_THE SCHOOLS OF SIAM._
In Siam schools are made up of boys and girls, just as they are in
other countries. But the boys and girls of Siam are not made of “sugar
and spice and all that’s nice,” but of fish and fowl, of curry and
rice, of onions and garlic, and everything nice. And they seem to be
very good materials to make children of, too, for they are usually
very bright and clever.
They commit to memory more readily than the average American
school-boy, but in studies requiring a process of reasoning or
long-continued hard work they would probably fall behind. They usually
begin a new study or work with great avidity, but often tire before it
is half finished. The average Siamese boy of nine or ten years of age
does not ask more than a day to learn all the large and small letters
of the English alphabet, and a tiptop student will only want half a
day. In a year afterward he will be able to read fluently in _Wilson’s
Third Reader_, and translate it all into his own language, and will
also be able to write nicely and know something of arithmetic.
A teacher of a Siamese school need have little trouble with its
government if it were not so impossible ever to be sure of the truth.
When a boy gets into mischief he always plans to lie about it; and he
can do it with such an air of candor that he will make the teacher
almost disbelieve his own senses. But this fault is doubtless largely
owing to the early training in heathen homes and in the old-fashioned
“wat-schools” of the country.
The prevailing religion and the education of a country usually stand
side by side, and aid each other. Their united influence is sometimes
to spread sunshine and prosperity over the land, and sometimes to
fasten the chains of superstition and blight the moral feelings of the
entire nation.
Siam is no exception to the general rule. For centuries the Buddhist
temples have been the only “temples of learning,” and the men who
shave their heads, dress in yellow robes and beg their food have
performed the double office of pedagogue and priest. It would seem as
if Siam ought to be a highly-educated country when these mendicant
teachers form one-thirtieth part of the entire population, and when
the custom of the country is such that parents usually require their
sons to spend all the years of boyhood and youth under the care of
these teachers in the temples. So universal is this custom that work
for boys is something that has not yet been invented in this country.
As soon as a little boy is out of his babyhood his parents at once
begin to look around for a desirable teacher for him. A priest is
selected: usually he is a friend or relative of the parents, and one
whom they think they can trust to care for and educate their boy. The
child is then taken to the temple, or _wat_, as it is called, and
given to the priest. In doing this the parent gives up all claim,
authority and oversight of the boy to the priest, often closing a long
speech on the subject by begging the priest to “whip him a great deal;
do not break his back or put out his eyes; anything less than that you
can do: I won’t say a word.”
While the child is in the wat the parent is expected to clothe him and
also to contribute liberally to the _lunch-basket_ that this man of
holy orders carries around daily to have filled by pious Buddhists.
The child’s most important duty now is to wait on his teacher, follow
him on his morning tramps, paddle his boat, serve his food and be
ready at all times to obey his wishes.
The priest, on his part, is expected to teach the boy to read and
write; and if he is a very extraordinary “man of letters” he may
possibly teach the first principles of arithmetic; this, however, is a
rare accomplishment, gained only by the favored few.
But whatever else these Buddhist schoolmasters fail in teaching, there
is one lesson that they succeed in imparting better than most college
professors of other countries, and that is a feeling of respect on the
part of their pupils for their teachers, no matter how indifferently
the work may have been done. No matter if ten years have been spent in
doing what should have been done in as many months, still, any Siamese
man would be branded as a wretched ingrate if he did not through all
his life honor and respect the man who taught him to read. This is at
least one good thing to be found in the old-fashioned wat education;
but just how it is gained, and where the secret of success lies, are
somewhat of a mystery.
Doubtless, it is partly owing to the religious element. The
yellow-robes themselves are objects of veneration, and Buddha, as it
is claimed, was only a teacher, so that the office of teaching, as
well as the dress of the teacher, is calculated to inspire fear and
respect. And perhaps the _birch_ or ratan discipline, which is often
terribly severe, may have something to do with it. A mistake in
writing or spelling usually brings down the teacher’s lash, and this
is called _son hi chum_ (teaching to remember); for a more heinous
offence of disobedience or want of respect toward his teacher the
pupil’s hands are tied around a post, and then he is whipped――not four
or five strokes, but it is one, two or three _dozen_, as the case
seems to require. A teacher is supposed to take an interest in his
pupil, and the pupil to be improving, just in proportion to the amount
of corporal punishment administered.
One day a man brought his boy to put him into the “King’s School.”
After the arrangements were all made and he was about to say
“Good-bye” to his boy, he turned to the principal of the school and
said, “Please whip him a great deal; I want him to learn fast. If at
any time you think he deserves one dozen, please give him two dozen,
and if you think he deserves two dozen, please give him four dozen.
Don’t let him be a dunce.” And with this loving injunction he took his
leave. Another little boy has dropped out of the same school entirely,
the probable reason being that his grandmother’s repeated request to
_te hi mak mak_ (whip him a great deal) was entirely disregarded.
These wat-schools――if schools they may be called――are free from all
the trammels of school laws and school committees, each teacher being
left free to follow his own will in everything. Neither are there any
school-houses or school-furniture. The teacher seats himself,
tailor-fashion, on the floor of his own filthy, cheerless room, and
his pupils sit in the same way around him.
There is only one school-book (which is a kind of combined primer and
reader), and after that is mastered the learner must practice reading
on whatever he can find; it may be a fabulous tale, a drama or a
ghost-story, but certainly it will not be a good and truthful book
that will elevate and improve the reader, for the literature of Siam
has nothing of that kind. Occasionally the books that have been
prepared by the missionaries are found in the hands of these wat-boys,
but that is the exception and not the rule.
These schools have no regular school-term, and of course no vacations;
no regular hours for study, and of course none for play; no classes,
and of course no emulation and no chance for a dull boy to be helped
over the hard places by his near neighbor. The whole work is
controlled by the whim of the teacher at the time, without principle
and without rule.
If a boy recites once or twice a week, all is well, and if he recites
only once or twice a month, still it is all right; and if in the
course of eight or ten years he has learned very little, there is no
one to complain. He has at least been kept out of the way at home, and
now he is of such an age that he can become a _nain_ and spend a few
more years in obtaining a smattering of the Pali or sacred language,
and after this he can become a full-fledged priest, which is the
summit of the fondest parent’s wishes.
While a boy is at a wat he is not usually called a scholar or pupil,
but a _wat-boy_――a name which generally implies everything that is
naughty. His companions are idle, vicious fellows, fond of
cockfighting, swearing and gambling, and he grows up among them bad
just in proportion as he is clever and gifted.
The conservative men of Siam are bewailing these latter days, and
among other things they aver that wat education is not what it was in
the good old times long ago――that then the priests were more strict
with their boys, and made them work and study more than they do now.
This may be so. But if the men who were educated in the temples years
ago, and who should now be the pillars and producers of the country,
are to be taken as exponents of what that system of education can do
for manhood, then we may safely infer that temple-life was at that
time just what it is now――a school of idleness and vice, and those who
leave its haunts are fitted only for a lazy, aimless existence. This
the natives themselves freely admit, and the time has evidently come
when something better is demanded.
While Siam has been doing, perhaps, the best she knew for her sons,
her daughters in some respects have been much better off. They are not
supposed to need any education, and are therefore trained from
childhood to help their mothers with all kinds of heavy as well as
light work. Thus it comes to pass that the girls grow up to be the
“hewers of wood and drawers of water,” the planters and the traders of
Siam, while the influence of their brothers is to a great extent a
dead weight on the prosperity of the country.
And now what have missionaries done to show Siam a better way?
Christianity implies knowledge, and missionaries believe in schools.
“The Oriental mind is quick in childhood, but early stops its growth;”
then to civilize and Christianize such a people the most hopeful plan
is to begin with the children. So, wherever a Presbyterian mission has
been established in Siam the church and the school have grown up
together.
The mission-school for boys in Bangkok was opened in the early days of
the work there, and through all these years it has been doing a grand
work in educating the children of the Church as well as those brought
to it from heathen families, who have often carried the blessed truths
of the Bible with them to their heathen homes. In this, which was the
first mission-school in Siam, many plans have been tried and much
valuable experience gained.
In Siam, as in other Eastern countries, the native mind is becoming
roused to seek for knowledge, and there is a growing desire to learn
the English language. This wish draws many into the boys’ school who
would not otherwise be found there. Trade and commerce are calling for
clerks and assistants who have a knowledge of English, and a boy with
only a smattering of the coveted foreign tongue is in demand at high
wages, and is thus often induced to leave school long before he is fit
for a business-life. This at present is a great detriment to all the
schools, but as the demand becomes supplied a higher standard will be
necessary and a more thorough education sought.
In the boys’ mission-school it has been found necessary to have all
who enter make a written promise to remain a specified number of
years, so as to ensure a reasonable knowledge of English and a better
knowledge of that more important lesson, that “God so loved the world
that he gave his only-begotten Son.” There is hardly a business-house
in Bangkok that does not have one or more than one young man in its
employ who has been educated in the mission-school, and some of them
are consistent Christian men, a credit to their teachers and an honor
to the school.
[Illustration: A SCHOOL IN SIAM.]
Buddhism is planned only for men, and so girls are not taught in the
wat-schools; but as the religion of Jesus takes in the whole family,
misson-work would be lame indeed without its schools for girls. In the
East knowledge is thought to be not only unnecessary, but positively
injurious, to women; so when the missionary ladies first tried to
gather up pupils for a girls’ school they met with all kinds of
objections from the parents. In the first place, they could not
understand the motives. How could any one be so unselfish as to spend
time in teaching a lot of girls without any compensation? They did not
believe it. So at once evil-minded persons spread infamous tales, and
explained the thing by affirming that it was only a trick to secure
the children, and by and by they would be sent to America and sold as
slaves.
Another objection was that for girls to go to school was altogether
_against the custom_, and that, of itself, was enough in Siam. Again,
suppose they went to school and learned to read, then they would know
more than their mothers, and how could they honor and respect their
parents, as they were in duty bound to do?
But the greatest objection of all was that the girls were the workers
in the family, and if they were to spend the day in school who would
_ha kin_ (seek a living) for the family? And this seemed to be a real
difficulty.
The question of bread and meat, or rather rice and fish, the
missionary could neither ignore nor argue away. These heathen mothers
in this respect were just like other human beings: they would not
willingly give up their daughters’ help at home, which was of real
value to the whole family, for an education which they believed would
be injurious in every way. They hated the new religion and despised
the offered education.
As far as could be seen then, there was but one way out of the
difficulty; and so the question was asked, “How much can your girl
earn per day?” and the old mother answered, “When she finds work she
makes a _fuang_ per day” (seven and a half cents). Then said the
missionary, “Send her to me, and I will let her spend half the day in
learning to read and the other half in working, and _for her work_ I
will pay her a fuang.” At this the mother began to waver, and at last
said, “I am very poor, and sometimes it is hard to find work, so I
will let her try it.” The next morning the industrial school for girls
at Petchaburee was opened with one scholar, and she was seated on the
floor of the veranda of the mission-house, and for nearly a month
there were no additions. But there are times when it is safe to wait.
A very simple white jacket was cut, and Perm was taught to make it for
herself. After many days, and with pushing the needle from her instead
of drawing it toward her, and with holding the seam between her little
bare toes instead of pinning it to her knee, the jacket was pronounced
finished and ready to wear――the first the child had ever owned in her
life. Then she was allowed to take some soap and give herself a bath,
and then to don her new jacket and a new waist-cloth. That evening,
when she went home, she was the happiest child in the village, and
served as a good advertisement of the new-fashioned school. Before
very long the veranda and the missionary’s hands were both full.
That was seventeen years ago, and from that time to this the school
has been carried on, and done a grand good work in many respects――one
of the most important of which is that it has furnished teachers for
five branch schools that have been established in different localities
around it. Many of its pupils are now industrious and pious wives and
mothers at the head of Christian families, while a few have gone, as
there is good reason to believe, to finish their education in heaven.
Some object strongly to the plan of giving money to the pupils of
mission-schools, and perhaps elsewhere: _giving boarding_ instead of
money, or some other plan, might be better; but after so many years of
experience those in charge are fully convinced that for Petchaburee
this is the only feasible plan.
If a respectable, self-reliant Church is ever built up in Siam, it
will be by cultivating the graces of industry, cleanliness and
godliness together; and the best place to do this is in well-appointed
industrial schools. Would that such could be established all over the
country for both boys and girls, and then we might reasonably hope
that some time the number of idle loungers might grow “beautifully
less”!
A few years ago the king showed his appreciation of what this school
was doing for his people when he gave a donation of two thousand
dollars to help furnish the new school-building.
Some years after the girls’ school at Petchaburee was started a school
was established for girls in Bangkok, but on a different plan in some
respects, the former being a day-school and for the working classes,
while the latter is a boarding-school and for a higher class of
pupils. In this school instruction is given in both the native and
English languages, and the industries are principally ornamental. Some
specimens of the work done in this school were put into the Centennial
Exhibition in 1882, and His Majesty paid a pleasant compliment to the
school when he purchased the entire lot for use in the royal palace.
A knowledge of what the mission-schools are doing for those under
their care no doubt at first suggested to His Majesty’s mind the idea
of inaugurating something in the way of government schools that would
be after the American model and entirely different from the
wat-schools. As a first step, the “King’s School” was planned, and at
the king’s request was placed in charge of one of the American
missionaries.
As yet, this school is only an infant in years, and no prophet has
been found wise enough to foretell what its future may be. It has
passed through all the diseases incident to childhood and youth, and
some of them have been of a most malignant nature. But, what was worst
of all, its doctors could never agree as to where the trouble was or
what remedies should be used. At length, however, it began to improve,
and now, at four years of age, it begins to breathe freely and develop
in strength and manly beauty. May Heaven’s richest blessing rest upon
it, and may God grant that the strength of its manhood may be
consecrated to his service!
Difficulties are to be expected in the prosecution of every new
enterprise, and the most hopeful friends of the King’s School have not
been much disappointed with its various trials. The committee to whose
care His Majesty committed this school were entirely unused to
educational affairs, and for want of experience many and serious
blunders were made. But experience has taught useful lessons for
future use, and the time seems to be near when steps will be taken to
provide something better to take the place of the wat-school.
The native mind is being directed to this subject as never before. A
striking proof of this fact is, that the queen, who is a most zealous
Buddhist, is now having a large and beautiful school-building put up
as a monument to her royal sister, who was drowned two years ago. This
building is not yet finished, and it is not known just how it is to be
managed; but it certainly seems to mark a new era, as heretofore
Buddhist temples were the only memorial buildings in the country.
One great question for the near future seems to be, What kind of
influences will mould and shape this new educational work? Will it be
the English moralist, the French Jesuit, the German infidel or the
American Christian? The king plainly intimated his wishes when he
asked a missionary to take charge of the school under his own
patronage. And while at that time there were hardly missionaries
enough in Siam to hold on to the direct mission-work, still the hope
of securing the vantage-ground for Christianity was such that the
request could not be refused. And although, as yet, direct religious
instruction cannot be a part of the daily routine of the school-room,
there is no need to be in haste. Much must first be done to disarm
prejudice and to conciliate the minds of conservative Buddhists, and
prove to them that the missionaries are _true_ friends, who labor for
the highest welfare of the country. When that shall be made evident,
more liberty will be accorded to Christian instructors.
Some of the members of the royal family are afraid to trust the
heir-apparent and his royal brothers to the influence of Christianity;
so a Calcutta Brahman has been employed and a school started in the
palace. A friend went to visit this school one day, and the teacher
handed some writing-books to the visitor to let him see how well the
little princes could write. Almost the first page he looked at had
this as a copy: “The fear of the Lord is the beginning of wisdom.”
This shows what unexpected means God sometimes takes to teach the
truths of his own word, and how foolish it is for any one to suppose
that the English language can be learned without learning the religion
of Jesus at the same time. May this not be the great good that God in
his providence means to bring out of this universal desire for a
knowledge of the English language? It is so full of Christianity that
to know the one is to know the other.
May we not hope that our mother-tongue may some day become the
language of all nations, and that Christianity may be the religion of
the world?
[Illustration: A FEW OF THE CHILDREN OF THE LATE FIRST KING OF SIAM.]