mother, he does not deliberate but, like a flash, smites the mouth that
defames. He may deliberate afterward, for the mind then has a fact upon
which to work, but if he is a worthy son it is not till afterwards.
Spiritual impulses are as quick as powder and as direct as a shaft of
light. So quick are they that we are prone to disregard them in our
contemplation of their results. We see the boy strike and conclude, in a
superficial way, that his hand initiated the action, nor take pains to
trace this action back to the primal cause in the spiritual impulse. True,
both mind and body are called into action, but only as auxiliaries to
carry out the behests of the spirit. When the man utters an exclamation of
delight at sight of his country's flag in a foreign port, the sound that
we hear is but the conclusion or completion of the series of happenings.
It is not the initial happening at all. On the instant when his eyes
caught sight of the flag something took place inside the man's nature.
This spiritual explosion was telegraphed to the mind, the mind, in turn,
issued a command to the body, and the sound that was noted was the final
result. In a general way, education is the process of training mind and
body to obey and execute right commands of the spirit. This definition
will justify our characterization of education as a spiritual process.
Seeing, then, that the body is but a helper whose function is to execute
the mandates of the spirit, and seeing, too, that education is a process
of the spirit, it follows that our concern must be primarily and always
with the spirit as major. It is the spirit that reacts, not the mind or
the body, and education is, therefore, the process of inducing right
reactions of the spirit. The nature of these reactions depends upon the
quality of the external stimuli. If we provide the right sort of stimuli
the reactions will be right. If, today, the spirit reacts to a beautiful
picture, tomorrow, to the tree in bloom, the next day to an alluring
landscape, and the next to the glory of a sunrise, in time its reactions
to beauty in every form will become habitual. If we can induce reactions,
day by day, to beautiful or sublime passages in literature, in due time
the spirit will refuse to react to what is shoddy and commonplace. By
inducing reactions to increasingly better musical compositions, day after
day, we finally inculcate the habit of reacting only to high-grade music,
and the lower type makes no appeal. By such a process we shall finally
produce an educated, cultivated man or woman, the crowning glory of
education.
The measure of our success in this process of education will be the number
of reactions we can induce to the right sort of stimuli. In this, we shall
have occasion to make many substitutions. The boy who has been reacting to
ugliness must be lured away by the substitution of beauty. The beautiful
picture will take the place of the bizarre until nothing but such a
picture will give pleasure and satisfaction. Indeed, the substitution of
beauty for ugliness will, in time, induce a revolt against what is ugly
and stimulate the boy to desire to transform the ugly thing into a thing
of beauty. Many a home shows the effects of reaction in the school to
artistic surroundings. The child reacts to beauty in the school and so
yearns for the same sort of stimuli in the home. When the little girl
entreats her mother to provide for her such a ribbon as the teacher wears,
we see an exemplification of this principle. When only the best in
literature, in art, in nature, in music, and in conduct avail to produce
reactions, we may well proclaim the one who reacts to these stimuli an
educated person. It is well to repeat that these reactions are all
spiritual manifestations and that the conduct of mind and body is a
resultant.
To casual thinking it may seem a far cry from reactions and external
stimuli to loyalty, but not so by any means. The man or woman who has been
led to react to the Madonna of the Chair, the Plow Oxen, or the ceiling of
the Sistine Chapel will experience a revival and recurrence of the
reaction at every sight of the masterpiece, whether the original or a
reproduction. That masterpiece has become this person's standard of art
and neither argument, nor persuasion, nor sophistry can divorce him from
his ideal. The boy's mother is one of his ideals. He believes her to be
the best woman alive, and it were a sorry fact if he did not. Hence, when
her good qualities are assailed his spirit explodes and commands his right
arm to become a battering-ram. The kindness of the mother has caused the
boy's spirit to react a thousand times, and his reaction in defending her
name from calumny was but another evidence of an acquired spiritual habit.
Hence it is that we find loyalty enmeshed in these elements that pertain
to the province of psychology. It must be so, seeing that these elements
and loyalty have to do with the spirit, for loyalty is nothing other than
a reaction to the same external stimuli that have induced reactions many
times before. In setting up loyalty, therefore, as one of the big goals of
school endeavor the superintendent has only to make a list of the external
stimuli that will induce proper reactions and so groove these reactions
into habit. His problem, thus stated, seems altogether simple but, in
working out the details, he will find himself facing the entire scheme of
education. If he would induce reactions that spell loyalty he must make no
mistake in respect of external stimuli, for it must be reiterated that the
character of the stimuli conditions the reactions. We may not hope to
achieve loyalty unless through the years of training we have provided
stimuli of the right sort.
If the sentiment of loyalty concerns itself with the teachings of the
Bible and the tenets of the church, we call it religion; if it has to do
with one's country and what its flag represents, we call it patriotism;
and in many another relation we call it fidelity. Hence it is obvious that
loyalty is an inclusive quality and in its ramifications reaches out into
every phase of life. This gives us clear warrant for making it one of the
prime objectives in a rational, as distinguished from a traditional,
scheme of education. The progressive superintendent who is endowed with
perspicacity, resourcefulness, altruism, and faith in himself will consult
the highest interests of the boys and girls of his school before he
relegates the matter to oblivion. To such as he we must look for advance
and for the redemption of our schools from their traditional moorings. To
such as he we must look for the inoculation of the teachers with such
virus as will render them vital, dynamic, and eager to essay any new task
that gives promise of a larger and better outlook for their pupils.
In the second chapter of Revelation, tenth verse, we read, "Be thou
faithful unto death and I will give thee the crown of life." Now this is
quite as true in a psychological sense as it is in a scriptural sense. It
is a great pity that we do not read the Bible far more for lessons in
pedagogy. However, too many people misread the quoted passage. They
interpret the expression "unto death" as if it were "until death." This
interpretation would weaken the expression. The martyrs would not recant
even when the fires were blazing all about them or when their bodies were
lacerated. They were faithful unto death. In his poem _Invictus_ Henley
says,
In the fell clutch of circumstance
I have not winced nor cried aloud;
Under the bludgeonings of chance,
My head is bloody but unbowed.
And only so can the spirit hope to achieve emancipation and win out into
the clear. This is the crown of life. Michael Angelo represents Joseph of
Arimathea standing at the tomb of the Master with head erect and with the
mien of faith. He did not understand at all, and yet his faithful heart
encouraged him to hope and to hold his head from drooping. He was faithful
even in the darkness and on the morning of the Resurrection he received
his crown.
When we set up loyalty as one of our major goals we shall become alert to
every illustration of it that falls under our gaze. The story of Nathan
Hale will become newly alive and will thrill as never before. Over against
Nathan Hale we shall set Philip Nolan for the sake of comparison and
contrast. Even though our pupils may regard Joan of Arc as a fanatic, her
heroism and her fidelity to her convictions will shine forth as a star in
the night and her example as illustrating loyalty will be as seed planted
in fertile soil. In our quest for exemplars we shall find the pages of
history palpitating with life. We may sow dead dragon's teeth, but armed
men will spring into being. Thermopylæ will become a new story, while
William Tell and Arnold Winkelried will take rank among the demigods.
Sidney Carton will become far more than a mere character of fiction, for
on his head we shall find a halo, and Horace Mann will become far more
than a mere schoolmaster. Historians, poets, novelists, statesmen, and
philanthropists will rally about us to reinforce our efforts and to cite
to us men and women of all times who shone resplendent by reason of their
loyalty.
Our objective being loyalty, we shall omit the lesson in grammar for today
in order to induce the spirits of our pupils to react to the story of
Jephthah's daughter. For once they have emotionalized it, have really felt
its power, this story will become to them a rare possession and will
entwine itself in the warp and woof of their lives and form a pattern of
exceeding beauty whose colors will not fade. They shall hear the solemn
vow of the father to sacrifice unto the Lord the first living creature
that meets his gaze after the victory over his enemies. They shall see him
returning invested with the glory of the victor. Then the child will be
seen running forth to meet him, the first living creature his gaze has
fallen upon since the battle. They will note her gladness to see him and
to know that he is safe. They will see the dancing of her eyes and hear
her rippling, joyous laughter. They will become tense as the father is
telling her of his vow. But the climax is reached when they hear her
saying, "My father, if thou hast opened thy mouth unto the Lord, do to me
according to that which hath proceeded out of thy mouth." And, with bated
breath, they see her meeting death with a smile that her father may keep
his covenant with the Lord. Ever after this story will mark to them the
very zenith of loyalty, and the lesson in grammar can await another day.
Again, instead of the regular reading lesson the school may well
substitute the story of David, as given in the eleventh chapter of
Chronicles. "Now three of the thirty captains went down to the rock to
David, into the cave of Adullam; and the host of the Philistines encamped
in the valley of Rephaim. And David was then in the hold, and the
Philistines' garrison was then at Bethlehem. And David longed, and said,
'O that one would give me drink of the water of the well of Bethlehem that
is at the gate.' And the three brake through the host of the Philistines,
and drew water out of the well of Bethlehem, that was by the gate, and
took it, and brought it to David; but David would not drink of it, but
poured it out to the Lord, and said, 'My God forbid it me, that I should
do this thing. Shall I drink the blood of these men that have put their
lives in jeopardy? for with the jeopardy of their lives they brought.'
Therefore he would not drink it."
Without any semblance of irreverence we may paraphrase this story slightly
and have our own General Pershing stand in the place of David asking for
water. Then we can see three of his soldiers going across No Man's Land in
quest of the water which he craves. When they return, bearing the water to
him from the spring in the enemy's territory, we can see him pouring the
water upon the ground and refusing to drink it because of the hazard of
the enterprise. No fulsome explanation will need to be given to impress
upon the pupils the loyalty of the soldiers to their general, nor yet the
loyalty of the general to his soldiers. Or again, in the oral English two
of the pupils may be asked to tell the stories of Ruth and Esther, and
certain it is, if these stories are told effectively, the pupils will
thrill with admiration for the loyalty of these two noble characters.
On his way home for vacation a college student was telling his companion
on the train of the trip ahead, relating that at such a time he would
reach the junction and at a certain hour he would walk into his home just
in time for supper; he concluded by paying a tribute to the noble
qualities of his mother. This man is now an attorney in a large city and
it is inconceivable that he can ever be guilty of apostasy from the ideals
and principles to which he reacted in his boyhood in that village home.
Whatever temptations may come to him, the mother's face and voice and the
memory of her high principles will forbid his yielding and hold him steady
and loyal to that mother and her teaching. He must feel that if he should
debase himself he would dishonor her, and that he cannot do. He can still
hear her voice echoing from the years long gone, and feel the kindly touch
of her hand upon his brow. When troubles came, mother knew just what to do
and soon the sun was shining again. It was her magic that made the rough
places smooth, her voice that exorcised all evil spirits. She it was who
drove the lions from his path and made it a place of peace and joy. To be
disloyal to her would be to lose his manhood.
Whatever vicissitudes befall, we yearn to return to the old homestead, for
there, and there alone, can we experience, in full measure, the reactions
that came from our early associations with the old well, the bridge that
spans the brook, the trees bending low with their luscious fruit, the
grape arbor, the spring that bubbles and laughs as it gives forth its
limpid treasure, the fields that are redolent of the harvest season, and
the royal meal on the back porch. The man who does not smile in recalling
such scenes of his boyhood days is abnormal, disloyal, and an apostate.
These are the scenes that anchor the soul and give meaning to
civilization. The man who will not fight for the old home, and for the
memory of father and mother, will not fight for the flag of his country
and is, at heart, an alien. But the man who is loyal to the home of his
early years, loyal to the memory of his parents, and loyal to the
principles which they implanted in his life, such a man can never be less
than loyal to the flag that floats over him, loyal to the land in which he
finds his home, and ever loyal to the best and highest interests of that
land. Never, because of him, will the colors of the flag lose their luster
or the stars grow dim. He will be faithful even unto death, because
loyalty throbs in his every pulsation, is proclaimed by his every word, is
enmeshed in every drop of his blood and has become a vital part of
himself.
CHAPTER TWELVE
DEMOCRACY
In a recent book H.G. Wells says that education has lost its way. Whether
we give assent to this statement or not, it must be admitted that it is a
direct challenge to the school, the home, the pulpit, the press, to
government, and to society. If education has indeed lost its way, the
responsibility rests with these educational agencies. If education has
lost its way, these agencies must unite in a benevolent conspiracy to help
it find it again. The war has brought these agencies into much closer
fellowship and they are now working in greater harmony than ever before.
This is due to the fact that they are working to a common end, that they
are animated by a common purpose. The war is producing many readjustments
and a new scale of values. Many things that were once considered majors
are now thought of as minors, and the work of reconstruction has only just
begun. Civilization is now in the throes of a re-birth and people are
awakening from their complacency and thinking out toward the big things of
life. They are lifting their gaze above and beyond party, and creed, and
racial ties, and territorial boundaries, and fixing it upon their big
common interests. More and more has their thinking been focused upon
democracy, until this has become a watchword throughout the world. About
this focal point people's thoughts are rallying day by day, and their
community of feeling and thinking is leading to community of action.
Primarily, democracy is a spiritual impulse, the quintessence of the
Golden Rule. "As a man thinketh in his heart so is he," and this spiritual
quality inevitably precedes and conditions democracy in its outward
manifestations. Feeling, thinking, willing, doing--these are the stages in
the law of life. The Golden Rule in action has its inception in the love
of man for his fellow-man. The action is but the visible fruitage of the
invisible spiritual impulse. The soldier in the trench, the sailor on the
ship, the nurse in the hospital, the worker in the factory, and the
official at his desk, all exemplify this principle. The outward
manifestations of the inward impulse, democracy, are many and varied, and
the demands of the war greatly increased both the number and variety.
People essayed tasks that, a few years ago, would have seemed impossible;
nor did they demean themselves in so doing. The production and
conservation of food has become a national enterprise that has enlisted
the active coöperation of men, women, and children of all classes, creeds,
and conditions. Rich and poor joined in the work of war gardens, thinking
all the while not only of their own larders but quite as much of their
friends across the sea. And while they helped win the war, they were
winning their own souls, for they were yielding obedience to a spiritual
impulse and not a mere animal desire. Thus Americans and the people of
other lands, like children at school, are learning the lesson of
democracy. Moreover, they are now appalled at the wastage of former years
and at the cheapness of many of the things that once held their interest.
In this process of achieving an access of democracy it holds true that
"There is no impression without expression." Each reaction of the spirit
tends to groove the impression into a habit, and this process has had a
thousand exemplifications before our eyes since the opening of the war.
People who were only mildly inoculated with the democratic spirit at first
became surcharged with this spirit because of their many reactions. They
have been obeying the behests of spiritual impulse, working in war
gardens, eliminating luxuries, purchasing bonds, contributing to
benevolent enterprises, until democracy is their ruling passion. Every
effort a man puts forth in the interest of humanity has a reflex influence
upon his inner self and he experiences a spiritual expansion. So it has
come to pass that men and women are doing two, three, or ten times the
amount of work they did in the past and doing it better. Their aroused and
enlarged spiritual impulses are the enginery that is driving their minds
and bodies forward into virgin territory, into new and larger enterprises,
and thus into a wider, deeper realization of their own capabilities. So
the leaven of democracy is working through difficulties of surpassing
obduracy and resolving situations that seemed, in the past, to be beyond
human achievement. And of democracy it may be said, as of Dame Rumor of
old, "She grows strong by motion and gains power by going. Small at first
through fear, she presently raises herself into the air, she walks upon
the ground and lifts her head among the clouds." On the side of democracy,
at any rate, it would seem that education is beginning to find its way
again.
In the thinking of most people democracy is a form of government; but
primarily it is not this at all. Rather it is a spiritual attitude. The
form of government is an outward manifestation of the inward feeling. Our
ancestors held democracy hidden in their hearts as they crossed the ocean
long before it became visible as a form of government. The form of
government was inevitable, seeing that they possessed the feeling of
democracy, and that they were journeying to land in obedience to the
dictates of this feeling. In education for democracy the form of
government is an after-consideration; that will come as a natural
sequence. The chief thing is to inoculate the spirits of people with a
feeling for democracy. This germ will grow out into a form of government
because of the unity of feeling and consequent thinking. When this
spiritual attitude is generated, not only does the form of government
follow, but people meet upon the plane of a common purpose and give
expression to their inner selves in like movements. They come to realize
that, in a large way, each one is his brother's keeper. They are drawn
together in closer sympathy and good-will; artificial barriers disappear;
and they all become interested in the common good. Their interests,
purposes, and activities become unified, and life becomes better and
richer. Actuated by a common impulse, they exemplify what Kipling says in
his _Sons of Martha_:
Lift ye the stone or cleave the wood to make a path more fair or flat,
Lo, it is black already with blood some Son of Martha spilled for that,
Not as a ladder from Earth to Heaven, not as an altar to any creed,
But simple Service, simply given, to their own kind, in their common need.
As Dr. Henry van Dyke well says, "It is the silent ideal in the hearts of
the people which molds character and guides action."
It will be admitted without qualification that the school, when well
administered, constitutes a force that a altogether favorable to the
development of the spirit of democracy, and no one will deny that
democracy is a worthy goal toward which the activities of the school
should be directed. It is easy to see just how geography, for instance,
may be made a means to this end. The members of the class represent many
conditions of society, but in the study of geography they unite in a
common enterprise and have interests in common. Thus their spirits merge
and, for the time, they become unified in a common quest. They become
coordinates and confederates in this quest of geography, and the spirit of
democracy expands in an atmosphere so favorable to growth. These pupils
may differ in race, in creed, or in color, but these differences are
submerged in the zeal of a common purpose. Lines of demarcation are
obliterated and they are drawn together because of their thinking and
feeling in unison. The caste system does not thrive in the geography class
and snobbery languishes. The pupils have the same books, the same
assignments, the same teacher, and share alike in all the privileges and
pleasures which the class provides. Their grades are given on merit, with
no semblance of discrimination. In short, they achieve the democratic
attitude of spirit by means of the study of geography.
If the teacher holds democracy in mind, all the while, as the goal of
endeavor, she will find abundant opportunities to inculcate and develop
the democratic ideal. By tactful suggestion she directs the activities of
the children into channels that lead to unity of purpose. Where help is
needed, she arranges that help may be forthcoming. Where sympathy will
prove a solace, sympathy will be given, for sympathy grows spontaneously
in a democratic atmosphere. Books, pictures, and flowers come forth as if
by magic to bear their kindly messages and to render their appointed
service. By the subtle alchemy of her very presence, the teacher who is
deeply imbued with the spirit of democracy fuses the spirits of her pupils
and causes them to blend in the pursuit of truth. Thus she brings it to
pass that the spirit of democracy dominates the school and each pupil
comes to feel a sense of responsibility for the well-being of all the
others. So the school achieves the goal of democracy by means of the
studies pursued, and the pupils come to experience the altruism, the
impulse to serve, and the centrifugal urge of the democratic spirit.
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
SERENITY