and obeying all the natural laws, because they are ordained by our
beneficent God and Father, to bind together by bonds of mutual interest
and affection all the children of His great human family; and to
prepare them here, for his good will and pleasure hereafter.”
The thought in each of these passages is the same. Blindness,
deficiency, in fact evil, are to be accepted as part of the divine
will. This thought, taken in conjunction with the conception of the
unity of human nature, form the whole of Howe’s philosophy. The
conventional language of piety in which Howe generally expresses
himself, may perhaps conceal from some persons the first-hand power of
his nature. He seems only to be saying what everybody knows; but the
difference is that Howe sees the truth as a fact. It is not so much a
philosophic reality or abstraction as a first-hand visual perception,
always new, always reliable.
The different specific reforms with which Howe is to be credited are
neither deductions from theory, nor the summary of experiments made
by him; but simply things seen in themselves to be true. They can all
of them be grouped under almost any one of Christ’s sayings. I shall
return to this subject after speaking of Laura Bridgman, who has been
waiting too long.
The early history of the Boston Blind Asylum is like a great mediæval
romance--voluminous, glowing, many-sided. That history is recorded
in multitudinous documents and papers, letters, arguments, reports,
anecdotes--the whole mass of them being illumined by the central
figure of Howe who looms through the story like Launcelot or Parsifal.
Overpowering indeed is this literature, and it ought not to be
condensed. One should wander, and explore and browse in it. If I make a
few extracts from the story, it is not as a summary, but rather as an
advertisement. There are certain events that you cannot summarize, but
only introduce. The texture of them is greater than any condensation
can make it.
The New England Institution for the Education of the Blind began its
work in 1832. Howe, having neither house nor fortune of his own,
received a few blind children at his father’s house in Boston. Within a
very few years, however, the school was properly housed and supported,
and it remained ever a favorite with the public. It was not until 1837
that news was brought to Howe of the existence of Laura Bridgman, a
blind deaf-mute aged seven, then living with her parents on a New
Hampshire farm. He made a journey to New Hampshire to visit her, and
through good fortune was accompanied by Longfellow, Rufus Choate,
George Hilliard, and Dr. Samuel Eliot. The friends waited at Hanover
while Howe visited the Bridgman farmhouse in quest of his prize. “He
won it, and came back to the hotel triumphant,” says Dr. Eliot, “I
perfectly recollect his exultation at having secured her, and the
impression he made on me of chivalric benevolence.”
Laura Bridgman had lost her sight and hearing at the age of two,
through scarlet fever; and when she reached the school in Boston
was blind, deaf, dumb, and “without that distinct consciousness of
individual existence which is developed by the exercise of the senses.”
She was, nevertheless, a very remarkable being, sensitive, passionate,
and highly organized. Upon being transferred to the school “she seemed
quite bewildered at first, but soon grew contented, and began to
explore her new dwelling. Her little hands were continually stretched
out, and her tiny fingers in constant motion, like the feelers of an
insect. She was left for several days to form acquaintance with the
little blind girls, and to become familiar with her new home.”
Within two months Howe was able to write to Laura’s father--“I have
succeeded in making her understand several words in raised print, and I
am very sanguine in the hope that she will learn to read, and perhaps
to express her wants in writing.”... Such were the beginnings of that
remarkable intimacy which was fraught with so much consequence to the
world.
The process by which Laura Bridgman was taught the alphabet was in
principle the same as that now often employed in teaching ordinary
children; that is to say, certain words are first given to the child
as unities, and the child is led to discover the letters by thereafter
himself dissolving the words into component letters. “I had to trust,
however, to some chance effort of mine, causing her to perceive the
analogy between the signs which I gave her, and the things for which
they stood.... The first experiments were made by pasting upon several
common articles, such as keys, spoons, knives, and the like, little
paper labels on which the name of the article had been printed in
raised letters. The child sat down with her teachers and was easily led
to feel these labels, and examine them curiously. So keen was the sense
of touch in her tiny fingers that she immediately perceived that the
crooked lines in the word KEY, differed as much in form from
the crooked lines in the word SPOON as one article differed
from the other.
“Next, similar labels, on detached pieces of paper, were put into her
hands, and now she observed that the raised letters on these labels
resembled those pasted upon the articles....
“The next step was to give a knowledge of the component parts of the
complex sign, BOOK, for instance. This was done by cutting up
the labels into four parts, each part having one letter upon it. These
were first arranged in order, b-o-o-k, until she had learned it, then
mingled up together, then rearranged, she feeling her teacher’s hand
all the time, and eager to begin and try to solve a new step in this
strange puzzle.
“Slowly and patiently, day after day, and week after week, exercises
like these went on, as much time being spent at them as the child could
give without fatigue. Hitherto there had been nothing very encouraging;
not much more success than in teaching a very intelligent dog a variety
of tricks. But we were approaching the moment when the thought would
flash upon her that all these were efforts to establish a means of
communication between her thoughts and ours.”...
“The poor child had sat in mute amazement, and patiently imitated
everything her teacher did; but now the truth began to flash upon her,
her intellect began to work, she perceived that here was a way by which
she could herself make up a sign of anything that was in her own mind,
and show it to another mind, and at once her countenance lighted up
with a human expression; it was no longer a dog or parrot--it was an
immortal spirit, eagerly seizing upon a new link of union with other
spirits! I could almost fix upon the moment when this truth dawned upon
her mind, and spread its light to her countenance; I saw that the great
obstacle was overcome, and that henceforward nothing but patience and
persevering, plain and straightforward efforts were to be used.”...
The visit of Laura’s mother to her daughter at the Institution must
be chronicled, not only because of the singular beauty of Dr. Howe’s
description; but because it shows an attitude on his part of welcome
toward the parent, reverence for home influence, which is seldom found
in managers of institutions. The school-teacher and the director in a
reformatory generally regard the parent as their enemy. But with Howe
it was different. He seems really to have been able to shed a domestic
atmosphere through his Institution. He merged his own family life into
the Institution’s life, and yet enriched his own hearth thereby. This
is an accomplishment which can neither be understood nor imitated. It
was a gift.
“During this year and six months after she had left home, her mother
came to visit her, and the scene of their meeting was an interesting
one. The mother stood some time gazing with overflowing eyes upon her
unfortunate child, who, all unconscious of her presence, was playing
about the room. Presently Laura ran against her, and at once began
feeling of her hands, examining her dress, and trying to find out if
she knew her; but not succeeding in this, she turned away as from a
stranger, and the poor woman could not conceal the pang she felt at
finding that her beloved child did not know her.
“She then gave Laura a string of beads which she used to wear at home,
which were recognized by the child at once, who, with much joy, put
them around her neck, and sought me eagerly to say she understood the
string was from home. The mother tried to caress her, but poor Laura
repelled her, preferring to be with her acquaintances.”...
“The distress of the mother was now painful to behold; for, although
she had feared that she should not be recognized, the painful reality
of being treated with cold indifference by a darling child was too much
for woman’s nature to bear.
“After a while, on the mother taking hold of her again, a vague idea
seemed to flit across Laura’s mind that this could not be a stranger;
she therefore felt of her hands very eagerly, while her countenance
assumed an expression of intense interest. She became very pale, and
then suddenly red; hope seemed struggling with doubt and anxiety, and
never were contending emotions more strongly painted upon the human
face. At this moment of painful uncertainty, the mother drew her close
to her side and kissed her fondly; when at once the truth flashed upon
the child, and all mistrust and anxiety disappeared from her face, as
with an expression of exceeding joy she eagerly nestled to the bosom of
her parent, and yielded herself to her fond embraces.”...
“I had watched the whole scene with intense interest, being desirous
of learning from it all I could of the workings of her mind; but I
now left them to indulge unobserved those delicious feelings which
those who have known a mother’s love may conceive, but which cannot be
expressed.”...
Laura’s progress was so rapid that she became a world wonder and took
Howe in her wake into a new province of fame. It must not be thought
that Laura Bridgman was Howe’s only preoccupation. In 1841 Laura formed
a strong friendship with Oliver Caswell, a blind deaf-mute of eight who
was brought to the Asylum.
“Another important friendship of her childhood,” says Mrs. Richards,
“was that which she formed with Oliver Caswell, a blind deaf-mute boy
whom my father discovered and brought to the Institution in 1841. He
was then eight years old, a comely and healthy child, blind and deaf
from early infancy, and had received no special instruction.”...
“Laura herself,” says Dr. Howe, “took great interest and pleasure in
assisting those who undertook the tedious task of instructing him. She
loved to take his brawny hand with her slender fingers, and show him
how to shape the mysterious signs which were to become to him keys of
knowledge and methods of expressing his wants, his feelings, and his
thoughts.... Patiently, trustingly, without knowing why or wherefore,
he willingly submitted to the strange process. Curiosity, sometimes
amounting to wonder, was depicted on his countenance, over which
smiles would spread ever and anon; and he would laugh heartily as he
comprehended some new fact, or got hold of a new idea.
“No scene in a long life has left more vivid and pleasant impressions
upon my mind than did that of these two young children of nature
helping each other to work their way through the thick wall which cut
them off from intelligible and sympathetic relations with all their
fellow-creatures. They must have felt as if immured in a dark and
silent cell, through chinks in the wall of which they got a few vague
and incomprehensible signs of the existence of persons like themselves
in form and nature. Would that the picture could be drawn vividly
enough to impress the minds of others as strongly and pleasantly as
it did my own! I seem now to see the two, sitting side by side at
a school desk, with a piece of pasteboard, embossed with tangible
signs representing letters, before them and under their hands. I see
Laura grasping one of Oliver’s stout hands with her long graceful
fingers, and guiding his forefinger along the outline while, with her
other hand, she feels the changes in the features of his face, to
find whether, by any motion of the lips or expanding smile, he shows
any sign of understanding the lesson: while her own handsome and
expressive face is turned eagerly toward his, every feature of her
countenance absolutely radiant with intense emotions, among which
curiosity and hope shine most brightly. Oliver, with his head thrown a
little back, shows curiosity amounting to wonder; and his parted lips
and relaxing facial muscles express keen pleasure, until they beam with
that fun and drollery which always characterize him.”...
It is Howe, the former buccaneer, who thus sits watching the children.
He is now forty years of age and has still thirty-five years of
incessant activity ahead of him--activity in every field of practical
education.
The brilliancy of the Laura Bridgman episode has a little dimmed the
rest of his work. The supposed philosophical importance of the thing,
and its picturesque, pathetic aspect made it almost like the discovery
of America or communication with Mars. We can to-day hardly remember
or imagine what emotion the teacher of Laura Bridgman called forth all
over the world. Looked at in retrospect, this brilliant achievement is
enmeshed in a whole life-work of activity for the dependent classes,
much of which is almost as remarkable as the Bridgman episode.
Prison reform, school reform, care of the insane, care of paupers,
reformatories for the young, trade schools for the blind, every
possible effort of a man to help his less fortunate brother--these are
the subjects to which Dr. Howe devoted his life.
The episodes of conflict, of legislative struggle, of school-board
clash and educational campaign of which that life was made up, all have
the enduring interest that clings to scenes which are lighted up by a
true light--things which have been seen in their passage by the eye
of genius. Not by their own virtue, but by this vision do they live.
Howe’s central thesis is thus given in his own words by Sanborn, being
quoted from a report of the Massachusetts State Board of Charities,
1866:--
“The attempt to reduce to its lowest point the number of the dependent,
vicious and criminal classes, and tenderly provide for those who cannot
be lifted out of them, is surely worthy the best effort of a Christian
people. But that the work may be well done, it must be by the people
themselves, directly, and in the spirit of Him who taught that the
poor ye shall always have with you--that is, near you--in your heart
and affections, within your sight and knowledge; and not thrust far
away from you, and always shut up alone by themselves in almshouses,
or reformatories, that they may be kept at the cheapest rate by such a
cold abstraction as a state government. The people cannot be absolved
from these duties of charity which require knowledge of and sympathy
with sufferers; and they should never needlessly delegate the power of
doing good. There can be no vicarious virtue; and true charity is not
done by deputy.”...
Almost any passage quoted from Howe’s reports has the same quality.
It is written by a Christian missionary, who is also, within his own
field, a scientific man. He is exuberant, he is triumphant, he is
inexhaustible. No matter how familiar be the theme, it is always new
in his hands. Turn almost at random to his letters or papers; “Do not
prevent your blind child from developing, as he grows up, courage,
self-reliance, generosity, and manliness of character, by excessive
indulgence, by sparing him thought and anxiety and hard work, and by
giving him undeserved preference over others. If he lounges in a
rocking-chair or on the sofa cushions, don’t pat him and say, ‘the poor
dear child is tired’; but rout him out and up just as you would do with
any boy who was contracting lazy habits.”...
The following is from a report upon some cases of arrested development:
“It is true that these children and youth speak and read but little,
and that little very imperfectly compared with others of their age; but
if one brings the case home, and supposes these to be his own children,
it will not seem a small matter that a daughter, who, it was thought,
would never know a letter, can now read a simple story, and a son,
who could not say ‘father,’ can now distinctly repeat a prayer to his
Father in heaven.”... Or take some words from a private letter:--
“The great lesson--the hard lesson--your son has first to learn
is--_to be blind_; to live in the world without light; to look
upon what of existence is yet vouchsafed him as a blessing and a trust,
and to resolve to spend it gratefully, cheerfully, and conscientiously,
in the service of his Maker and for the happiness of those about him.”
It was a matter of accident that the blind should have engrossed
Howe’s attention earlier than the feeble-minded, for whom he began his
labors in 1846, and for whom a State school was, through his efforts,
established in Massachusetts, in 1852. This institution was quite
as exclusively Howe’s creation as was the School for the Blind, and
over it also he extended his domestic influence. “He passed like light
through the rooms. Charley Smith, gentlest of fifty-year-old children,
would leave his wooden horse to run to him. They loved him, the
children whom he had rescued from worse than death. When he died they
grieved for him after their fashion, and among all the tributes to his
memory, none was more touching than theirs: ‘He will take care of the
blind in heaven. Won’t he take care of us too?’”
It is not because of any one thing that he has done or said that
Howe is important. It is because he was by nature endowed with an
unconscious, spontaneous vision of truth in regard to the defective
classes. When dealing with them, he sees society as a whole and these
classes as parts of it. He saw that the whole of society must be used
in order to work out this problem. The state and the individual,
the influence of Christ and the value of money; in fact all social
factors are, in Howe’s mind, viewed as elements in that solid mesh
and transparent unity of suffering force--humanity. When he deals
with an institution, or a theory of criminal reform, he deals with
it as an agent of the invisible. It is to him no more than a device
or a symbol. Now, when we remember that he was, above all things,
a practical man, a man of means to ends, a man of experience and of
the counting house, we are prepared to realize the magnitude of his
intellect.
It was, however, only when Howe was thinking and scheming over the fate
of the dependent classes that his mind worked in this transcendent
way. In other matters he was an ordinary man, a man of headaches and
irritability, a man of doubts and errors.
I know of nothing that so marks the inscrutability of human nature as
does the history of Dr. Howe’s relation to the slavery question. That
question had been in active eruption ever since 1830. Dr. Howe, one of
the most sensitive philanthropists known to history, lived in daily
contact with the question for many years before he became effectively
interested. Here was a dependent class indeed--the slaves: here was
a question of human suffering compared to which the sorrows of his
deaf-mutes and half idiots were trifling accidents, the inevitable
percentage of pain that fringes all civilization. Compared to the
horrors of slavery the evils which excited Dr. Howe’s compassion were
imperceptible. Hardly ever have more telling exhibitions been unrolled
before benevolent people than those which were within the daily
repertory of the abolitionists, after Garrison had begun his work.
Nevertheless, for Dr. Howe the hour had not yet struck.
At last he became drawn into the slavery question and, in fact, almost
killed himself over it. There remains a great difference, however,
between his slavery work and his other work. When it comes to slavery,
Dr. Howe’s devotion is the same, his labors are the same; but his
genius is not the same. It was not given to any man to understand the
slavery question in the way that Howe understood the cause of the blind
or the idiotic. Indeed, slavery was not a question, but a condition,
an atmosphere, a thing so close and clinging, so inherent and ingrown
that, like the shirt of Nessus, it brought the flesh with it when it
was removed. Poor or great, sinner or saint, every man stood on an
equality before the moral problems of slavery, and underwent either
conversion or corruption when the wave smote him.
It was not until 1846 that Dr. Howe’s conversion took place. For
seventeen years the abolitionists had been dancing like dervishes
before him; and as late as February 3, 1846, he wrote a note declining
Dr. H. I. Bowditch’s invitation to an anti-slavery meeting, in such
terms of polite deprecation as might have been employed by George
Ticknor:--“My duties at home will prevent my joining you at eleven
o’clock....
“I carefully cultivate my few social relations with slave-holders,
because I find I can do so, and yet say to them _undisguisedly_
that slavery is the great _mistake_, as well as the great
_sin_ of the age. Now, do what they may, they cannot prevent such
words from a friend making some impression upon their hearts, which are
as hard as millstones to denunciations from an enemy. It is not enmity
and force, but love and reason, that are to be used in the coming
strife.”...
Then comes a sudden illumination, a break, a discovery, a cry of
anguish, and the curse of slavery has leaped like a wild-cat upon the
conscience of Dr. Howe. He runs up and down with pain:--“Indeed, I for
one can say that I would rather be in the place of the victim whom they
are at this moment sending away into bondage--I would rather be in his
place than in theirs! Ay! through the rest of my earthly life I would
rather be a driven slave upon a Louisiana plantation than roll in their
wealth and bear the burden of their guilt.”... “I feel as though I
had swallowed a pepper corn, when I think that no one _dares_ to
be made a martyr of in the cause of humanity.”... “Government must be
regarded as a divine institution! Ay! and so must right and justice be
regarded as divine institutions; older, more sacred, more imperative;
and when they clash, let the first be as the potsherd against the
granite.”... “O! for a man among our leaders who fears neither God, man
nor devil, but loves and trusts the first so much as to fear nothing
but what casts a veil over the face of truth. We must have done with
expediency; we must cease to look into history, into precedents, into
books for rules of action, and look only into the honest and high
purposes of our own hearts; that is, when we are sure we have cast out
the evil passions from them.”... “Would to God I could begin my life
again or even begin a new one from this moment, and go upon the ground
that no fault or error or shortcoming should ever be covered up from my
own eyes or those of others.”...
His words, just quoted, are the words of a prophet; and yet he
was destined, in practical politics, to become an adherent of
half-measures, and a make-weight for self-seekers. It was as the
result of one of the fugitive slave cases and in the year 1846 that
Dr. Howe became immersed in the anti-slavery cause. He helped to
edit the “Commonwealth,” the organ of the Conscience Whigs: he ran
for office, and he became the head of a vigilance committee, whose
activity continued down to the outbreak of the war. Now, as everyone
knows, vigilance committees are called into being in cases when law
has broken down. The object of such committees is to do things which
are necessary, but illegal; hence their doings are secret. It was
one of the strange features of the life of that period that the most
beautiful natures of the age, the most tender, the most unselfish, the
most romantic, felt called upon to do violent, lawless and bloody work.
To threaten bad men with condign punishment, to organize the rescue of
prisoners, to condone theft, perjury and manslaughter when committed by
their own partisans--such were the duties of a vigilance committee.