasperation,
without impatience, without leaving a sting behind; to dare to give
pain for the sake of greater good; to love the truth and have courage
to tell it; to change reproof as time goes on to the frank criticism
of friendship that is ambitious for its friend. To accept criticism is
one of the greatest lessons to be learnt in life. To give it well is
an art which requires more study and more self-denial than either the
habit of being easily satisfied and requiring little, or the querulous
habit of "scolding" which is admirably described by Bishop Hedley as
"the resonance of the empty intelligence and of the hollow heart of
the man who has nothing to give, nothing to propose, nothing to
impart."
4. Discipline and obedience. If these are to be means of training they
must be living and not dead powers, and they must lead up to gradual
self-government, not to sudden emancipation. Obedience must be
first of all to persons, prompt and unquestioning, then to laws, a
"reasonable service," then to the wider law which each one must
enforce from within--the law of love which is the law of liberty of
the kingdom of God.
These are the means which in her own way, and through various channels
of authority, the Church makes use of, and the Church is the great
Mother who educates us all. She takes us into her confidence, as we
make ourselves worthy of it, and shows us out of her treasures things
new and old. She sets the better things always before us, prays for
us, prays with us, teaches us to pray, and so "lifts up our minds to
heavenly desires." She watches over us with un anxious, but untiring
vigilance, setting her Bishops and pastors to keep watch over the
flock, collectively and individually, "with that most perfect care"
that St. Francis of Sales describes as "that which approaches
the nearest to the care God has of us, which is a care full of
tranquillity and quietness, and which, in its highest activity, has
still no emotion, and being only one, yet condescends to make itself
all to all things."
Criticism and correction, discipline and obedience--these things are
administered by the Church our Mother, gently but without weakness,
so careful is she in her warnings, so slow in her punishments, so
unswervingly true to what is of principle, and asking so persuasively
not for the sullen obedience of slaves, but for the free and loving
submission of sons and daughters.