_The Faults of Scholars._
On the present occasion, I shall attempt to expose the obstacles to
all correct education, arising from the peculiar faults of youth,
during the period of their pupilage.
In all schools having a sufficient number of scholars to embrace much
variety of character, the pupils may be divided into four distinct
classes or castes, which may be thus described. The first, not content
with doing merely what is required of them, in a manner barely
sufficient to avoid a violation of the rules established for their
government, exert every faculty, at all times, to do their best. They
love knowledge and virtue for their own sakes—not from merely selfish
considerations; and their earnest desire to obtain them for the sake
also of their fellow creatures, gives additional power and efficacy to
their efforts. Their constant study is, to please all with whom they
are connected or concerned: they sedulously cultivate every source of
moral and intellectual improvement, and they ardently desire to secure
their own happiness by promoting that of other people. In a word, they
constitute spectacles in the moral world, as refreshing and delightful
to the eyes of the mind, as those enchanting spots of the physical
world, found only in the great desarts of Africa, are to the eyes of
the exhausted traveller perishing with intolerable heat, thirst and
hunger. They console us for much of the evil which we anticipate, in
beholding the many thousands of the rising generation growing up in
ignorance and all its consequent vices: they encourage our efforts to
labor in the noble cause of education, while they cheer our hearts and
animate our hopes in pursuing that course which we believe to be the
only available one for permanently promoting human happiness. The
pride and joy of their parents' hearts—the highly prized objects of
warmest affection among all their other relatives, and of esteem and
regard to every one who knows them—they constitute, in fact, our
country's only sure reliance for the preservation of its honor—the
promotion of its welfare—the security of its happiness. How supremely
important then, is it to increase their number! But my present object
being rather to expose faults, than to eulogize good qualities, I
shall say no more of this first class, than to wish them, from my
inmost soul, every blessing to be enjoyed in the present life, and all
the felicity of the life to come.
The second class consists of those who always keep within the strict
letter of the law, leaving its spirit for other people to regard, who
may have any such fancy. To go a single hair's breadth beyond the
exact words of whatever requisition may be made of them, would be
deemed, not only a great waste of time, but a grievous breach of duty
to themselves. They acknowledge the authority under which they are
placed, and will do nothing which can fairly be ascribed to a spirit
of insubordination. But the performance of what might be called extra
duty, however beneficial to themselves, they would consider a very
unwise thing, if not the extremity of folly. All, over and above the
most scanty compliance with the demands of their teachers; every thing
more than is barely necessary to save appearances, would be shunned
with infinitely more care, than they are capable of exerting in any
voluntary act of real praise-worthy conduct. Whatever they do, is
done—_because it is required by their laws_—not because they desire to
do it on account of its being right in itself, or for the pleasure it
might give their instructers, who are no more the objects of their
regard, than would be so many men or women in the moon. The scholars
of this class all die, as they have lived—by none respected—by none
beloved: no regret will be felt for their loss, and a few days will
suffice to extinguish the remembrance of them forever in every bosom
but that of their unfortunate parents. Like horses in a bark-mill,
they will have travelled their appointed time, and will have performed
with equal exactness their regular, daily task; but beyond this the
record of their lives will be as entirely blank, as if they had always
continued to form component parts of their elemental and kindred dust.
If the whole mass of mankind had always {562} consisted of such
people, the world would have remained to this hour as stationary and
immovable, in regard to improvement of all imaginable kinds, as the
central point of the universe.
The third class, although distinguished by general habits of
insubordination, utter idleness and frivolity, are subject to
occasional spasms of good intention. By fits and starts they will make
a great show of exerting themselves. But these convulsive movements
soon cease; and being unnatural, unsustained by any fixed principle of
rectitude, produce only something of no real use, and are succeeded by
increased incapacity for performing even _that something_, which they
had vainly persuaded themselves might procure for them the praise of
well directed—well sustained effort.
The fourth and last class are entirely destitute of every thing—even
approaching towards what is called laudable ambition. Altogether
reckless in regard to the consequences of their conduct, they are deaf
to advice—hardened against reproof—utterly averse to all
learning—cursed with an ever restless propensity to mischief, and
incapable of taking pleasure in any thing but the doing of what they
are forbid to do. Their condition resembles in one striking
particular, that of persons infected with some dangerous disease—being
objects of careful avoidance to all who feel at liberty to keep out of
their way—objects whose cure is far beyond the reach of any thing but
the special mercy of God.
Although all the classes might deserve to be ranked with the first, if
they would only strive “in spirit and in truth” to gain a station so
truly noble and glorious, yet those who really belong to it, are,
comparatively speaking, (if I may borrow the language of a Latin poet
in an English dress,) “scarcely as numerous as the gates of Thebes, or
the mouths of the fertile Nile.” Among the remaining classes, the
third is beyond comparison the largest; and the reason seems to be,
that their occasional efforts to do right, being strong in proportion
to their spasmodic and evanescent character, have the effect, for the
time, of completely deceiving the actors themselves, as well as many
of their friends, into a belief that what appears to be so vividly
felt, must be the result of motives, at once highly laudable and
permanent; although, in fact, it is nothing better than the fruitless
whim or impulse of the moment. But persons of much experience in life
always distrust these very fitful people, and never calculate upon
their exertions producing much good, simply because they exceed the
common and natural measure of effort used by those who earnestly
intend to do their duty _well_, and to do it _long_.
Having done with the classification of scholars, let me now proceed
with the exposure of their prevalent faults. By far the most common,
and probably most pernicious in the end, is aversion to learning. This
continually prompts them to act in regard to their school—wheresoever
that may be—as if the word still retained the meaning of its primitive
Latin—schola, _a loitering place_, from the Greek skole—_leisure_. If
we trace this aversion to its origin, we shall find that in almost
every case, it is attributable chiefly to the circumstance, that “to
learn their book” (according to the common phrase,) has been generally
inflicted on them as a punishment, instead of being invariably
recommended with suitable earnestness and zeal, as a pleasurable
occupation. Hundreds of times have I heard a sharp, angry, parental
reprimand for misconduct, wound up by some such order as the
following: “sit down instantly to your book, you good for nothing
thing, and don't let me see you stir from your seat for the rest of
the day, or you shall be well whipt, as sure as you live. Not many
days more shall pass over _your_ head, before I pack you off to
school.” When, to this hopeful discipline are added the real
difficulties of learning many things of which they were before
ignorant, and which they are often required to learn, without either
aid or encouragement from the teacher, it is no wonder that scholars
should so frequently be found, not only destitute of all inclination
to acquire knowledge, but hating every object connected in any way
with the attempt. At the head of these stand the teachers themselves,
and very naturally, if not deservedly too, especially when _they also_
proceed upon the plan of prescribing study as a punishment, and tasks
in their books as the penalties to be paid by their scholars, for
misconduct of almost every kind. Hence, all school exercises are taken
rather as physic than food, and the unfortunate young patients of such
mental doctors, instead of being led to think with the admirable
Milton, that “a good book is the precious life-blood of a master
spirit, embalmed and treasured up for a purpose to a life beyond
life,” they learn to loathe books of every kind with unconquerable
aversion and disgust. But there is still another cause for the hatred
of mismanaged children to school, which is very different from the
last, as it may be said to arise rather from the merit, than the
demerit of the teachers. For example, many young persons dislike
school for the same reason that many of the parents who have spoiled
them dislike church—because they are there forced to behold a picture
of themselves so unlike the one which their own self-love, the
overweening partiality of their parents, or the flattery of others has
drawn for them, that they cannot bear the sight. The veil of
self-delusion is there most painfully torn from their eyes—their
foibles, faults and vices, are made to appear in their own native
deformity; and all their pride and vanity must be prostrated at the
shrine of truth, before any thing like reformation can be effected.
Such clearing of the mental vision—such purification of the heart
_must_ be made in regard to all spoiled children, and it requires all
the skill and all the prudence of the wisest, most experienced
teachers, to make it in such a manner as not to defeat their own
object. This process, however managed, is too humiliating to be easily
borne, especially by those who have never been taught the
indispensable duties of self-examination and self-control; and it is
one great cause, in addition to the first mentioned, of the repugnance
so often manifested by children to scholastic institutions of every
grade and character. The worst of it too, is, that this repugnance
will always be found greatest among those who most need the
instruction to be derived from them.
Another great fault of scholars is, that they generally look upon
their teachers as far inferior to their parents in every way whatever.
Of course they treat them with less respect, less deference, less
obedience, and consequently listen, (if they do at all) with very
inadequate regard either to their commands or persuasions. It matters
not a straw whether their instructers deserve {563} this disregard or
not; the effect on the scholar's mind is nearly the same in both
cases, and insubordination, not unfrequently accompanied by
ill-concealed contempt, is the sure consequence.
Another fault of almost universal prevalence among wrong-doers at
school, is the constant and laborious effort to put their teachers _in
the wrong_, instead of laboring to preserve themselves _in the right_,
and to exult, in utter recklessness of consequences, when they believe
they have been successful. Such pupils never make any allowance for
infirmities of temper or error of judgment in their teachers. Hence a
single instance of either kind, when detected by themselves, becomes
in their eyes a perpetual justification of all their own faults.
Another fault, common in both boys and girls, is to behave towards the
masters and mistresses of boarding schools, as if the payment of a
pecuniary compensation for board and tuition actually absolved the
payers not only from all obligation to observe the ordinary rules of
civility and politeness towards the receivers, but also purchased the
privilege of using or abusing, at their pleasure, every species of
property possessed by the latter. In the school-creed of all such
pupils, it would really appear to be an established article, either
that there could not well be any manner too rude, nor any conduct too
unjust to be exercised towards the keepers of boarding schools; or,
that the nature both of justice and politeness changed according to
the characters and occupations of the persons with whom they had
intercourse—having nothing in itself, invariably either right or
wrong. The greatest evil of this juvenile, but highly culpable
practice, is, that either rudeness or injustice indulged in early
life, even although confined at first to keepers of boarding schools,
is apt to become habitual, and deeply to injure both the manners and
principles of youth in regard to all other persons, after these
thoughtless offenders arrive at years of maturity. They should ever
bear it in mind, that politeness is not a holiday-suit, to be put on
for particular occasions only; but is a decent, becoming, most
appropriate every-day dress, without which they should never appear,
either at school, at home, or in general society.
There is still another fault of a similar character, which defeats,
while it lasts, nearly every effort to instruct—especially in moral
duty—let the teachers themselves possess what qualifications they may.
This is, the very prevalent notion (if we can infer what they believe
from what they do,) that if rules of moral conduct for pupils do not
actually exist, of a nature far less rigorous than such as are to
govern grown persons—yet that these last moral regulations were never
designed for youth, who therefore cannot suffer any of the
consequences of their violation. Hence they very often act as if they
thought no fault too great, nor scarcely any vice too dangerous for
them to commit with impunity while at school. They are, apparently, at
least altogether unconscious, that although they may escape legal
punishment, they frequently acquire characters for worthlessness,
which they never can shake off in after life. Lying and pilfering, for
example, are among the vices which, if known to be committed in youth,
will indelibly blacken the reputation of the perpetrators to the
latest hour of their existence. Yet both boys and girls often violate,
not only their obligations “to speak truth at all times,” but also
that of holding sacred all the rights of property. This too is done
without the slightest apparent conviction, that they are identically
the same vices which bring adults either to penitentiaries or the
gallows, or degrade them forever in the estimation of all the honest,
virtuous part of mankind. The robbing of orchards, gardens,
melon-grounds, and even poultry yards, are often considered by boys as
mere frolicks and peccadillos, serving only to form good stories in
after life, for the amusement of their friends, to be laughed at and
enjoyed—most strange to say, even by the parents and near connections
of the offending parties. I have sometimes heard, and from the parties
themselves too, of actions nearly, if not quite as bad, achieved by
girls at school, which have furnished high entertainment for years, to
a certain class of mothers and grave matrons, whose only comment, even
in the presence of their daughters, probably would be—“ah! to be sure,
they were sad, wild girls, and deserved to be well whipt for their
pranks; but we should remember that _we_ were so too, at _their_ age,
yet have we gone on pretty well since.” And so have many children
_also gone on pretty well_, after being almost miraculously rescued
from deep waters and blazing fires into which they had fallen. But
would not any parents be thought stark mad who would venture, for such
a reason, to throw their offspring into rivers and furnaces? The truth
is, that neither folly, vice, nor crime can be altered, either in
their nature or consequences, simply by the age of the perpetrators,
provided only that they be old enough to know thoroughly the
difference between right and wrong. Infection, contagion, and death by
bodily diseases, never spare _young victims_ any more than _old ones_;
and the only difference between them and moral diseases, is altogether
in favor of the first—since _they_ can only destroy our perishable
bodies a few days, weeks, or months, before they must naturally and
inevitably decay; whereas _the last_ may bring everlasting misery on
our immortal souls. Terrific and intolerable as would be the pangs and
agonies of mortal maladies in their utmost extremity, yet would they
be beyond all powers of calculation or comprehension better, than to
remain for endless ages under all the threatened torments of the
damned. But where, I would anxiously inquire, where is the hope or
prospect of escape for our children, if we suffer them to wander
unrestrained through all the various paths of temptation, which,
although they have some few stopping places in them, as certainly lead
us more and more rapidly towards the commission of criminal and
unpardonable deeds, as that time leads us to death. Let no one then,
for a moment, incur the deadly hazard of regarding this language as a
mere exaggeration, for it expresses no more, although in very far
inferior language, than the blessed gospel itself. And let all such
parents as I have just alluded to, as well as their poor, thoughtless,
but not less guilty children, forever bear in mind, that few miracles
would be greater, than for either boys or girls to become men and
women without the least moral taint whatever, if from infancy to adult
age they had been almost continually exposed to the atmosphere of
vice, and the contagion of vicious example. Almighty power might
achieve such a work, but it is as far beyond all human means, as would
be the creation of man himself.
Another fault of scholars which does infinite mischief, {564} is that
of believing, or at least acting as if they believed any other time
better than the present, for increasing their knowledge and improving
their morals. Hence their innumerable little tricks to avoid their
school exercises—their continual efforts to escape from study, and
their passion for holidays. The possession of life is viewed—if not as
a perpetuity—at least, as an estate to be enjoyed for a very long
period, the first part of which is the only season for the enjoyment
of vivid, highly exciting and never to be neglected or rejected
pleasures. As a season of preparation and _the only one_—not only for
the faithful performance of all the duties of the present life, but
for securing an inheritance in the life to come, it is rarely ever
viewed by young persons at school. If a human being leaves an estate
in trust to other beings like himself, for beneficent uses, the whole
world is ready to cry out “shame—shame!” should these trustees violate
their trusts. Yet is this same world either entirely silent, or takes
little notice of the infinitely more criminal breach of trust
committed towards the God of the universe, by every individual in
regard to his own soul, whenever he neglects to exercise _its_ powers
as he has been ordered, by one having supreme authority to command,
and unlimited power to punish eternally, for disobedience. It would
seem as if each person really believed his life and all his faculties
actually constituted a kind of estate, for which he was indebted to no
one, and which he had a full and perfect right to use or abuse as he
pleases. But _would this be so_—_could it possibly happen_, almost as
a matter of course, if the first and the last lessons which our youth
received at every place of instruction from the nursery to the
college, were accompanied and fortified by this most momentous truth,
presented to them in all its terrors, when necessary—or recommended,
where this seemed best, in all its attractions? Would they not first
fear to neglect their moral and religious duty—then love it—then
cherish a sense of it in their hearts, as their vital blood—and
lastly, make it the governing motive of their whole lives? Religious
and moral principles should be the paramount objects of all
instruction, and their constant inculcation the imperative duty of all
instructers, from the humble teachers of our alphabet, to the most
learned and dignified professors of our colleges and universities. As
to the moral malady, procrastination—which led to the preceding
remarks, it is certainly not peculiar to scholars, for it afflicts the
old as well as the young. But it is equally certain, that unless it be
contracted in youth, it rarely, if ever, appears in after life. Every
scholar then, who feels the slightest symptom of this disease, should
apply as a remedy, the cardinal rule—“obsta principiis”—“resist
beginnings;” and he should strive with might and main to guard against
the first approaches, if he wishes his old age to be exempt from a
malady, at once so distressing and so fatal. To postpone any useful
act, any thing from which we ourselves, or others, may derive the
least benefit, is bad enough; but to defer so essential a duty as
constant attention to our scholastic studies, in the vain expectation
that some future day will answer as well as the present, is like
drawing a pecuniary order on an unknown person, without naming any
time, and for money to which we have not even the shadow of right or
title. The resemblance holds good, too in another important
particular: neither the person, we know, nor the future day, will ever
answer the draft, for the first is not under the smallest obligation
to do so, and the last has no power to change, even to accommodate
idlers, that irreversible law of nature, which assures us that _time
once abused is lost forever_. It may be said, perhaps by some, that
this is a truism odiously trite and wearisome. But let the young and
the old, too, beware how they neglect or despise it on this account.
Education and all its blessings, great and glorious as they most
assuredly are, depend entirely upon the strictest regard being paid to
this truism: nor can either the scoffs of the idle, the taunts of the
infidel, or the lamentations of sufferers abate one tittle—one jot of
the fatal consequences which inevitably follow, when we disregard or
contemn it.
In close connexion with this fault of procrastination, is that of
disobedience in general, for the last is the offspring of the first.
Whether it arises in all those cases where it exists, from utter
incapacity to comprehend the true grounds of the sacred obligation,
“to obey those who have the rule over them,” or from unconquerable
aversion to do what they believe to be right and necessary, is more
than I can tell. But the fact of general disobedience is
unquestionable, to the woeful experience of all who have had any thing
to do with the government of children, in any way whatever, requiring
authority to be exercised over them. It is true, we have the often
quoted “video meliora, proboque, deteriora sequor” of a Latin poet, to
prove that we may _see, approve, and yet fail to do our duty_; but I
have always doubted its general applicability to disobedient children.
Most of them appear to have neither eyes nor brains to check their
culpable inclinations, or to prevent their vicious deeds; but awful
indeed, is the inquiry, how this has happened. Parents and teachers
alike, are utterly disregarded by them, when out of sight, unless from
a principle of fear; and that is of no more efficacy in relation to
their moral improvement, than would be the ringing of bells in their
ears. Even the devils, it is said, “fear and tremble,” but we are not
any where told, that such tremors and fears can work any reformation.
No, never—for _this_ to be effectual, must be the joint effort of the
heart and understanding, aided by “the Spirit of God, working with our
spirits both to will and to do of his good pleasure.” Unless the minds
of children can be first thoroughly and deeply impressed with this
truth, and with their solemn, sacred obligation to regard it as of
vital importance, it is labor completely thrown away to try to control
them effectually, except on account of guarding other people from
being injured by them. It is true, they will not be quite so expert in
mischief, if you can so manage as to keep them a long time out of
practice, “the having one's hand in” being a great matter. But the
inclination “_to keep it in_” will still remain, nor can it ever be
entirely eradicated without some much more active medicine than mere
abstinence. The seat of the disease lies too deep—its action on the
heart is too constant, to yield to such regimen alone—excellent, as it
confessedly is, when made to co-operate with powerful moral remedies.
Teachers and parents too, may labor this matter as long as they
please; they may even wear out their lungs, if they fancy such an
experiment, with scolding, reproaching and threatening, but all will
prove far worse than useless to accomplish their object, unless {565}
they adopt an entirely different course from the most common one, and
pursue it, both with body and soul. They _must_ learn to consider
children—not as machines and spinning tops, to be governed by whips,
cords, springs, pullies and levers—not as mere living animals,
incapable of any other impulse than fear or ambition, but as rational
beings, made after God's own image, and gifted by him with immortal
souls, whose appropriate regulators are the high, celestial, ever
glorious attributes of reason, judgment, and understanding—all which
are to be kept in continual exercise by the ardent love of truth,
wisdom, knowledge, and virtue. The faults of children will all
continue to grow with their growth, and strengthen with their
strength; nay, they will live and die with them, as surely as that
death itself will come to them all, unless their treatment in all
future time, be made to conform, from the nursery even unto the
college, to the principles just stated. This is not said in any spirit
of presumptuous dictation; for neither is the principle itself any
discovery of my own, nor have there been wanting many writers of great
ability and experience in teaching, to recommend it most earnestly and
zealously. But it is a thing of such deep and universal importance to
the happiness—not only of the present generation, but to that of
millions yet unborn, that it cannot be too frequently insisted
upon—especially while so many parents and teachers are to be found,
who appear almost entirely to disregard it. If this were not strictly
true, could we possibly find either so many private families or
schools as we do find, wherein it is manifest, that unpolished manners
and awkwardness of person appear to be infinitely more dreaded, than
deformities of mind or diseases of temper; where external attractions
are evidently prized far above all intellectual acquirements, and
where children in fact are educated much more assiduously for all the
purposes of the present life, than for any of that everlasting life
which is to come?
Having now finished the particular examination of the faults and vices
most common among parents, teachers and scholars, which form the mass
of obstacles to education, there are many general reflections that
suggest themselves as proper to be stated—so many indeed, that the
present lecture cannot embrace them all, without trespassing too far
on your time. A few of them however, I beg leave to present on the
present occasion. To describe in general terms all the hindrances
heretofore attributed to the three great classes who establish, fill,
and regulate schools, we may say, that there is not, in the first
place, sufficient care, either in the selection of suitable means, nor
subsequently, in regard to the best means of applying them. Parents
themselves are too often badly educated, or not at all. They are too
frequently incompetent, either from sheer ignorance—from defects in
temper and principle—or from utter blindness to their children's
faults, to direct in the great business of their education. Teachers
are much too often suffered to decide on their own qualifications, and
are encouraged to proceed in the vital undertaking, without any thing
like an examination into their fitness by competent judges. Scholars
too, are not unfrequently suffered to choose for themselves, not only
_what_, but _where_, and _how_ they shall learn, as well as to decide
on the time to be devoted to scholastic pursuits; although it is most
manifest, on a moment's reflection, that none are competent to form a
correct judgment on all these important points, but those who have
already received a liberal education, and have some experience in the
ways of the world, as well as knowledge of the various advantages and
disadvantages of its chief callings, trades and professions. Upon the
prevalent let-alone-plan, boys and girls are often left to do, as
their immature judgments may direct, what their criminally neglectful
fathers and mothers ought to do for them; and an inverse order of
proceeding is thus established, which cannot possibly end in any thing
but “confusion worse confounded.” A still more fatal error than this
transfer of the right and duty of judging for their children to the
children themselves is, that the religious principles (I do not mean
sectarian opinions,) of their teachers are rarely ever made a subject
of inquiry, much less of anxious solicitude. They may be heathens, or
confirmed infidels, for aught that is known or cared about them;
neither is any concern felt or taken to know what particular provision
is made in schools for the moral and religious instruction of the many
thousand children, who are there to form their principles of conduct
for all future time. Yet, if the question were asked, whether any
thing in the whole circle of sciences and the arts, be at all
comparable in importance _with these principles_, a negative answer
would assuredly be given, even by the most careless of all those
persons who have the control of the whole subject of education in all
its parts. That the peace, comfort, prosperity, and happiness of all
orders in society, depend upon the soundness of their moral and
religious principles, none, I believe, will be either so foolish or
wicked as to deny. And yet, where shall we find the schools in which
the acquisition of knowledge in various other matters, such as
physical science, foreign languages, and what are called polite
accomplishments, is not made the chief, if not the sole object of
pursuit? The great springs of all human action—the powerful regulators
of all human conduct—such as it ought to be, are either not thought of
at all, or it is taken for granted that the whole have been so
carefully adjusted while the poor children were taking pap in their
nurseries, or conning over their alphabet, while under their good
mother's supervision, as to require no farther care.
When we consider well the nature, tendency, and general prevalence of
the faults which I have enumerated among all the parties concerned in
the great business of education, together with the errors so commonly
committed in regard to its chief ends and purposes, or rather in the
choice of means for their attainment, and then endeavor to measure the
destructive power of their combined influence, the contemplation is
truly appalling. It is in vain to turn our eyes to the bright region
of science and the arts, displaying all their glories, and diffusing
their innumerable blessings over the whole face of our happy country.
None can rejoice in such a delightful prospect, nor give more
heartfelt thanks to God for it, than I do. But alas! I cannot always
avoid the sight of the dark, portentous, and terrific clouds of vice
and crime which always obscure, in some direction or other, and often
threaten to destroy this heavenly view. I cannot avoid asking myself
why these things should be; nor have I the power to shut the eyes of
my understanding against the soul-sickening {566} conviction, that we
have abundant means at our command of making a glorious change, but
will not use them. These means, I am most thoroughly persuaded, are
neither more nor less, than _to require_ and _to see_, that in all
places of instruction, from the lowest to the highest, the moral and
religious principles of the students be made the chief—the paramount
objects of pursuit. But what proportion of our schools, either public
or private, will the most partial advocate of modern improvements in
education say, that we shall find to be conducted on these principles?
The whole number taken together, counting all kinds, will constitute a
mere drop compared to the entire aggregate. For, let any individual
try the experiment, by naming to himself all that he knows or has
heard of, wherein the true motives and means to mental improvement are
uniformly inculcated. Their great scarcity, I will venture to assert,
would surprise him very much. Temporal riches—temporal honors—temporal
fame, will be found, in a vast majority of them, to be the ends
continually kept in view; and the fear of temporal punishment, or the
desire to surpass others in science and literature, the means relied
upon to insure the great literary acquirements which are to serve as
so many stilts to ascend the various eminences aimed at. But let all
these advantages be appreciated at ten thousand times their real
intrinsic value, and what must be the final judgment pronounced upon
them by reason and common sense? Why, that they are all utterly
worthless, when compared with the true uses and ultimate objects of
moral and religious cultivation. The sum and substance of all our
sober reflections and reasonings upon this deeply interesting topic
will be, that all superstructures of education, either under the
parental roof, or elsewhere, not built upon the everlasting
foundations of the Gospel of Christ, can be but little better than so
many toy houses erected upon sand. They must all soon fall, although
the best of them may possibly attain a considerable degree of
elevation, splendor and magnificence. What are these indestructible
foundations, the grand architect of which was no other than the Savior
of the World? Neither more nor less than the love and practice of
_all_ our duties, of every nature and kind whatever, springing from
the love of God—from full faith in his promises—and entire reliance on
his justice, his wisdom, his power, and his mercy. If we do what
appears to be right, from any other motive, it is not worth a rush;
and yet, almost the constant aim in a vast majority of schools is, to
secure at least the appearance of right conduct by a much shorter and
more practicable process. This is to manage them chiefly, by the
instrumentality of a sentiment, continually at war with every
principle and precept of Christianity in relation to the proper
motives of human conduct. I have before noticed it; but its influence
is so pernicious, so utterly destructive, as I most conscientiously
believe to all just principles of education, that I can never suffer
any suitable occasion to pass without raising my humble voice against
it. The sentiment is—_emulation_, than which nothing can well be worse
as regards the heart, which many believe to be the source of all
motives. It is true, that like the physical power of steam, emulation
is capable of producing truly wonderful effects; for by its operation
alone, that matchless machine—man, may be propelled to the performance
of almost incredible deeds. But the great question with all who
believe in a future state of rewards and punishments is, how far will
the most marvellous of those deeds—proceeding as they do from the
usual worldly motives—go towards the procurement of eternal salvation?
Not the length or breadth of a mathematical point,—if there be any
truth in Scripture,—any reliance on the conclusions of right
reason,—any trust to be reposed in the word of that holy immaculate
Being, who is truth itself. Can it then be consistent with common
sense, and a due regard to the safety of our immortal souls, any
longer to neglect at least an effort to reform our prevailing systems
of education: such an effort too as shall be sufficiently earnest,
zealous and persevering to afford some rational prospect of success?
Indeed, my friends, is it any thing short of actual madness, to delay
for an instant so momentous a work, when we have every reason to
believe that God has placed the remedy in our own hands, for a very
great portion of the vice and consequent misery which we see in our
country? The reform of which I speak, regards more _the motives_ to
study and mental culture, than _the things_ generally taught. In these
last, I am not disposed, were it in my power, to make much change:
languages, the sciences and arts, with all kinds of accomplishments,
are well taught in a large portion of our schools. But in relation to
motives, every reflecting person must be convinced of the necessity of
a radical change, who considers but a moment the incentives to
application which are almost universally held out to our youth—even
from the schools of the lowest grade to the universities themselves.
These are so far from having any intimate connexion with religious
principles, that they are in direct hostility to them. Thus, instead
of genuine Christian humility, we have insatiate worldly ambition; in
place of a permanent and ardent desire to promote the happiness of the
whole human race, we have the selfish passion of seeking our own—even
at the expense of others—if it cannot be otherwise obtained; and in
lieu of the love of God, we are taught to estimate the love and
admiration of his creatures, as the chief object of pursuit in this
life. Our sons are educated to make money and acquire distinction by
professions; and our girls, to get rich husbands, if they get nothing
else. The great concerns of eternity, are postponed to a less busy
time; a time that may never arrive to a vast majority of mankind, and
which—if it does come—will probably find them as destitute of the
efficient inclination to repent, as they will generally be of the
power any longer to commit most of the sins which rendered repentance
necessary. But even suppose life may last so long, and the inclination
really _may_ come, just as the wretched victims of such a system are
sinking into their graves; the only offering they can _then_ make to
their God will be, “of the Devil's leavings;” and no great prophetic
skill will be required to conjecture what will be the chance of
acceptance.
To recommend, in detail, any effectual means for removing all the
foregoing obstacles to education; to effect a radical cure of all such
deadly evils, is very far beyond my ability. Indeed I have given no
promise—even to make the attempt: my only effort has been, so to
describe the symptoms of the various moral diseases now working so
much mischief among us, that other more able moral physicians might
devise the necessary {567} remedies. But I would respectfully suggest,
that the prevalent—I may almost say, total—unconcern in regard to the
principles of conduct taught, and left _un_taught in our schools; the
minutiæ of their moral discipline; the reciprocal deception and
counteraction between parents, teachers, and scholars: the directing
almost all efforts to the excitement of wrong and highly culpable
motives for study, must be entirely abandoned, or all the movements of
pupils in pursuit of knowledge and virtue, will be departures, more
and more remote from the true course,—and leading to endless mischief.
Not only must universal education become the grand, the vital object
of pursuit to all classes of our citizens; but the true means of
making it what it should be, must also become objects of equal
solicitude, of ceaseless, zealous, and ardent investigation.
But I must postpone to another opportunity, many views of this
all-important subject, which I wish still to present by way of
recapitulation, as well as to supply several omissions. Before I
conclude however, suffer me to address a few remarks to you on our
approaching Anniversary, as it will not be in my power—much as I wish
it—to attend on that interesting occasion.
Some notice, I believe, having been given of such remarks being
intended for our present meeting, I hope its unusual size will justify
me in concluding, not only that none of our first members have become
weary of their membership, but that many others who have not yet
united with us, have now determined to join this Lyceum. Is any old
member then ready to join me in expressing this hope, I will not say
to him as Henry the 5th did to Westmoreland before the battle of
Agincourt: “Wish not, good cousin, one man more;” much rather would I
wish for as many more as the largest room in your town could contain.
Neither can I quote Henry's language in regard to any who may be
disposed to quit us, (if there are any such,) by adding,
“Let him depart; his passport shall be made,
And crowns for convoy put into his purse.”
In truth we have _no_ crowns to spare for any such self-destructive
purpose. It accords much better with my feelings, as well as with the
confidence I have in the intelligence and public spirit of the
citizens of Fredericksburg, to believe that our funds will be
increased rather than diminished; that all of you desire to cherish
this social institution; and that even those who make the lowest
estimate of its benefits to themselves and others, still rate them as
cheaply purchased by their very moderate annual subscription, the
amount of which is daily lavished by hundreds of us for that which has
really as little substantial good in it, as the mere “shadow of a
shade.” I would assert the cheapness of the purchase in regard to
every one who had acquired the knowledge only of one single useful
fact, which he had not known before; and who is there among us who can
truly say, that he has made no such acquisition? Much more, then, may
it be urged in regard to all who feel that they now know many more
such useful facts, of which twelve months ago they were entirely
ignorant. The pleasure alone of witnessing once a week the highly
gratifying proof, that so many of you as here meet together, are
cordially united for mutual improvement, is worth incalculably more
than is given for it. In this behalf, I would respectfully say to each
member, are you a father, and yet unconcerned about increasing your
own knowledge for the sake of augmenting that of your own offspring,
yet ignorant that it is a most sacred duty? Are you a mother, and can
you be destitute of that never-dying affection for the children of
your bosom, which should impel you with resistless power to seek every
opportunity of hearing something, be it ever so little, which you can
apply for their benefit? Are you a son, a daughter, a brother, or a
sister, and yet so regardless of the welfare and happiness of all
connected with you, so destitute of the love of kindred, nay of
self-love itself, in its only laudable form, as to have no taste, no
desire, no anxiety, for moral and intellectual culture? I will not for
a moment, suffer myself even to suspect that these questions could be
answered in the affirmative by any to whom I now address myself.
Rather let me continue to believe, even if in error, that I behold in
all of the present assembly, ardent and zealous friends to all the
objects of our association; friends, not for fashion sake, nor
novelty, nor idle curiosity, nor a mere time killing purpose, but
true, earnest, abiding friends to the great cause of mutual
improvement. And by what means, I would confidently ask, so cheap, so
convenient, so gratifying, as nightly meetings once a week, for an
hour or two, could this cause be better promoted by persons occupied,
as most of us are, in daily business and daily duties of indispensable
obligation? Whatever is calculated to strengthen our convictions of
the superiority of intellectual and moral enjoyments to such
gratifications as are merely physical and sensual; whatever can
elevate our minds so far above our animal appetites as to assure us
that they were never given to be our _masters_; whatever can lead us
to look beyond the present life for the final consummating of all our
aspirations after happiness, and the fulfilment of our present duties
to God, to man, and to ourselves, as the sole means of attaining this
happiness—all these together, constitute the proper objects of
education. And the more we study, the more we love, the more we strive
to attain them, the greater share shall we _here_ gain of every
earthly blessing—the larger portion shall we enjoy _hereafter_ of
every felicity that an all-bounteous God hath promised to the most
faithful of his children in the life to come. These momentous
considerations, my friends, require us to devote to them all our
thoughts and all our time not devoted to other equally indispensable
duties; and I am ignorant of any associations that might lead us to
engage in them more advantageously, during what are called our leisure
hours, than Lyceums for mutual improvement, would we only avail
ourselves of them, as we well might do. To effect this, all should be
“_hearers_” in the cause, but many should be “_doers_” also. The
exercises of such associations should never be left to be performed by
only a very few of the members. They should not be so very diffident
of their own powers, as always to be mere listeners; for a large
portion usually have some that might be beneficially exerted. The
merit of good intentions would always be awarded to them, and that
should suffice, even where their efforts fell short of their own
wishes. But the great means to preserve, as well as to establish
associations like ours, are for their members to cherish for each
other benevolence, sympathy, and brotherly love. Such a bond of union
wants nothing to make it indissoluble (for it already possesses all
the other {568} elements of perpetuity) but christianity. This
connects and surrounds these endearing sentiments with associations
which diffuse over them a brighter light, and give them an infinitely
higher value than they could have without it. “Christianity not only
reveals to us the Infinite One, the great Supreme, as the Father alike
of all men; it not only instructs all whom it addresses in looking
_over_, and as far as we may, in looking _into_, and _through_ the
mighty universe, to say and to feel ‘our Father made it all;’ it not
only says to each individual, and to all the race, ‘all ye are
brethren;’ and requires each one to cherish for the rest a brother's
interest, and sympathy, and affection; but it requires us also, when
we pray, to carry with us these sympathies and affections to the
throne of infinite mercy and love, and there to strengthen and hallow
the feeling of our connexion with our fellow-men, through our common
relation to God, by addressing him as—not _my_, but ‘_our_ Father who
art in Heaven.’ Who, indeed, can feel that he is a child of God—that
he has an immortal nature—that in his intellectual and moral powers,
and in his capacity of eternal progress, he has also the capacity of
an eternal advancement in likeness to God himself, and therefore in
all which can forever exalt his nature, and secure and increase his
happiness; who can feel all this, and at the same time, (what it is
equally important we should feel,) that the most untaught, the
poorest, and most degraded of our race, possesses the principles of a
common nature with ourselves, and is equally a child of God, and as
such, _our brother_;—who can thus comprehend his own soul, and thus
feel his relation to his fellow-man, without feeling his heart drawn
out in sympathy with human weakness, and ignorance, and want, and
wretchedness, and sin?”
With these convictions deeply, and I hope indelibly engraven on my
heart, I cannot bid adieu to you on the present occasion, without most
earnestly entreating you to make them your own as speedily as
possible, if this has not already been done. In making this request, I
address myself principally to such of my auditors, of both sexes, as
are still the subjects of scholastic instruction and discipline. Upon
you, and others of your age, will chiefly depend the welfare and
happiness of yourselves and the next generation—nay, I may add, of all
future generations, since each age is most materially affected by that
which has immediately preceded it. The hope of rendering _you_, my
young friends, some small service, was my chief object in coming here
this evening; and could I depart with the confident expectation that
my humble efforts might contribute in any degree towards leading even
one of you to your God, it would afford me a gratification—a joy which
I have no language to express. Few are the enjoyments left, in a great
majority of cases, to those who, like myself, are fast approaching the
verge of their graves; but it is in the power of the young to multiply
these enjoyments far beyond what they themselves are able to conceive.
It is in the power of such as _you_, my youthful hearers, to furnish
the generally gloomy and painful close of long protracted life with
intellectual repasts infinitely more delightful than can possibly be
afforded by the sensual gratifications of the most ardent of all the
sinful passions of youth. It is in the power of such as yourselves to
invigorate with unspeakable pleasure the feebleness of old age—to
raise their sinking hearts with the most animating anticipations of
your future prosperity, fame and happiness—to banish forever from
their minds the utter misery of leaving you in the broad road to
destruction—and even to surround the bed of a beloved and aged
parent's death with joys and foretastes of future felicity to each,
such as none but a mother's or father's imagination can possibly
conceive. Leave not this room then, leave it not, I beseech you,
without an unalterable determination to exert this power from the
present moment to the end of your lives. Let your temporal destiny
then be what it may,—no earthly bereavement—none of what are called
the calamities and miseries of life, can possibly deprive you of that
greatest of all earthly blessings—conscious rectitude; nor of that
last, that highest reward of all christian hope—a never fading
inheritance in a world of endless duration and perfect beatitude.