which we are to make our selection for the moral lessons.
But a selective principle is needed. The field being spread out before
us, the question arises, At what point shall we enter it? What topics
shall we single out? It would be manifestly absurd, for instance, to
treat of international ethics, or of conjugal ethics, in a course
intended for children. But especially the order in which the different
topics are to follow each other needs to be determined. The order
followed in the above sketch is a purely logical one, and the logical
arrangement of a subject, as every educator knows, is not usually the
one most suitable for bringing it within reach of the understanding of
children. It would not be in the present instance. Clearly a selective
principle is wanted.
Let me here interrupt myself for a moment to say that the problem which
we are attacking, so far from being solved, has heretofore hardly even
been stated. And this is due to the fact that moral instruction has been
thus far almost entirely in the hands of persons whose chief interest
was religious, and who, whatever their good intentions might be, were
hardly qualified to look at the subject from the educator's point of
view. The work of breaking ground in the matter of moral instruction has
still to be done. As to the selective principle which I have in view I
feel a certain confidence in its correctness; but I am aware that the
applications of it will doubtless require manifold amendment and
correction, for which purpose I invoke the experience and honest
criticism of my fellow-teachers. This being understood, I venture to ask
your attention to the following considerations:
The life of every human being naturally divides itself into distinct
periods--infancy, childhood, youth, etc. Each period has a set of
interests and of corresponding duties peculiar to itself. The moral
teaching should be graded according to periods. The teaching
appropriate to any period is that which bears upon the special duties of
that period. To illustrate, the ethics of childhood may be summarized as
follows: The personal duties of a child are chiefly the observance of a
few simple rules of health and the curbing of its temper. It owes social
duties to parents, brothers and sisters, and kinsfolk, to its playmates,
and to servants. The child is not yet a citizen, and the ethics of
politics, therefore, lie far beyond its horizon; it does not yet require
to be taught professional ethics, and does not need to learn even the
elements of intellectual duty, because its energies are still absorbed
in physical growth and play. The duties of childhood can be readily
stated. The peculiar duties of the subsequent stages of development, for
instance, of middle life and old age, are complex, and not so easy to
define. But I believe that the attempt to describe them will throw light
on many recondite problems in ethics.
My first point therefore is, that the moral teaching at a given period
should be made to fit the special duties of that period. Secondly--and
this touches the core of the matter--in every period of life there is
some one predominant duty around which all the others may be grouped, to
which as a center they may be referred. Thus, the paramount duty of the
young child is to reverence and obey its parents. The relation of
dependence in which it stands naturally prescribes this duty, and all
its other duties can be deduced from and fortified by this one. The
correctness of its personal habits and of its behavior toward others
depends primarily on its obedience to the parental commands. The child
resists the temptation to do what is wrong, chiefly because it respects
the authority and desires to win the approbation of father and mother.
Secondary motives are not wanting, but reverence for parents is the
principal one.
Thirdly, in each new period there emerges a new paramount ethical
interest, a new center of duties. But with the new system of duties thus
created the previous ethical systems are to be brought into line, into
harmonious correlation. And this will be all the more feasible, because
the faithful performance of the duties of any one period is the best
preparation for the true understanding and fulfillment of those of the
next. From these statements the following conclusions may be drawn with
respect to the question under discussion--namely, the proper sequence of
the topics of duty in a course of moral lessons.
The moral lessons being given in school, must cover the duties which are
peculiar to the school age. The paramount duty should be placed in the
foreground. Now the paramount duty of children between six and fourteen
years of age is to acquire knowledge. Hence we begin the lessons with
the subject of intellectual duty. In the next place, the duties learned
in the previous periods are to be brought into line with the duties of
the school age. At each new step on the road of ethical progress the
moral ideas already acquired are to be reviewed, confirmed, and to
receive a higher interpretation.
We have already seen that, before the child enters school, its personal
duties are such as relate to the physical life and the feelings, and its
chief social duties are the filial and fraternal.
Therefore, the order of topics for the lessons thus far stands: The duty
of acquiring knowledge; the duties which relate to the physical life;
the duties which relate to the feelings; the filial duties; the
fraternal duties.
Again, a child that has learned to respect the rights of its brothers
and sisters, and to be lovingly helpful to them, will in school take the
right attitude toward its companions. The fraternal duties are typical
of the duties which we owe to all our companions, and, indeed, to all
human beings.
The next topic of the lessons, therefore, will be the duties which we
owe to all human beings.
Finally, life in school prepares for life in society and in the state,
and so this course of elementary moral lesson will properly close with
"The elements of civic duty."
FOOTNOTES:
[5] It may be urged by some that duties toward God ought to be included
in such a scheme of moral lessons as we are proposing. I should say,
however, that the discussion of these duties belongs to the
Sunday-schools, the existence of which alongside the daily schools is
_presupposed throughout the present course of lectures_.
[6] The duties which relate to the moral nature, as a whole, such for
instance as the duty of self-scrutiny, may be considered either at the
end of the chapter on self-regarding duties, or at the close of the
whole course.
V.
THE MORAL OUTFIT OF CHILDREN ON ENTERING SCHOOL.
It is difficult to trace the beginnings of the moral life in children.
The traveler who attempts to follow some great river to its source
generally finds himself confused by the number of ponds and springs
which are pointed out to him with the assurance in the case of each that
this and no other is the real source. In truth, the river is fed not
from one source but from many, and does not attain its unity and
individuality until it has flowed for some distance on its way. In like
manner, the moral life is fed by many springs, and does not assume its
distinctive character until after several years of human existence have
elapsed. The study of the development of conscience in early childhood
is a study of origins, and these are always obscure. But, besides, the
attention hitherto given to this subject has been entirely inadequate,
and even the attempts to observe in a systematic way the moral
manifestations of childhood have been few.
Parents and teachers should endeavor to answer such questions as these:
When do the first stirrings of the moral sense appear in the child? How
do they manifest themselves? What are the emotional and the
intellectual equipments of the child at different periods, and how do
these correspond with its moral outfit? At what time does conscience
enter on the scene? To what acts or omissions does the child apply the
terms right and wrong? If observations of this kind were made with care
and duly recorded, the science of education would have at its disposal a
considerable quantity of material from which no doubt valuable
generalizations might be deduced. Every mother especially should keep a
diary in which to note the successive phases of her child's physical,
mental, and moral growth; with particular attention to the moral; so
that parents may be enabled to make a timely forecast of their
childrens' characters, to foster in them every germ of good, and by
prompt precautions to suppress, or at least restrain, what is bad.
I propose in the present lecture to cast a glance at the moral training
which the normal child receives before it enters school, and the moral
outfit which it may be expected to bring with it at the time of
entering. Fortunately, it is not necessary to go very deeply into the
study of development of conscience for this purpose. A few main points
will suffice for our guidance.
_First Point._--The moral training of a child can be begun in its
cradle. Regularity is favorable to morality. Regularity acts as a check
on impulse. A child should receive its nourishment at stated intervals;
it should become accustomed to sleep at certain hours, etc. If it
protests, as it often does vigorously enough, its protests should be
disregarded. After a while its cries will cease, it will learn to submit
to the rule imposed, and the taking of pleasure in regularity and the
sense of discomfort when the usual order is interrupted become
thenceforth a part of its mental life. I do not maintain that regularity
itself is moral, but that it is favorable to morality because it curbs
inclination. I do not say that rules are always good, but that the life
of impulse is always bad. Even when we do the good in an impulsive way
we are encouraging in ourselves a vicious habit. Good conduct consists
in regulating our life according to good principles; and a willingness
to abide by rules is the first, the indispensable condition of moral
growth. Now, the habit of yielding to rules may be implanted in a child
even in the cradle.
_Second Point._--A very young child--one not older than a year and a
half--can be taught to obey, to yield to the parent's will. A child a
year and a half old is capable of adhering to its own will in defiance
of the expressed will of father or mother. In this case it should be
constrained to yield. We shall never succeed in making of it a moral
person if it does not realize betimes that there exists a higher law
than the law of its will. And of this higher law, throughout childhood,
the parent is, as it were, the embodiment. When I say that obedience can
be exacted of a child of such tender age, that a child so young is
capable of deliberately opposing the will of the parent, I speak from
experience. I know a certain little lady who undertook a struggle with
her father precisely in the way described. The struggle lasted fully
thirty-five minutes by the clock. But when it was over, the child
stretched out her little arms and put up her lips to be kissed, and for
days after fairly clung to her father, showing him her attachment in the
most demonstrative manner. Nor should this increase of affectionateness
excite surprise--it is the proper result of a conflict of this sort
between father and child when conducted in the right spirit. The child
is happy to be freed from the sway of its wayward caprice, to feel that
its feeble will has been taken up into a will larger and stronger than
its own.
_Third Point._--What is called conscience does not usually begin to show
itself until the child is about three years old. At this age the concept
self usually emerges, and the child begins to use the personal pronoun
I. This is one of these critical turning points in human development, of
which there are several. The beginning of adolescence marks another. I
am inclined to suspect that there is one at or about thirty-three. There
seem to be others later on. At any rate the first turning point--that
which occurs at three--is marked unmistakably. At this time, as we have
just said, the child begins to be distinctly self-conscious; it says
"I," and presently "you," "he," and "they." Now, moral rules formulate
the relations which ought to subsist between one's self and others, and
to comprehend the rules it is clearly necessary to be able to hold apart
in the mind and to contrast with one another the persons related. It is
evident, therefore, that the emergence of the concept self must have a
decided effect on moral development.
I feel tempted to pause here a moment and to say a word in passing about
the extreme importance of the constituent elements of the concept self.
For it must not be supposed that the pronoun "I" means the same thing on
the lips of every person who uses it. "I" is a label denoting a mass of
associated ideas, and as these ideas are capable of almost endless
variation, so the notion of selfhood is correspondingly diversified in
different individuals. In the case of children, perhaps the principal
constituents of the concept are supplied by their outward appearance and
environment. When a child speaks of itself, it thinks primarily of its
body, especially its face, then of the clothes it usually wears, the
house it lives in, the streets through which it habitually walks, its
parents, brothers, sisters, school-masters, etc.[7] If we analyze the
meaning of "I" in the case of two children, the one well-born and well
brought up, the other without these advantages, we shall perhaps find
such differences as the following: "I" in the one case will mean a being
living in a certain decent and comfortable house, always wearing neat
clothing, surrounded by parents, brothers, and sisters who speak kindly
to one another and have gentle manners, etc. In the other case, the
constituents of the concept self may be very different. "I" in the case
of the second child may mean a creature that lives in a dark, filthy
hovel and walks every day through narrow streets, reeking with garbage.
"I" may mean the child of a father who comes home drunk and strikes the
mother when the angry fit is upon him. "I" stands for a poor waif that
wears torn clothes, and when he sits in school by the side of
well-dressed children is looked at askance and put to shame. It is
obvious that the elements which go to make up the concept self affect
the child's moral nature by lowering or raising its self-esteem. I
remember the case of one, who as a boy was the laughing-stock of his
class on account of the old-fashioned, ill-fitting clothes which he was
compelled to wear, and who has confessed that even late in life he could
not entirely overcome the effect of this early humiliation, and that he
continued to be painfully aware in himself, in consequence, of a certain
lack of ease and self-possession. Hence we should see to it that the
constituent elements of the concept self are of the right kind. It is a
mistake to suppose that the idea of selfhood stands off independently
from the elements of our environment. The latter enter into, and when
they are bad eat into, the very kernel of our nature.
We have seen that the development of the intellect as it appears in the
growing distinctness of self-consciousness exercises an important
influence on the development of the moral faculty. But there is still
another way in which this influence becomes apparent. The function of
conscience further depends on the power of keeping alternative courses
of action before the mind. Angels capable only of the good, or fiends
actuated exclusively by malice, could not be called moral creatures. A
moral act always presupposes a previous choice between two possible
lines of action. And until the power of holding the judgment in
suspense, of hesitating between alternative lines of conduct, has been
acquired, conscience, strictly speaking, does not manifest itself. We
may say that the voice of conscience begins to be heard when, the parent
being absent, the child hesitates between a forbidden pleasure and
obedience to the parental command. Of course, not every choice between
alternative courses is a moral act. If any one hesitates whether to
remain at home or to go for a walk, whether to take a road to the right
or to the left, the decision is morally indifferent. But whenever one of
the alternative courses is good and the other bad, conscience does come
into play.
At this point, however, the question forcibly presents itself, How does
it come to pass in the experience of children that they learn to regard
certain lines of action as good and others as bad? You will readily
answer, The parent characterizes certain acts as good and others as bad,
and the child accepts his definition; and this is undoubtedly true. The
parent's word is the main prop of the budding conscience. But how comes
the parent's word to produce belief? This is indeed the crucial
question touching the development of the moral faculty. Mr. Bain says
that the child fears the punishment which the parent will inflict in
case of disobedience; that the essential form and defining quality of
conscience from first to last is of the nature of dread. He seems to
classify the child's conscience with the criminal conscience, the rebel
conscience which must be energized by the fear of penalties. But this
explanation seems very unsatisfactory. Every one, of course, must admit
that the confirmations of experience tend greatly to strengthen the
parent's authority. The parent says, You must be neat. The child, if it
does as it is bidden, finds an aesthetic pleasure in its becoming
appearance. The parent says, You must not strike your little brother,
but be kind to him; and the child, on restraining its anger, is
gratified by the loving words and looks which it receives in return. The
parent says, You must not touch the stove, or you will be burned. The
disobedient child is effectually warned by the pain it suffers to be
more obedient in future. But all such confirmations are mere external
aids to parental authority. They do not explain the feeling of reverence
with which even a young child, when rightly brought up, is wont to look
up to his father's face. To explain this sentiment of reverence, I must
ask you to consider the following train of reasoning. It has been
remarked already that the parent should be to the child the visible
embodiment of a higher law. This higher law shining from the father's
countenance, making its sublime presence felt in the mother's eye,
wakens an answering vibration in the child's heart. The child feels the
higher presence and bows to it, though it could not, if it tried,
analyze or explain what it feels. We should never forget that children
possess the capacity for moral development from the outset. It is indeed
the fashion with some modern writers to speak of the child as if it were
at first a mere animal, and as if reflection and morality were
mechanically superadded later on. But the whole future man is already
hidden, not yet declared, but latent all the same in the child's heart.
The germs of humanity in its totality exist in the young being. Else how
could it ever unfold into full-grown morality? It will perhaps serve to
make my meaning clearer if I call attention to analogous facts relating
to the intellectual faculty. The formula of causality is a very abstract
one, which only a thoroughly trained mind can grasp. But even very young
children are constantly asking questions as to the causes of things.
What makes the trees grow? what makes the stars shine?--i. e., what is
the cause of the trees growing and the stars shining? The child is
constantly pushing, or rather groping, its way back from effects to
causes. The child's mind acts under what maybe called the causative
instinct long before it can apprehend the law of causation. In the same
way young children perfectly follow the process of syllogistic
reasoning. If a father says, on leaving the house for a walk: I can take
with me only a child that has been good; now, you have not been good
to-day; the child without any difficulty draws the conclusion, Therefore
I can not go out walking with my father to-day. The logical laws are, as
it were, prefigured in the child's mind long before, under the chemical
action of experience they come out in the bright colors of
consciousness. Or, to use another figure, they exert a pressure on the
child of which he himself can give no account. And in like manner the
moral law--the law which prescribes certain relations between self and
others--is, so to speak, prefigured in the child's mind, and when it is
expressed in commands uttered by the parent, the pressure of external
authority is confirmed by a pressure coming from within. We can
illustrate the same idea from another point of view. Whenever a man of
commanding moral genius appears in the world and speaks to the multitude
from his height, they are for the moment lifted to his level and feel
the afflatus of his spirit. This is so because he expresses
potentialities of human nature which also exist in them, only not
unfolded to the same degree as in him. It is a matter of common
observation that persons who under ordinary circumstances are content to
admire what is third rate and fourth rate are yet able to appreciate
what is first rate when it is presented to them--at least to the extent
of recognizing that it is first rate. And yet their lack of development
shows itself in the fact that presently they again lose their hold on
the higher standard of excellence, and are thereafter content to put up
with what is inferior as if the glimpses of better things had never been
opened to them. Is it not because, though capable of rising to the
higher level, they are not capable of maintaining themselves on it
unassisted. Now, the case of the parent with respect to the child is
analogous. He is on a superior moral plane. The child feels that he is,
without being able to understand why. It feels the afflatus of the
higher spirit dwelling in the parent, and out of this feeling is
generated the sentiment of reverence. And there is no greater benefit
which father or mother can confer on their offspring than to deepen this
sentiment. It is by this means that they can most efficiently promote
the development of the child's conscience, for out of this reverence
will grow eventually respect for all rightly constituted authority,
respect and reverence for law, human and divine. The essential form and
defining quality of conscience is not, therefore, as Bain has it--fear
of punishment. In my opinion such fear is abject and cowardly. The
sentiment engendered by fear is totally different from the one we are
contemplating, as the following consideration will serve to show: A
child fears its father when he punishes it in anger; and the more
violent his passion, the more does the child fear him. But, no matter
how stern the penalty may be which he has to inflict, the child reveres
its father in proportion as the traces of anger are banished from his
mien and bearing, in proportion as the parent shows by his manner that
he acts from a sense of duty, that he has his eye fixed on the sacred
measures of right and wrong, that he himself stands in awe of the
sublime commands of which he is, for the time being, the exponent.
To recapitulate briefly the points which we have gone over: regular
habits can be inculcated and obedience can be taught even in infancy. By
obedience is meant the yielding of a wayward and ignorant will to a firm
and enlightened one. The child between three and six years of age learns
clearly to distinguish self from others, and to deliberate between
alternative courses of action. It is highly important to control the
elements which enter into the concept self. The desire to choose the
good is promoted chiefly by the sentiment of reverence.