"Andrew," I said, with a smile, "when you go home to-night tell your
father that I hate Radicalism possibly more than he does."
The father came down to-night to apologise. "Aw thocht ye was ane o'
they wheezin' Radicals," he explained. Then he added, "And what micht
yer politics be?"
"I am a Utopian," I said modestly.
He scratched his head for a moment, then he gave it up and asked my
opinion of the weather. We discussed turnips for half-an-hour, at the
end of which time I am sure he was wondering how an M.A. could be such
an ignoramus. We parted on friendly terms.
* * *
I do not think that I have any definite views on the teaching of
religion to bairns; indeed, I have the vaguest notion of what religion
means. I am just enough of a Nietzschean to protest against teaching
children to be meek and lowly. I once shocked a dear old lady by saying
that the part of the Bible that appealed to me most was that in which
the Pharisee said: "I thank God that I am not as other men." I was young
then, I have not the courage to say it now.
I do, however, hold strongly that teaching religion is not my job. The
parish minister and the U.F. minister get good stipends for tending
their flocks, and I do not see any reason in the world why I should have
to look after the lambs. For one thing I am not capable. All I aim at is
teaching bairns how to live ... possibly that is the true religion; my
early training prevents my getting rid of the idea that religion is
intended to teach people how to die.
To-day I was talking about the probable formation of the earth, how it
was a ball of flaming gas like the sun, how it cooled gradually, how
life came. A girl looked up and said: "Please, sir, what about the
Bible?" I explained that in my opinion the creation story was a story
told to children, to a people who were children in understanding. I
pointed out a strange feature, discovered to me by the parish minister,
that the first chapter of Genesis follows the order of scientific
evolution ... the earth is without form, life rises from the sea, then
come the birds, then the mammals.
But I am forced to give religious instruction. I confine my efforts to
the four gospels; the bairns read them aloud. I seldom make any comment
on the passages.
In geography lessons I often take occasion to emphasise the fact that
Muhammudans and Buddhists are not necessarily stupid folk who know no
better. I cannot lead bairns to a religion, but I can prevent their
being stupidly narrow.
No, I fear I have no definite opinions on religion.
I set out to enter the church, but I think that I could not have stayed
in it. I fancy that one fine Sunday morning I would have stood up in
the pulpit and said: "Friends, I am no follower of Christ. I like fine
linen and tobacco, books and comfort. I should be in the slums, but I am
not Christlike enough to go there. Goodbye."
I wonder! Why then do I not stand up and say to the School Board: "I do
not believe in this system of education at all. I am a hypocrite when I
teach subjects that I abominate. Give me my month's screw. Goodbye." I
sigh ... yet I like to fancy that I could not have stayed in the kirk.
One thing I am sure of: a big stipend would not have tempted me to stay.
I have no wish for money; at least, I wouldn't go out of my way to get
it. I wouldn't edit a popular newspaper for ten thousand a year. Of that
I am sure. Quite sure. Quite.
Yet I once applied for a job on a Tory daily. I was hungry then. What if
I were hungry now? The flesh is weak ... but, I could always go out on
tramp. I more than half long for the temptation. Then I should discover
whether I am an idealist or a talker. Possibly I am a little of both.
I began to write about religion, and I find myself talking about
myself. Can it be that my god is my ego?
* * *
I began these log-notes in order to discover my philosophy of education,
and I find that I am discovering myself. This discovery of self must
come first. Personality goes far in teaching. May it go too far? Is it
possible that I am a danger to these bairns? May I not be influencing
them too much? I do not think so. Anything I may say will surely be
negatived at home; my word, unfortunately, is not so weighty as
father's.
In what is called Spelling Reform we cannot have a revolution; all we
can hope for is a reform within Spelling, a reform that will abolish
existing anomalies. So in education we cannot have a revolution. All we
can hope for is a reform wrought within education by the teacher. If
every teacher were a sort of Wellsian-Shavian-Nietzschean-Webbian
fellow, the children would be directly under two potent influences--the
parents and teachers.
"What is Truth?" millions of Pilates have asked. It is because we have
no standard of Truth that our education is a failure. Each of us gets
hold of a corner of the page of Truth, but the trouble is that so many
grasp the same corner. It is a corner dirty with thumb-marks ... "Humour
in Bow Street," "Knighthood for Tooting Philanthropist," "Dastardly Act
by Leeds Strikers," "Special Service of Praise in the Parish Kirk" ...
marks do not obliterate the page. My corner is free from thumbmarks, and
anyone can read the clear type of "Christlessness in Bow Street,"
"Jobbery in the Sale of Honours," "Murder of Starving Strikers,"
"Thanksgiving Service for the Blessing of Whitechapel" ... but few will
read this corner's story; the majority likes the filthy corner with the
beautiful news.
I have discovered my mission. I am the apostle of the clean corner with
the dirty news written on it.
* * *
I began to read the second act of _An Enemy of the People_ this morning,
but I had to give it up; the bairns had lost interest. I closed the
book. "Suppose," I said, "suppose that this village suddenly became
famous as a health-resort. People would build houses and hotels, your
fathers would grow richer; and suppose that the doctor discovered that
the water supply was poisonous, that the pipes lay through a swamp where
fever germs were. What would the men who had built hotels and houses say
about the doctor? What would they do about the water supply?"
The unanimous opinion was that the water-pipes would be relaid; the
people would not want visitors to come and take fever.
This opinion leads me to conclude that bairns are idealists; childhood
takes the Christian view. Barrie says that genius is the power of being
a boy again at will; I agree, but Barrie and I are possibly thinking of
different aspects. Ibsen was a genius because he became as a little
child. Dr. Stockmann (Ibsen) is a simple child; he cannot realise that
self-interest can make his own brother a criminal to society.