be followed. First, we are shown the house of Ulysses bereft of its
master. The noisy crowd of suitors are carousing in the hall; the
despairing Penelope weaves her web in an upper chamber; the resolve to
do and dare for his father's sake awakens in Telemachus's heart. Next
Ulysses on the way home, dismissed by Calypso, arrives at Phaeacia, from
which port without further misadventures he reaches Ithaca. The stay in
the palace of the Phaeacian king gives an opportunity for a rehearsal of
the previous sufferings and adventures of the hero. Then follow the
preparations for the conflict with the suitors; the appearance of
Ulysses in his own palace in the guise of a beggar; the insults and
blows which he receives at the hands of his rivals and their menials;
the bloody fight, etc. In relating the story I should follow the course
of the poem, laying stress upon the ethical elements enumerated above.
The fight which took place in the palace halls with closed doors should
be merely mentioned, its bloody details omitted. The hanging of the
maidens, the trick of Vulcan related in a previous book, and other minor
episodes, which the teacher will distinguish without difficulty, should
likewise be passed over. The recognition scenes are managed with
wonderful skill. The successive recognitions seem to take place
inversely in the order of previous connection and intimacy with Ulysses.
The son, who was a mere babe when his father left and did not know him
at all, recognizes him first. This, moreover, is necessary in order that
his aid may be secured for the coming struggle. Next comes Argus, the
dog.
"While over Argus the black night of death
Came suddenly as he had seen
Ulysses, absent now for twenty years."
Next comes the nurse Eurycleia, who recognizes him by a scar inflicted
by the white tusk of a boar whom he hunted on Parnassus's heights; then
his faithful followers; last of all, and slowly and with difficulty, the
wife who had so yearned for him. Her impetuous son could not understand
her tardiness. Vehemently he chid her: "Mother, unfeeling mother, how
canst thou remain aloof, how keep from taking at my father's side thy
place to talk with him and question him? Mother, thy heart is harder
than a stone." But she only sat opposite to Ulysses and gazed and gazed
and wondered. Ulysses himself, at last, in despair at her impenetrable
silence, exclaimed, "An iron heart is hers." But it was only that she
could not believe. It seemed so incredible to her that the long waiting
should be over; that the desire of her heart should really be fulfilled;
that this man before her should be indeed the husband, the long-lost
husband, and not a mocking dream. But when at last it dawned upon her,
when he gave her the token of the mystery known only to him and to her,
then indeed the ice of incredulity melted from her heart, and her knees
faltered and the tears streamed from her eyes, "and she rose and ran to
him and flung her arm about his neck and kissed his brow, and he, too,
wept as in his arms he held his dearly loved and faithful wife." "As
welcome as the land to those who swim the deep, tossed by the billow
and the blast, and few are those who from the hoary ocean reach the
shore, their limbs all crested with the brine, these gladly climb the
sea-beach and are safe--so welcome was her husband to her eyes, nor
would her fair white arms release his neck."
And so with the words uttered by the shade of Agamemnon we may fitly
close this retrospect of the poem:
"Son of Laertes, fortunate and wise,
Ulysses! thou by feats of eminent might
And valor dost possess thy wife again.
And nobly minded is thy blameless queen,
The daughter of Icarius, faithfully
Remembering him to whom she gave her troth
While yet a virgin. Never shall the fame
Of his great valor perish, and the gods
Themselves shall frame, for those who dwell on earth,
Sweet strains in praise of sage Penelope."
Well might the rhapsodes in the olden days, clad in embroidered robes,
with golden wreaths about their brows, recite such verses as these to
the assembled thousands and ten thousands. Well might the Hellenic race
treasure these records of filial loyalty, of maiden purity, of wifely
tenderness and fidelity, of bravery, and of intelligence. And well may
we, too, desire that this golden stream flowing down to us from ancient
Greece shall enter the current of our children's lives to broaden and
enrich them.
I have not space at my command to attempt a minute analysis of the
Iliad, and shall content myself with mentioning the main significant
points. The Iliad is full of the noises of war, the hurtling of arrows,
the flashing of swords, the sounding of spears on metal shields, the
groans of the dying, "whose eyes black darkness covers." The chief
virtues illustrated are valor, hospitality, conjugal affection, respect
for the aged. I offer the following suggestions to the teacher. After
describing the wrath of Achilles, relate the meeting of Diomedes and
Glaucus, their hostile encounter, and their magnanimous embrace on
discovering that they are great friends. Read the beautiful passage
beginning with the words, "Even as the generations of leaves, such are
those likewise of men." Dwell on the parting of Hector and Andromache.
Note that she has lost her father, her lady mother, and her seven
brothers. Hector is to her father, mother, brother, and husband, all in
one. Note also Hector's prayer for his son that the latter may excel him
in bravery. As illustrative of friendship, tell the story of Achilles's
grief for Patroclus, how he lies prone upon the ground, strewing his
head with dust; how he follows the body lamenting; how he declares that
though the dead forget their dead in Hades, even there he would not
forget his dear comrade. Next tell of the slaying of Hector, and how
Achilles honors the suppliant Priam and restores to him the body of his
son. It is the memory of his own aged father, which the sight of Priam
recalls, that melts Achilles's heart, and they weep together, each for
his own dead. Finally, note the tribute paid to Hector's delicate
chivalry in the lament of Helen.[15]
FOOTNOTES:
[13] See Jebb's Introduction to Homer.
[14] The quotations are taken from Bryant's translation of the Odyssey.
[15] In connection with the Homeric poems selections from Greek
mythology may be used, such as the story of Hercules, of Theseus, of
Perseus, the story of the Argonauts, and others. These, too, breathe the
spirit of adventure and illustrate the virtues of courage, perseverance
amid difficulties, chivalry, etc.
GRAMMAR COURSE.
LESSONS ON DUTY.
XI.
THE DUTY OF ACQUIRING KNOWLEDGE.
In setting out on a new path it is well to determine beforehand the goal
we hope to reach. We are about to begin the discussion of the grammar
course, which is intended for children between twelve and fifteen years
of age, and accordingly ask: What result can we expect to attain? One
thing is certain, we must continue to grade our teaching, to adapt each
successive step to the capacities of the pupils, to keep pace with their
mental development.
The due gradation of moral teaching is all-important. Whether the
gradations we propose are correct is, of course, a matter for
discussion; but, at all events, a point will be gained if we shall have
brought home forcibly to teachers the necessity of a graded, of a
progressive system.
In the primary course we have set before the pupils examples of good and
bad conduct, with a view to training their powers of moral perception.
We are now ready to advance from percepts to concepts. We have
endeavored to cultivate the faculty of observation, we can now attempt
the higher task of generalization. In the primary course we have tried
to make the pupils perceive moral distinctions; in the grammar course we
shall try to make them reason about moral distinctions, help them to
gain notions of duty, to arrive at principles or maxims of good conduct.
The grammar course, therefore, will consist in the main of lessons on
duty.
What has just been said, however, requires further explanation to
prevent misapprehension. I have remarked that the pupil is now to reach
out toward concepts of duty, and to establish for himself maxims or
principles of conduct. But of what nature shall these maxims be? The
philosopher Kant has proposed the following maxim: "So act that the
maxim underlying thy action may justify itself to thy mind as a
universal law of conduct." According to him, the note of universality is
the distinctive characteristic of all ethical conduct. The school of
Bentham proposes a different maxim: "So act that the result of thy
action shall tend to insure the greatest happiness of the greatest
number." Theologians tell us so to act that our will may harmonize with
the will of God. But pupils of the grammar grade are not ripe to
understand such metaphysical and theological propositions. And,
moreover, as was pointed out in our first lecture, it would be a grave
injustice to teach in schools supported by all ethical first principles
which are accepted only by some. We are not concerned with first
principles. We exclude the discussion of them, be they philosophical or
theological, from the school. But there are certain secondary
principles, certain more concrete rules of behavior, which nevertheless
possess the character of generalizations, and these will suffice for
our purpose. And with respect to these there is really no difference of
opinion among the different schools and sects, and on them as a
foundation we can build.
It is our business to discover such secondary principles, and in our
instruction to lead the pupil to the recognition of them. The nature of
the formulas of duty which we have in mind--formulas which shall express
the generalized moral experience of civilized mankind, will appear more
plainly if we examine the processes by which we arrive at them. An
example will best elucidate: Suppose that I am asked to give a lesson on
the duty of truthfulness. At the stage which we have now reached it will
not be enough merely to emphasize the general commandment against lying.
The general commandment leaves in the pupil's mind a multitude of doubts
unsolved. Shall I always tell the truth--that is to say, the whole
truth, as I know it, and to everybody? Is it never right to withhold the
truth, or even to say what is the contrary of true, as, e. g., to the
sick or insane. Such questions as these are constantly being asked. What
is needed is a rule of veracity which shall leave the general principle
of truth-speaking unshaken, and shall yet cover all these exceptional
cases. How to arrive at such a rule? I should go about it in the
following manner, and the method here described is the one which is
intended to be followed throughout the entire course of lessons on duty.
I should begin by presenting a concrete case. A certain child had broken
a precious vase. When asked whether it had done so, it answered, "No."
How do you characterize such a statement? As a falsehood. The active
participation of the pupils in the discussion is essential. Properly
questioned, they will join in it heart and soul. There must be constant
give and take between teacher and class. Upon the fulfillment of this
condition the value of this sort of teaching entirely depends. The
teacher then proceeds to analyze the instance above given, or any other
that he may select from those which the pupils offer him. The child says
no when it should have said yes, or a person says black when he should
have said white. In what does the falsehood of such statements consist?
In the circumstance that the words spoken do not correspond to the
facts. Shall we then formulate the rule of veracity as follows: Make thy
words correspond to the facts; and shall we infer that any one whose
words do not correspond to the facts is a liar? But clearly this is not
so. The class is asked to give instances tending to prove the
insufficiency of the proposed formula. Before the days of Copernicus it
was generally asserted that the sun revolves around the earth. Should we
be justified in setting down the many excellent persons who made such
statements as liars? Yet their words did not correspond to the facts.
Very true; but they did not intend to deviate from the facts--they did
not know better. Shall we then change the formula so as to read: Intend
that thy words shall conform to the facts? But the phrase "correspond to
the facts" needs to be made more explicit. Cases occur in which a
statement does correspond to the facts, or, at least, seems to do so,
and yet a contemptible falsehood is implied. The instance of the truant
boy is in point who entered the school-building five minutes before the
close of the exercises, and on being asked at home whether he had been
at school, promptly answered "Yes"; and so he had been for five minutes.
But in this case the boy suppressed a part of the facts--and, moreover,
the essential part--namely, that he had been absent from school for five
hours and fifty-five minutes. Cases of mental reservation and the like
fall under the same condemnation. The person who took an oath in court,
using the words, "As truly as I stand on this stone," but who had
previously filled his shoes with earth, suppressed the essential
fact--viz., that he had filled his shoes with earth.
Shall we then formulate the rule in this wise: Intend to make thy words
correspond to the essential facts? But even this will not entirely
satisfy. For there are cases, surely, in which we deliberately frame our
words in such a way that they shall not correspond to the essential
facts--for instance, if we should meet a murderer who should ask us in
which direction his intended victim had fled, or in the case of an
insane person intent on suicide, or of the sick in extreme danger, whom
the communication of bad news would kill. How can we justify such a
procedure? We can justify it on the ground that language as a means of
communication is intended to further the rational purposes of human
life, and not conversely are the rational purposes of life to be
sacrificed to any merely formal principle of truth-telling. A person
who, like the murderer, is about to use the fact conveyed to him by my
words as a weapon with which to kill a fellow-being has no right to be
put in possession of the fact. An insane person, who can not use the
truthful communications of others except for irrational ends, is also
outside the pale of those to whom such tools can properly be intrusted.
And so are the sick, when so enfeebled that the shock of grief would
destroy them. For the rational use of grief is to provoke in us a moral
reaction, to rouse in us the strength to bear our heavy burdens, and, in
bearing, to learn invaluable moral lessons. But those who are physically
too weak to rally from the first shock of grief are unable to secure
this result, and they must therefore be classed, for the time being, as
persons not in a condition to make rational use of the facts of life. It
is not from pain and suffering that we are permitted to shield them.
Pain and suffering we must be willing both to endure and also to inflict
upon those whom we love best, if necessary. Reason can and should
triumph over pain. But when the reasoning faculty is impaired, or when
the body is too weak to respond to the call of reason, the obligation of
truth-_telling_ ceases. I am not unaware that this is a dangerous
doctrine to teach. I should always take the greatest pains to impress
upon my pupils that the irrational condition, which alone justifies the
withholding of the truth, must be so obvious that there can be no
mistake about it, as in the case of the murderer who, with knife in
hand, pursues his victim, or of the insane, or of the sick, in regard to
whom the physician positively declares that the shock of bad news would
endanger life. But I do think that we are bound to face these
exceptional cases, and to discuss them with our pupils. For the latter
know as well as we that in certain exceptional situations the best men
do not tell the truth, that in such situations no one tells the truth,
except he be a moral fanatic. And unless these exceptional cases are
clearly marked off and explained and justified, the general authority of
truth will be shaken, or at least the obligation of veracity will become
very much confused in the pupil's mind. In my opinion, the confusion
which does exist on this subject is largely due to a failure to
distinguish between inward truthfulness and truthfulness as reflected in
speech. The law of inward truthfulness tolerates no exceptions. We
should always, and as far as possible, be absolutely truthful, in our
thinking, in our estimates, in our judgments. But language is a mere
vehicle for the communication of thoughts and facts to others, and in
communicating thoughts and facts we _are_ bound to consider in how far
others are fit to receive them. Shall we then formulate the rule of
veracity thus: Intend to communicate the essential facts to those who
are capable of making a rational use of them. I think that some such
formula as this might answer. I am not disposed to stickle for this
particular phraseology. But the formula as stated illustrates my
thought, and also the method by which the formulas, which we shall have
to teach in the grammar course are to be reached. It is the inductive
method. First a concrete case is presented, and a rule of conduct is
hypothetically suggested, which fits this particular case. Then other
cases are adduced. It is discovered that the rule as it stands thus far
does not fit them. It must therefore be modified, expanded. Then, in
succession, other and more complex cases, to which the rule may possibly
apply are brought forward, until every case we can think of has been
examined; and when the rule is brought into such shape that it fits them
all, we have a genuine moral maxim, a safe rule for practical guidance,
and the principle involved in the rule is one of those secondary
principles in respect to which men of every sect and school can agree.
It needs hardly to be pointed out how much a casuistical discussion of
this sort tends to stimulate interest in moral problems, and to quicken
the moral judgment. I can say, from an experience of over a dozen years,
that pupils between twelve and fifteen years of age are immensely
interested in such discussions, and are capable of making the subtilest
distinctions. Indeed, the directness with which they pronounce their
verdict on fine questions of right and wrong often has in it something
almost startling to older persons, whose contact with the world has
reconciled them to a somewhat less exacting standard.
But here a caution is necessary. Some children seem to be too fond of
casuistry. They take an intellectual pleasure in drawing fine
distinctions, and questions of conscience are apt to become to them mere
matter of mental gymnastics. Such a tendency must be sternly repressed
whenever it shows itself. In fact, reasoning about moral principles is
always attended with a certain peril. After all, the actual morality of
the world depends largely on the moral habits which mankind have formed
in the course of many ages, and which are transmitted from generation to
generation. Now a habit acts a good deal like an instinct. Its force
depends upon what has been called unconscious cerebration. As soon as we
stop to reason about our habits, their hold on us is weakened, we
hesitate, we become uncertain, the interference of the mind acts like a
brake. It is for this reason that throughout the primary course, we have
confined ourselves to what the Germans call _Anschauung_, the close
observation of examples with a view of provoking imitation or
repugnance, and thus strengthening the force of habit. Why, then,
introduce analysis now, it may be asked. Why not be content with still
further confirming the force of good habits? My answer is that the force
of habit must be conserved and still further strengthened, but that
analysis, too, becomes necessary at this stage. And why? Because habits
are always specialized. A person governed by habits falls into a certain
routine, and moves along easily and safely as long as the conditions
repeat themselves to which his habits are adjusted. But when confronted
by a totally new set of conditions, he is often quite lost and helpless.
Just as a person who is solely guided by common sense in the ordinary
affairs of life, is apt to be stranded when compelled to face
circumstances for which his previous experience affords no precedent. It
is necessary, therefore, to extract from the moral habits the latent
rules of conduct which underlie them, and to state these in a general
form which the mind can grasp and retain, and which it will be able to
apply to new conditions as they arise. To this end analysis and the
formulation of rules are indispensable. But in order, at the same time,
not to break the force of habit, the teacher should proceed in the
following manner: He should always take the moral habit for granted. He
should never give his pupils to understand that he and they are about to
examine whether, for instance, it is wrong or not wrong to lie. The
commandment against lying is assumed, and its obligation acknowledged at
the outset. The only object of the analysis is to discern more exactly
what is meant by lying, to define the rule of veracity with greater
precision and circumspectness, so that we may be enabled to fulfill the
commandment more perfectly. It is implied in what I have said that the
teacher should not treat of moral problems as if he were dealing with
problems in arithmetic. The best thing he can do for his pupils--better
than any particular lesson he can teach--will be to communicate to them
the spirit of moral earnestness. And this spirit he can not communicate
unless he be full of it himself. The teacher should consecrate himself
to his task; he should be penetrated by a sense of the lofty character
of the subject which he teaches. Even a certain attention to externals
is not superfluous. The lessons, in the case of the younger children,
may be accompanied by song; the room in which the classes meet may be
hung with appropriate pictures, and especially is it desirable that the
faces of great and good men and women shall look down upon the pupils
from the walls. The instruction should be given by word of mouth; for
the right text-books do not yet exist, and even the best books must
always act as a bar to check that flow of moral influence which should
come from the teacher to quicken the class. To make sure that the pupils
understand what they have been taught, they should be required from time
to time to reproduce the subject matter of the lessons in their own
language, and using their own illustrations, in the form of essays.
And now, after this general introduction, let us take up the lessons on
the duties in their proper order. What is the proper order? This
question, you will remember, was discussed in the lecture on the
classification of duties. It was there stated that the life of man from
childhood upward, may be divided into periods, that each period has its
special duties, and that there is in each some one central duty around
which the others may be grouped. During the school age the paramount
duty of the pupil is to study. We shall therefore begin with the duties
which are connected with the pursuit of knowledge. We shall then take up
the duties which relate to the physical life and the feelings; next, the
duties which arise in the family; after that the duties which we owe to
all men; and lastly we will consider in an elementary way the civic
duties.