necessary for the purpose of this address, so I pass at once to the
establishment of the Christian church which is in reality our
representative of the same fundamental institution. Like the home and
the school, the church began in a very humble way, and during the
progress of the centuries passed thru many vicissitudes and underwent
many changes. Let me speak very briefly of four stages, or periods, of
the history of the Christian church: first, the primitive stage, that
period of about 350 years following its birth when, in the main, motives
were pure, ambitions unselfish, and ideals high. But, tho it was founded
to provide the means of securing the religious development of the child
and the race thru the perpetuation and extension of the teachings of
Christ, and tho it was launched forth into its great career in the
spirit of love and meekness and fellowship that characterized His life,
it was not long, as history counts time, before that worthy function was
entirely lost sight of, that spirit wholly cast aside, and the new
institution entered upon its second period, becoming a mere political
machine which, in its utter disregard of rights and justice, in the
shrewdness and daring of its schemes, and in the blackness of its
methods, almost surpassed even our own most skilful efforts in those
directions. "My kingdom is not of this world," Christ had said, and yet
the church, founded upon His teachings and led by men pretending to be
His true representatives, had become, in very deed, a kingdom of this
world. The possession and use of worldly power by the church had so
blunted its moral sense that Dante, in the early part of the fourteenth
century, felt forced to exclaim, and exclaimed with truth:
"The Church of Rome,
Mixing two governments that ill assort,
Hath missed her footing, fall'n into the mire,
And there herself and burden much defiled."
But Dante's criticism and other forces brought to bear drew back the
erring leaders to some slight conception of their function and to some
slight effort toward the performance of duty, tho neither conception nor
performance took them back to their pristine merit. And the church
entered another historical stage, the third, and one whose dominant
thought and purpose prevails even up to modern times. Indeed, so
recently has it passed that its dark outlines are even yet discoverable
as we glance backward. In this new conception of the church and its work
we find the function of the institution to be not religious development
of the individual and of the race, as it had been at first, but merely
technical salvation. And the institution may be pictured as a great
lifeboat thrust out into the storm to save from destruction those who
can be drawn within--_while all others perish_.
You remember the painting of the picture, foreground and background, how
the emphasis was thrown upon the world to come! This world was not man's
home. He was a sojourner here, a wanderer. His citizenship was in
Heaven. He was a pilgrim passing thru a strange and weary land, and the
only purpose of the pilgrimage was a preparation for the life to come.
The nature of man himself was corrupt. The world around him was evil.
Alone and unaided he was powerless. He was lost both for this world and
the next. The storms of life were about him, the great waves were ready
to engulf him. But the church, as a lifeboat, was thrust out into the
breakers, and upon certain stipulated conditions was ready to take him
in. The church was represented as having received direct from the hands
of God "the keys of heaven and hell," and as being able to open the
gates of a better world to all true believers. But true believers, you
know, were no longer the pure followers of the crucified Christ, simply
those who would accept the man-made dogmas of the church. No matter how
full of error the church was, no matter how corrupt her leaders, there
could be no safety outside of her fold. Accept the dogma, salvation was
sure; once within, all was well. Religious development was not sought.
The character of the life, previous or prospective, mattered not.
Acceptance of the dogma was the only requirement. So she taught--having
departed Oh! so far from her character and program when given existence
by the home and started out on her beneficent work. And so tight had her
grip become that none dared dispute her claims. The child had outgrown
her mother, that is, the church had, in its own conception, outgrown the
home, and it repudiated her control. Indeed, she held the keys--she was
the ark of safety.
I have dwelt upon this because, with varying degrees of emphasis, that
has been the conception of the church from medieval times almost to our
own day. Indeed, I am not sure that it has entirely passed even at the
present time. There are doubtless some people who continue thus to
regard the church, and there is more than one branch of the institution
whose definitely formulated statements of belief can be interpreted in
no other way however much, as a practical fact, the members have
departed from them.
There are some branches of the church that still teach that the child,
newly born into the world, fresh from the hand of God, is already
corrupt, prone to evil, of its own volition choosing evil in preference
to good. And, believing that, they require the parents when presenting
the babe at the altar for holy baptism, to affirm that that pure and
innocent babe has inherited an evil and corrupt nature, and that it was
conceived and born in sin. A monstrous doctrine, violating not only
every parental instinct, but as well all the principles of psychology
and ethics. Yea, verily, the Dark Ages are not yet wholly past! Yes,
there are doubtless some who still look upon the church as a lifeboat,
and who think that that lifeboat should offer safety and protection to
those alone who already have on the life preserver. In other words,
there are still some who seem to think that church membership should be
granted only to those whose character and belief already assure them of
abundant entrance into the heavenly kingdom and who, therefore, do not
really need church membership.
But yet, on the whole, as a working conception, we have discarded the
lifeboat idea and are now regarding the church rather as a great school,
so to speak, in which all the children of men, thru the grace of God and
mutual helpfulness, may gradually develop the Christian character and
eventually come to be the very elect of God. No longer is it being
regarded as merely an ark of safety, a lifeboat, ministering to the
few, but as a great social beneficent institution shedding abroad upon
all people its life-giving light and lifting all men nearer to God;
true, giving her choicest blessings to those who come closest and
partake most fully of her nature, but yet like the sun which shines upon
all and both by direct and indirect rays warms and lightens all. Between
the two views, what a contrast! And that change can not be better seen
than by a contrast of the methods of work--the methods used to replenish
the ranks, to offer the boon of membership to those deemed worthy or to
those whom such boon could help.
The old evangelism--you remember its key-note, the old revival meeting,
in which skilful word painting presented the two extremes, heaven and
hell. And when the emotional nature was wrought up to the desired pitch
and fear to the right degree, a choice was demanded,--conversion, it was
called. The newer evangelism--Christian nurture in the home and school,
and the various agencies of the church--is not as spectacular as the
old. It doesn't make as much noise nor draw to itself so much attention.
Nor do results so readily lend themselves to figures and tabulation. It
does not bring about certain times when large accessions are made to the
church membership, feeling rather that a continuous stream, tho smaller,
indicates a more healthy growth. But it recognizes the fact that human
nature is not necessarily depraved, that, on the other hand, the
Christian life is the natural life and that the child under the sweet
influences of the home and school and church passes naturally from one
stage to another often not knowing when the transitions take place.
Christian nurture--_a continuous process_--in which development is the
key-note, not conversion, a sudden transformation, a terrible wrenching
of the whole being, is the church's present method of growth. Oh! the
old has not entirely gone--here and there we occasionally see evidences
of its presence. Professional evangelism we call it to-day. I ran across
it in a recent trip East. A big, barnlike structure had been erected
which was called "the tabernacle." Its floor was of sawdust sprinkled on
the ground. Here for about a month a professional evangelist had
harangued the curious crowds in immoderate, and oftentimes immodest
language. Wit and sarcasm and slang and emotion had been freely used in
his efforts to make sinners "hit the sawdust trail," to use his own
spectacular language, as well as to extort money from the pockets of the
attendants. He left the town $5,000 richer than when he entered and also
carried with him, as advertising material, a long list of so-called
converts. A travesty on the sacred work of the church! But such methods
are to-day the exception and not the rule, and the exceptions merely
prove the rule.
And to-day church membership is graciously held out to all who need help
in the work of perfecting character--to all who need assistance in
leading the Christian life, as well as to those whose battles have
already been fought and won. The question asked is no longer, "Have you
attained?" but rather, "Do you wish to attain?" When an individual,
child or adult, seeks entrance at the doors of an educational
institution, the only condition imposed is assurance of his desire to be
a learner. The doors swing open. And thank God the church is at last
coming to the same position. And so we see her to-day well started upon
the fourth stage of her development, accepting as her one great work
that given her at birth so long ago--the religious development of the
child and the race.
THE SCHOOL
The American school is a wonderful institution. In its absolute
universality and impartiality, in its fine spirit of democracy both of
teachers and pupils, there is nothing like it elsewhere in the world. It
is a product of the genius of our people. Product? Yes, but, also,
successively, the most influential cause of the genius of our people.
From the first, in a somewhat remarkable degree, we have been a people
knowing no social classes or distinctions. The caste idea, so prevalent
in European countries, has ever been repugnant to us. And our schools,
emanating from such a people, have had a powerful reflex influence in
shaping the people and keeping those fine ideals ever before us. But let
us go back and see whence it came--trace the connection between the
complex, highly influential institution of to-day and the simple
offshoot of the home of primitive times. Just when it was first
instituted, nobody knows; but in essential features it is very ancient.
Long before the beginning of the Christian era, as a supplementary agent
of the home having in charge that one portion of its work, it was a
well-recognized and highly esteemed institution.
I have already called attention to the great changes that have taken
place in the home and in the church as the centuries have passed. The
school likewise has changed, and is to-day as far removed from its
original prototype as either of the others. It has changed because the
home has changed, and in its changes has kept pace with the changing
ideals and added complexities of home life. At the very first, only the
essentials--teacher and boy--were present: no building, the great
out-of-doors furnished the room and the friendly tree the only
protection from sun and storm; no course of study, no book--the teacher
was all in all. But this stage passed and the next, that continued so
long and is more characteristic, followed. Here we find the building and
the book as well as the teacher and the boy. The boy's one task is to
transfer the contents of the book to his own mental storehouse and the
teacher's function to see that the transfer is made. Knowledge was the
main element of the child's preparation, that the home demanded of its
school. And this often but ill-fitted him for the performance of the
duties of life. This period continued for many centuries, down almost to
the present time. But another and a greater followed--a period in which
not merely knowledge was demanded as an outcome of the school's
activities, but something else very different, including that, it is
true, but finer and greater than that--something toward which they are
the contributing agents--a somewhat harmonious development of the entire
life--physical, mental, and moral.
Little by little, as time has passed, the home seems to have been
throwing added burdens upon the school until now it sometimes looks as
if the school is expected to give the entire preparation of the
child--moral, physical, and manual, as well as mental. It sometimes
seems as if the home had gone off on a vacation and left the school to
do its work. Now, that statement implies a criticism of the home. On
the other hand, it is frequently said by unfriendly critics of our
public schools that the schools are all the time reaching out and, in a
grasping way, more and more taking unto themselves the sacred rights and
privileges of the home, even setting themselves up in authority over the
home, aye, even alienating the affections of the children, making the
home of none effect. Where does the truth lie? Has the home been so
negligent of its duty, or has the school forgotten that it is the
creature of the home? Which is the usurper? That is an interesting
question. We can not go into it in detail, but let me suggest that it
has all come about not so much from the unwarranted assumption of the
school, nor the conscious and wilful neglect of the home as from the
unconscious working out of a great principle fundamental in human
development--namely, that the three phases of a child's life--the
physical, the moral, and the intellectual,--can not be separately
developed.
At first the home had the three lines of work. Soon it delegated two of
them to other agencies and then, thru inexperience or thoughtlessness,
made the fatal mistake of withdrawing supervision, assuming that no
oversight was necessary. Unwise and short-sighted! No individual would
thus deal with any other interest. The farm, the store, the financial
interest of any kind, even the thing that ministers to the pleasure of
life, often receives more personal attention from the parent than does
the school. And this situation is not peculiar to our own day. When I
was a boy, in another and distant state, we used to sing a song called
"The Parent and the School." The various verses showed that parents were
in the habit of visiting every other known place--the theater, the
concert, the fair, the sea, the neighbors, and each verse closed with
the refrain, "And why don't they visit the school?" They should, but
they did not then, nor do they to-day. Somehow, all along the line, the
home has seemed to think that if it should satisfy the physical needs of
the child in providing food and clothing and shelter, the school should
develop the intellectual and the church the moral natures in different
places and at different times, and under different conditions, and that
in some mysterious manner the three could become satisfactorily blended
into a harmonious life. Impossible! The three natures are so clearly
interrelated, each depends so much upon the others, that the separate
and independent development of any one is impossible.
The spiritual _depends_ upon the intellectual as the house _rests_ upon
the foundation. Its mental pictures, its concepts, its beliefs, come out
of it, and are marred, misshapen, untrue, just to the extent to which
that is faulty. Intelligence is necessary to religious belief and
religious life. And the _intellectual_, in its foundation laying, can
not stop short at that point any more than a plant can stop growing when
its roots are well developed. The process once well begun is pushed on
by the force from behind and must enter the higher realm. So I am not
surprised that the school at times seems to be in charge of the entire
work. And _physical conditions_ have so much to do with success in both
fields that they must be considered by both. The three processes are not
only interrelated, they are interlaced, intertwined, as the strands of a
braided cord. And just as the cord would be incomplete, just as it
would lack strength, if any of the strands were to be omitted, or if the
braiding were to be haphazard, so the life would be incomplete,
one-sided, weak, should these three processes not go on side by side
under the fostering care of an intelligent unifying agency. Indeed, if
there is any one thing that has been demonstrated beyond the
peradventure of a doubt by modern research in the physical and psychical
realms, it is the significant fact that life is a unity. The physical,
the intellectual, and the moral are like the three leaves of the clover.
And just as with the clover we must apply the nourishment to the root
and not to the separated branches, so with the child we must so select
and use our educative material that the three-fold development shall
result from the single application.
A simple illustration or two will help to make the point clear. All
children study arithmetic in school. It is an intellectual activity and
so clearly belongs to the school. Why do all study it? Because for the
practical duties of life they need to know how to handle numbers. It is
a practical study. Yes, but there is something else that the subject is
supposed to yield or the extended time given to it could not be
justified. It yields large fruitage in the development of the power of
concentration and intellectual keenness. Yes, but better than that. All
mathematical subjects, in that they require absolute accuracy and
definiteness in their operations, are particularly helpful in developing
those fine moral qualities of honesty, integrity, and upright dealing.
Again, history is taught in the schools as an intellectual subject. In
intellectual development alone it is worth all it costs. But over and
above the value as a mental quickener it is to be placed as a builder of
character, and ministering to the development of the moral and even the
spiritual life. Nowhere else can the young so well learn that
"righteousness exalteth a nation" and that "sin is a reproach to any
people." In no other way so well as by the study of history can desired
examples of noble character be placed before the young for imitation.
Take but one other illustration, that of gymnastics and athletics--the
entire program of play. For physical development? Yes, but in addition
to that and finer than that, intellectual development of a high order
thru the keener activity of the senses, the quicker and more accurate
vision, the developed judgment, and finer discriminations. Yes, but
better even than mere intellectual keenness there result from such
activities the rare moral qualities of tolerance, respect for others,
and self-control. And so I might go on and give illustration after
illustration. It is not necessary. You catch my point. I am merely
trying to demonstrate two facts: first, that the great breadth of the
work of the school--embracing as it does, the development of the entire
nature of the child, mental, moral, and physical, instead of merely the
mental, that which was given her at first, is hers now not because of
the home's neglect nor because the school has been unduly ambitious and
grasping, but because we have come to see that life is a unity and can
not be cut up into parts each separately developed. And secondly, I have
tried to show that the school does interest itself in the moral life of
the pupil. As a matter of fact, the school does more to develop morality
and to lead toward a sane religious life than all other agencies
combined. Our modern American school is a wonderful institution.
But in spite of the fact that the school is broad in its ministrations,
it can not stand alone. All three institutions are needed. But the three
must work together and in harmony and intelligently, each assisting the
others. And one of the three must act as the centralizing, the unifying,
the combining agency and bring order out of that which would otherwise
be chaos by recognizing the value of each contribution of each of the
others, assigning it to its proper place and thus aptly blending the
work of the three. Now, which shall be the centralizing force? Really,
is there any question? Must it not be the original institution--the
home--the one which saw the need of the others and called them into
being--the one upon which the responsibility finally rests? And even tho
many individual homes are weak, wholly incapable of doing themselves all
the varied kinds of work needed, yet the collective institution can and
must act. And even the individual home, efficient or inefficient,
should, much more than it does, thus act within the limits of its own
jurisdiction and up to the limits of its own power.
And to whom does the school belong, anyway? To the Board of Education?
Is it the private possession of the teachers? Does it exist to give
teachers positions? Why, no, of course not. It is yours, and yours, and
yours. They, both Board and teachers, are your servants, hired men and
women, if you and they please--hired for pay to do your work, just as
much as are the clerks in your stores, the harvest hands on the farms,
or the maids in the kitchen. A different kind of work to be sure but,
nevertheless, we are workmen for pay. And we need watching just as much
as do the other workers. But let us put it in this way--we need
intelligent, sympathetic co-operation, as an opportunity and as a spur
for our best work and as a joy in it all--your constant kindly interest
and your intelligent co-operation. I suppose that the situation is quite
different in a city of this size from what it is in the large centers. I
remember of talking, at one time, to an audience of teachers in a large
city. I was astounded to learn that those teachers did not know, by
sight even, the parents of one-half of their pupils, and many of them
had been in the schools for a period of from three to four years. Whose
fault was it? The teacher's or the parents? Why, what is the school? And
whose is it? And what is it for? Whose fault was it? The question does
not need an answer. It answers itself. But I urged those teachers to
visit the homes--to become acquainted with the parents of their pupils
so that they could know the atmosphere surrounding them and thus be
better able to guide their development and minister to their varied
needs. But I did not thus urge them because they had, up to that time,
neglected their duty, rather because there seemed no prospect that the
homes would embrace their opportunity and take the initiative.
I fancy that here in the smaller place where everybody knows everybody
it is very different. Doubtless there is not a teacher here whose
acquaintance has not been made by both parents of every child in her or
his room. Probably there is not one who has not been entertained in
every home represented in the room. This should be the situation not
primarily because parents owe teachers such attention, not because any
such social responsibility rests upon them, but rather because the
relationship thus created gives parents the best possible opportunity to
co-operate with the school in doing that portion of the home's great
work. No, parents do not "owe" it to the teachers, rather do they "owe"
it to their children and the next generation. I am urging this program
because it is the only way by which you can get the most and best
service from the schools.