boys, and the wonder is that space had never before meant anything more or
other than a word to be spelled. The school and the home had had boundless
opportunities to inculcate in them a sense of space, yet this delightful
task was left to a passenger on board the ship. But for his kindly offices
those boys might have gone on for years conceiving of space as merely a
word of five letters. It would have been easy for parent or teacher to
engender in them some appreciation of space by explaining to them that if
they were to travel thirty miles a day it would require twenty-two years
to reach the moon,--which is, in reality, our next-door neighbor,--and
that to reach the sun, at the same rate of travel, would require more than
eight thousand years, or the added lifetimes of almost three hundred
generations. But they were sent abroad to see the wonders of the Old World
with no real conception of space and, therefore, no feeling of respect for
it. Before their trip abroad they never could have read the last two
verses of the eighth chapter of Romans with any real appreciation.
Still our schools go on their complacent way, teaching words, words, words
that are utterly devoid of meaning to the pupils, and, sad to relate, seem
to think their mission accomplished. The pupils are required to spell
words, define words, write words, and parse words day after day as if
these words were lifeless and meaningless blocks of wood to be merely
tossed up and down and moved hither and thither. So soon as a word becomes
instinct with life and meaning, it kindles the child's interest at its
every recurrence and it becomes as truly an entity as a person. It is then
endowed with attributes that distinguish it clearly from its fellows and
becomes, to the child, a vivid reality in the scheme of life. To our two
boys every star that meets their gaze conjures up a host of memories and
helps to renew their spiritual experience and widen their horizon. Space
is a reality, to them, a mighty reality, and they cannot think of it
without a deep sense of respect.
There are people of mature years who have never given to their hands a
close examination. Such an examination will disclose the fact that the
hand is an instrument of marvelous design. It will be seen that the
fingers all differ in length but, when they grasp an orange or a ball, it
will be noted that they are conterminous--that the ends form a straight
line. This gives them added purchase and far greater power of resistance.
Were they of equal length the pressure upon the ball would be distributed
and it could be wrested from the grasp far more readily. No mechanical
contrivance has ever been designed that is comparable to the hand in
flexibility, deftness, adaptability, or power of prehension. It can pick
up a needle or a cannon-ball at will. Its touch is as light as a feather
or as stark as a catapult. It can be as gentle as mercy or as harsh as
battle. It can soothe to repose or rouse to fury. It can express itself in
the gentle zephyr or in the devastating whirlwind. Its versatility is
altogether worthy of notice, and we may well hold the lesson in history in
abeyance, for the nonce, while we inculcate due respect for the hand. For
no one can contemplate his hand for five minutes and not gain for it a
feeling of profound respect.
What is true of the hand is true of the whole human body. This is the very
acme of created things; this is God's masterpiece. How any one can fail to
respect such a wonderful piece of work is beyond explanation. The process
of walking or of breathing must hold the thoughtful person enthralled and
enchanted. But, strange as it may seem, there are those who seem not to
realize in what a marvelous abode their spirits have their home. Such
scant respect do they have for their bodies that they defile them and
treat them with shameless ignominy. They saturate them with poisons and
vulgarize them with unseemly practices. They seem to regard them as mere
property to be used or abused at pleasure and not temples to be honored.
The man who does not respect his own body can feel no respect or reverence
for its Creator nor for the soul that dwells within it. Such a man lacks
self-respect and self-respect is the fertile soil in which many virtues
flourish. The teaching of physiology that fails to generate a feeling of
deep respect for the human body is not the sort of teaching that should
obtain in our schools.
Again, a person who is possessed of fine sensibilities sees in the apple
tree in full bloom a creation of transcendant beauty and charm. The poet
cannot describe it, nor can the artist reproduce it. It is both a mystery
and a miracle. Into this miracle nature has poured her lavish treasures of
fertility, of rain, of sunshine, and of zephyrs, and from it at the zenith
of its beauty the full-throated robin pours forth his heart in melodious
greeting. It may be well to dismiss the school to see the circus parade,
but even more fitting is it to dismiss the school to see this burst of
splendor. In its glorious presence silence is the only language that is
befitting. In such a presence sound is discord, for such enchantment as it
begets cannot be made articulate. Its influence steals into the senses and
lifts the spirit up. To defile or despoil such beauty would be to
desecrate a shrine. But the sordid man sees in this symphony of color
nothing else than a promise of fruit. His response is wholly physical, not
spiritual at all. His spiritual sense seems atrophied and he can do
nothing but estimate the bushels of fruit. He feels no respect for the
beauty before him and it is evident that somewhere along the line his
spiritual education was neglected. He excites our sympathy and our hope
that his children may not share his fate.
In the way of illustrating this quality of respect, we reach the climax in
the thirty-eighth chapter of the Book of Job and following. The dramatic
element of literature here reaches its zenith. God is the speaker, the
stricken, outcast Job is the sole auditor, and the stage is a whirlwind.
It is related of the late Professor Hodge that, on one occasion when he
was about to perform an experiment in his laboratory, he said to some
students who stood near, "Gentlemen, please remove your hats; I am about
to ask God a question." But here in this chapter we have a still more
sublime situation, for God is here asking questions of the man. And these
questions dig deep into the life of the man and show him how puny and
impotent is the finite in the presence of the Infinite. In this presence
there is neither pomp, nor parade, nor vaunting, nor self-aggrandizement,
nor arrogance. Even the printed page cannot but induce respect,
devoutness, and profound reverence, for it tells of nature's wonders--the
snow-crystals, the rain, the dewdrop, the light, the cloud, the
lightning--and reveals to the bewildered sight some apprehension of the
Author of them all.
The reader must, by now, have divined the conclusion of the whole matter.
Without respect there can be no reverence; and, without reverence, there
can be neither education nor civilization that is worth while. Some one
has defined reverence as "that exquisite constraint which leads a man to
hate all that is unsuitable and sordid and exaggerated and to love all
that is excellent and temperate and beautiful." This definition is both
comprehensive and inclusive, and the superintendent may well promulgate it
in his directions to his teachers. All teaching has to do with Truth and,
in the presence of Truth, whether in mathematics, or science, or history,
or language, the teacher should feel that he stands in the presence of the
Burning Bush and hears the command, "Put off thy shoes from off thy feet,
for the place whereon thou standest is holy ground." It seems a thousand
pities that even college students rush into the presence of the Burning
Bush in hobnailed shoes, shouting forth the college yell as they go.
The man who is reverent disclaims everything that is cheap, or vulgar, or
coarse, or unseemly. He is so essentially fine that the gaudy, the
bizarre, and the intemperate, in whatever form, grate upon his
sensibilities. He respects himself too much to be lacking in respect to
others. He instinctively shrinks away from ugly vulgarization as from a
pestilence. He is kindly, charitable, sympathetic, and sincere.
Exaggeration, insinuation, and caricature are altogether foreign to his
spirit. In his society we feel inspired and ennobled. His very presence is
a tonic, and his tongue distills only purity. His example is the lodestar
of our aspirations, and we fain would be his disciples. We feel him to be
something worshipful in that his life constantly beckons to our better
selves. To be reverent is to be liberally educated, while to be irreverent
is to dwell in darkness and ignorance. To be reverent is to live on the
heights, where the air is pure and tonic and where the sunlight is free
from taint. To be reverent is to acknowledge our indebtedness to all those
who, in art, in science, in literature, in music, or in philanthropy, have
caused the waters of life to gush forth in clear abundance. To be reverent
is to stand uncovered in the presence of Life and to experience the thrill
of the spiritual impulses that only an appreciation of life can generate.
If this is reverence, then the school honors itself by giving this quality
a place of honor.
CHAPTER TEN
SENSE OF RESPONSIBILITY
Every one who has had to do with Harvey's Grammar will readily recall the
sentence, "Milo began to lift the ox when he was a calf." Aside from the
interest which this sentence aroused as to the antecedent of the pronoun,
it also enunciated a bit of philosophy which caused the pupils to wonder
about the possibility of such a feat. They were led to consider such
examples of physical strength as Samson, Hercules, and the more modern
Sandow and to wonder, perhaps, just what course of training brought these
men to their attainment of physical power. It is comparatively easy for
adults to realize that such feats as these men accomplished could only
come through a long process of training. If a man can lift a given weight
on one day, he may be able to lift a slightly heavier weight the next day,
and so on until he has achieved distinction by reason of his ability to
lift great weights. So it is in this matter of responsibility. It need
hardly be said that responsibility is the heaviest burden that men and
women are called upon to lift or carry. We need only think of the
responsibilities pertaining to the office of the chief ruler of a country
in time of war, or of the commanding general of armies, or of the
president of large industrial concerns, and so on through the list. Such
men bear burdens of responsibility that cannot be estimated in terms of
weights or measures. We can easily think of the time when the manager of a
great industrial concern was a child in school, but it is not so easy to
think of the six-year-old boy performing the functions of this same
manager. However, we do know that the future rulers, generals, managers,
and superintendents are now sitting at desks in the schools and it
behooves all teachers to inquire by what process these pupils may be so
trained that in time they will be able to execute these functions.
In some such way we gain a right concept of responsibility. We cannot
think of the six-year-old boy as a bank president but, in our thinking, we
can watch his progress, in one-day intervals, from his initial experience
in school to his assumption of the duties pertaining to the presidency of
the bank. In thus tracing his progress there is no strain or stress in our
thinking nor does the element of improbability obtrude itself. We think
along a straight and level road where no hills arise to obstruct the view.
Each succeeding day marks an inch or so of progress toward the goal. But
should we set the responsibilities of the bank president over against the
powers of the child, the disparity would overwhelm our thinking and our
minds would be thrown into confusion. Our thinking is level and easy only
when we conceive of strength and responsibility advancing side by side and
at the same rate.
It would be an interesting experience to overhear the teacher inquiring of
the superintendent how she should proceed in order to inculcate in her
pupils a sense of responsibility. We should be acutely alert to catch
every word of the superintendent's reply. If he were dealing with such a
concrete problem as Milo and the calf, his response would probably be
satisfactory; but when such an abstract quality as responsibility is
presented to him his reply might be vague and unsatisfactory. His thinking
may have had to do with concrete problems so long that an abstract quality
presents a real difficulty to his mental operations. Yet the question
which the teacher propounds is altogether pertinent and reasonable and, if
he fails to give a satisfactory reply, he will certainly decline in her
esteem.
The normal child welcomes such a measure of responsibility as falls within
the compass of his powers and acquits himself of it in a manner that is
worthy of commendation. This open truth encourages the conviction that the
superintendent who can give to the teacher a definite plan by which she
will be able to develop a sense of responsibility, will commend himself to
her favor, if not admiration. They both know full well that if the pupil
emerges from the school period lacking this quality he will be a helpless
weight upon society and a burden to himself and his family, no matter what
his mental attainments. He will be but a child in his ability to cope with
situations that confront him and cannot perform the functions of manhood.
Though a man in physical stature he will shrink from the ordinary duties
that fall to the lot of a man and, like a child, will cling to the hand of
his mother for guidance. In all situations he will show himself a
spiritual coward.
The problem is easy of statement but by no means so easy of solution. At
the age of six the boy takes his place at a desk in the school. Twenty
years hence, let us say, he will be a railway engineer. As such he must
drive his engine at forty miles an hour through blinding storm, or in inky
darkness, or through menacing and stifling tunnels, or over dizzy bridges,
or around the curve on the edge of the precipice--and do this with no
shadow of fear or hint of trepidation, but always with a keen eye, a cool
head, and a steady hand. In his keeping are the lives of many persons, and
any wavering or unsteadiness, on his part, may lead to speedy disaster.
Somewhere along the way between the ages of six and twenty-six he must
gain the ability to assume a heavy responsibility, and it would seem a
travesty upon rational education to force him to acquire this ability
wholly during the eight years succeeding his school experience. If, at the
age of eighteen, he does not exhibit some ability in this respect, the
school may justly be charged with dereliction.
Or, twenty years hence, this boy may be a physician. If so, he will find a
weeping mother clinging to him and imploring him to save her baby. He will
see a strong man broken with sobs and offering him a fortune to save his
wife from being engulfed in the dark shadows. His ears will be assailed
with delirious ravings that call to him for relief and life. He will be
importuned by the grief-crushed child not to let her mother go. He will be
called upon to grapple with plague, with pestilence, with death itself.
Unless he can give succor, hope departs and darkness enshrouds and
blights. He alone can hold disease and death at bay and bid darkness give
place to light and cause sorrow to vanish before the smile of joy. He
stands alone at the portal to do battle against the demons of devastation
and desolation. And, if he fails, the plaints of grief will penetrate the
innermost chambers of his soul. He must not fail. So he toils on through
the long night watches, disdaining food and rest, that the breaking day
may bring in gladness and crown the arts of healing. And the school that
does not share in the glory of such achievement misses a noble
opportunity.
Again, twenty years hence, the little girl who now sits at her desk,
crowned with golden ringlets, will be a wife and mother, and the mistress
of a well-conditioned home. She is a composite of Mary and Martha and in
her kingdom reigns supreme and benign. In her home there is no hint of
"raw haste, half-sister to delay," for long since she acquired the habit
of serene mastery. She meets her manifold responsibilities with a smile
and sings her way through them all. If clouds arise, she banishes them
with the magic of her poise and amiability. She can say with Napoleon, "I
do not permit myself to become a victim of circumstances; I make
circumstances." Back in the school she learned order, system, method, and
acquired the sense of responsibility. At first the teacher's desk was her
special care, and by easy gradations the scope of her activities was
widened until she came to feel responsible for the appearance of the
entire schoolroom. Now in her womanhood she is a delight to her husband,
her children, her guests, and her neighbors. Emergencies neither daunt her
nor render her timorous, but, serene and masterful, she meets the new
situation as a welcome novelty, and, with supreme amiability, accepts it
as a friendly challenge to her resourcefulness. She needs not to apologize
or explain, for difficulties disappear at her approach because, in the
school, responsibility was one of the major goals of her training.
Or, again, two decades hence this child may have attained to a position in
the world of affairs where good taste, judgment, perseverance,
self-control, graciousness, and tact are accounted assets of value. But
these qualities, gained through experience, are as much a part of herself
as her hands. A thousand times in the past has the responsibility been
laid upon her of making selections touching shapes, colors, materials, or
types, till now her judgment is regarded as final. Her self-control has
become proverbial, but it is not the miracle that it seems, for it has
become grooved into a habit by much experience. She met all these lions in
her path at school and vanquished them all, with the aid of the teacher's
counsel and encouragement. She can perform heroisms now because she long
since contracted the habit of heroisms. And responsibility is most
becoming to her now because in the years past she learned how to wear it.
She has multiplied her powers and usefulness a hundred-fold by reason of
having learned to assume responsibility.
She has learned to lift her eyes and scan the far horizon and not be
afraid. With gentle, kindly eyes she can look into the faces of men and
women in all lands and not be abashed in their presence. She can soothe
the child to rest and prove herself a scourge to evil-doers, all within
the hour. She knows herself equal to the best, but not above the least.
She does not need to pose, for she knows her own power without ever
vaunting it. Her simplicity and sincerity are the fragrant bloom of her
sense of responsibility both to herself and her kind. She gives of herself
and her means as a gracious discharge of obligation to the less fortunate,
but never as charity. She feels herself bound up in the interests of
humanity and would do her full part in helping to make life more worth
while. Her touch has the gift of healing and her tongue distills kindness.
Her obligations to the human family are privileges to be esteemed and
enjoyed and not bur-dens to be endured and reviled. And she thinks of her
superintendent and teachers with gratitude for their part in the process
of developing her into what she is, and what she may yet become.
Only such as the defiant, wicked, and rebellious Cain can ask the
question, "Am I my brother's keeper?" The man who feels no responsibility
for the character and good name of the community of which he is a member
is a spiritual outcast and will become a social pariah if he persists in
maintaining his attitude of indifference. For, after all, responsibility
amounts to a spiritual attitude. If the man feels no responsibility to his
community he will begrudge it the taxes he pays, the improvements he is
required to make, and will be irked by every advance that makes for civic
betterment. To him the church and school will seem excrescences and
superfluities, nor would he grieve to see them obliterated. His exodus
would prove a distinct boon to the community. He may have a noble
physique, good mentality, much knowledge, and large wealth, and yet, with
all these things in his favor, he is nevertheless a liability for the
single reason that he lacks a sense of responsibility. Could his teachers
have foreseen his present attitude no efforts, on their part, would have
seemed too great if only they could have forestalled his misfortune. And
it is for the teachers to determine whether the boy of today shall become
a duplicate of the man here portrayed.
Every man who lives under a democratic form of government has the
opportunity before him each day to raise or lower the level of democracy.
When the night comes on, if he reflects upon the matter, he must become
conscious that he has done either the one or the other. Either democracy
is a better thing for humanity because of his day's work and influence, or
it is a worse thing. This is a responsibility that he can neither shift
nor shirk. It is fastened upon him with or against his will. It rests with
him to determine whether he would have every other man and every boy in
the land select him as their model and follow his example to the last
detail. He alone can decide whether he would have all men indulge in the
practices that constitute his daily life, consort with his companions,
hold his views on all subjects, read only the books that engage his
interest, duplicate his thoughts, aspirations, impulses, and language, and
become, each one, his other self. Every boy who now sits in the school
must answer these questions for himself sooner or later, nor can he hope
to evade them. Happy is that boy, therefore, whose teacher has the
foresight and the wisdom to train him into such a sense of responsibility
as will enable him to answer them in such a way that the future will bring
to him no pang of remorse.
Thomas A. Edison is one of the benefactors of his time. He reached out
into space and grasped a substance that is both invisible and intangible,
harnessed it with trappings, pushed a button, and the world was illumined.
There were years of unremitting toil behind this achievement, years of
discouragement bordering on despair, but years in which the light of hope
was kept burning. We accept his gift with the very acme of nonchalance and
with little or no feeling of gratitude. Perhaps he would not have it
otherwise. We do not know. But certain it is that his marvelous
achievement has made life more agreeable to millions of people and he must
be conscious of this fact. At some time in his life he must have achieved
a sense of responsibility to his fellows and this worthy sentiment must
have become the guiding principle in all his labors. If some teacher
fostered in him this sense of responsibility, she did a piece of work for
the world that can never be measured in terms of salary. She did not teach
arithmetic, or grammar, or geography. She taught Edison. And one of the
big results of her teaching was his attainment of this sense of
responsibility which far overtops all the arithmetic and history that he
ever learned. The man who carried the message to Garcia is another fitting
illustration of this same principle. In executing his commission he
overcame difficulties that would have seemed insurmountable to a less
intrepid man. He kept his eye on the goal and endured almost unspeakable
hardships in pressing forward toward this goal. Somehow and somewhere in
his life he had learned the meaning of responsibility and so felt that he
must not fail. The world came to know him as a hero because he was a hero
at heart and his heroic achievement had its origin in the training that
led him to feel a sense of responsibility.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
LOYALTY