And now the voices of our Moral Instruction Leagues will be lifted,
asking whether there is any reason why the appetite for perfection
should not be cultivated in rationally scientific terms instead of being
associated with the story of Jonah and the great fish and the thousand
other tales that grow up round religions. Yes: there are many reasons;
and one of them is that children all like the story of Jonah and the
whale (they insist on its being a whale in spite of demonstrations by
Bible smashers without any sense of humor that Jonah would not have
fitted into a whale's gullet--as if the story would be credible of a
whale with an enlarged throat) and that no child on earth can stand
moral instruction books or catechisms or any other statement of the case
for religion in abstract terms. The object of a moral instruction book
is not to be rational, scientific, exact, proof against controversy, nor
even credible: its object is to make children good; and if it makes them
sick instead its place is the waste-paper basket.
Take for an illustration the story of Elisha and the bears. To the
authors of the moral instruction books it is in the last degree
reprehensible. It is obviously not true as a record of fact; and the
picture it gives us of the temper of God (which is what interests an
adult reader) is shocking and blasphemous. But it is a capital story for
a child. It interests a child because it is about bears; and it leaves
the child with an impression that children who poke fun at old gentlemen
and make rude remarks about bald heads are not nice children, which is
a highly desirable impression, and just as much as a child is capable
of receiving from the story. When a story is about God and a child,
children take God for granted and criticize the child. Adults do the
opposite, and are thereby led to talk great nonsense about the bad
effect of Bible stories on infants.
But let no one think that a child or anyone else can learn religion from
a teacher or a book or by any academic process whatever. It is only
by an unfettered access to the whole body of Fine Art: that is, to the
whole body of inspired revelation, that we can build up that conception
of divinity to which all virtue is an aspiration. And to hope to find
this body of art purified from all that is obsolete or dangerous
or fierce or lusty, or to pick and choose what will be good for any
particular child, much less for all children, is the shallowest
of vanities. Such schoolmasterly selection is neither possible nor
desirable. Ignorance of evil is not virtue but imbecility: admiring
it is like giving a prize for honesty to a man who has not stolen your
watch because he did not know you had one. Virtue chooses good from
evil; and without knowledge there can be no choice. And even this is a
dangerous simplification of what actually occurs. We are not choosing:
we are growing. Were you to cut all of what you call the evil out of
a child, it would drop dead. If you try to stretch it to full human
stature when it is ten years old, you will simply pull it into two
pieces and be hanged. And when you try to do this morally, which is what
parents and schoolmasters are doing every day, you ought to be hanged;
and some day, when we take a sensible view of the matter, you will be;
and serve you right. The child does not stand between a good and a
bad angel: what it has to deal with is a middling angel who, in normal
healthy cases, wants to be a good angel as fast as it can without
killing itself in the process, which is a dangerous one.
Therefore there is no question of providing the child with a carefully
regulated access to good art. There is no good art, any more than there
is good anything else in the absolute sense. Art that is too good for
the child will either teach it nothing or drive it mad, as the Bible has
driven many people mad who might have kept their sanity had they been
allowed to read much lower forms of literature. The practical moral is
that we must read whatever stories, see whatever pictures, hear whatever
songs and symphonies, go to whatever plays we like. We shall not like
those which have nothing to say to us; and though everyone has a right
to bias our choice, no one has a right to deprive us of it by keeping us
from any work of art or any work of art from us.
I may now say without danger of being misunderstood that the popular
English compromise called Cowper Templeism (unsectarian Bible education)
is not so silly as it looks. It is true that the Bible inculcates half
a dozen religions: some of them barbarous; some cynical and pessimistic;
some amoristic and romantic; some sceptical and challenging; some
kindly, simple, and intuitional; some sophistical and intellectual; none
suited to the character and conditions of western civilization unless it
be the Christianity which was finally suppressed by the Crucifixion, and
has never been put into practice by any State before or since. But the
Bible contains the ancient literature of a very remarkable Oriental
race; and the imposition of this literature, on whatever false
pretences, on our children left them more literate than if they knew
no literature at all, which was the practical alternative. And as our
Authorized Version is a great work of art as well, to know it was better
than knowing no art, which also was the practical alternative. It is
at least not a school book; and it is not a bad story book, horrible as
some of the stories are. Therefore as between the Bible and the blank
represented by secular education, the choice is with the Bible.