IV.
CLASSIFICATION OF DUTIES
The topics of which moral instruction treats are the duties of life. To teach the duties, however, we must adopt some system of classification. To which system shall we give the preference? The difficulty which we encountered at the outset seems to meet us here in a new guise.
For most if not all of the systems of classification commonly proposed are based upon some metaphysical theory or some theological doctrine. To adopt any one of these would be tantamount to adopting the theory or theology on which it is founded; would be equivalent to introducing surreptitiously a particular philosophy or creed into the minds of the pupils; and this would be a plain departure from the unsectarian principle to which we are pledged. Thus, Plato's fourfold division of the virtues into the so-called cardinal virtues of temperance, courage, justice, wisdom, is based on his psychology. Aristotle's division of the virtues into dianoetic and what he calls ethical virtues is clearly dependent on what may be termed Aristotle's intellectualism – i. e., the supreme importance which he assigns to the functions of the intellect, or νοὑς [Greek: noûs], in the attainment of the perfect life.
Kant's division of duties into complete and incomplete is an outgrowth of the ideas developed in his Critique of Pure Reason; the philosopher Herbart's fivefold classification reflects his metaphysical theory of reality; while the systems of ethical classification which are to be found in theological handbooks betray still more clearly the bias of their authors.
We can, I think, find a simple way out of this difficulty by proceeding in the following manner: Let us take for our guidance the objects to which duty relates, and disregard the sources from which it flows. It is conceded on all hands that every one is to himself an object of duty, that he has certain duties to perform with respect to himself, as, for instance, the duty of intellectual development; furthermore, that every person owes certain duties to his fellow-men generally, in virtue of the fact that they are human beings; again, that there are special duties which we owe to particular persons, such as parents, brothers, and sisters; finally, that there are certain duties, into which, so to speak, we are born, like the ones last mentioned, and others which we can freely assume or not, like the conjugal duties, but which, once assumed, become as binding as the former. Thus the very structure of human society suggests a scheme of classification. And this scheme has the advantage of being a purely objective one. It keeps close to the facts, it is in harmony with the unsectarian principle, and it is perfectly fair. It leaves the problem of first principles entirely untouched. That we have such duties to perform with respect to self and others, no one questions. Let philosophers differ as to the ultimate motives of duty. Let them reduce the facts of conscience to any set of first principles which may suit them. It is our part as instructors to interpret the facts of conscience, not to seek for them an ultimate explanation.
Let me briefly indicate how the different duties may be made to fall into line according to the plan of classification which has just been suggested. The whole field of duty may be divided into three main provinces:5 those duties which relate to ourselves, those which we owe to all men, and those which arise in the special relations of the family, the state, etc.:
I. The Self-regarding Duties.
These may again be subdivided into duties relating to our physical nature, to the intellect, and to the feelings.
Under the head of physical duties belong the prohibition of suicide, and the duties of physical culture, temperance, and chastity.
Intellectual Duties. – Under this head may be ranged the duty of acquiring knowledge and the subsidiary duties of order, diligence, perseverance in study; while, for those who are beyond the school age, special stress should be laid on the duty of mental genuineness. This may be expressed in the words: To thine own mental self be true. Study thine own mental bent. Try to discover in what direction thy proper talent lies, and make the most of it. Work thine own mine: if it be a gold-mine, bring forth gold; if it be a silver-mine, bring forth silver; if it be an iron-mine, bring forth iron. Endeavor to master some one branch of knowledge thoroughly well. It is for thee the key which opens the gates of all knowledge. The need of general culture is felt by all, but the concentration of intellectual efforts on special studies is not inconsistent with it. On the contrary, special studies alone enable us to gain a foothold in the realm of knowledge. A branch of knowledge which we have mastered, however small, may be compared to a strong fortress in an enemy's country, from which we can sally forth at will to conquer the surrounding territory. Knowledge may also be likened to a sphere. From every point of the circumference we can, by persistent labor, dig down to the center. He who has reached the center commands the sphere.
Duties which relate to the Feelings. – The principal duty under this head may be expressed in the twofold command – control and purify thy feelings! The feelings which need to be repressed are anger, fear, self-complacency. Let the teacher, when he reaches this point, dwell upon the causes and the consequences of anger. Let him speak of certain helps which have been found useful for the suppression of angry passion. Let him distinguish anger from moral indignation.
In dealing with fear let him pursue the same method. Let him distinguish physical from moral cowardice, brute courage from moral courage, courage from fortitude.
In dealing with self-complacency let him discriminate between vanity and pride, between pride and dignity. Let him show that humility and dignity are consistent with one another, yes, that they are complementary aspects of one and the same moral quality. Not the least advantage to be reaped from lessons on duty is the fixing in the pupil's mind of the moral vocabulary. The moral terms as a rule are loosely used, and this can not but lead to confusion in their application. Precise definitions, based on thorough discussion, are an excellent means of moral training.6
II. The duties which we owe to all men are Justice and Charity:
Be just is equivalent to – Do not hinder the development of any of thy fellow-men. Be charitable is equivalent to – Assist the development of thy fellow-men. Under the head of charity the teacher will have occasion to speak not only of almsgiving, the visitation of the sick, and the like, but of the thousand charities of the fireside, of the charity of bright looks, of what may be called intellectual charity, which consists in opening the eyes of the mentally blind, and of the noblest charity of all, which consists in coming to the aid of those who are deep in the slough of moral despond, in raising the sinful and fallen.
III. Special social duties:
Under this head belong the duties which arise in the family: the conjugal, the parental, the filial, the fraternal duties.
Under the head of duties peculiar to the various avocations should be discussed the ethics of the professions, the ethics of the relations between employers and laborers, etc.
The consideration of the duties of the citizen opens up the whole territory of political ethics.
Lastly, the purely elective relationships of friendship and religious fellowship give rise to certain fine and lofty ethical conceptions, the discussion of which may fitly crown the whole course.
I have thus mentioned some of the main topics of practical ethics, from which we are to make our selection for the moral lessons.
But a selective principle is needed. The field being spread out before us, the question arises, At what point shall we enter it? What topics shall we single out? It would be manifestly absurd, for instance, to treat of international ethics, or of conjugal ethics, in a course intended for children. But especially the order in which the different topics are to follow each other needs to be determined. The order followed in the above sketch is a purely logical one, and the logical arrangement of a subject, as every educator knows, is not usually the one most suitable for bringing it within reach of the understanding of children. It would not be in the present instance. Clearly a selective principle is wanted.
Let me here interrupt myself for a moment to say that the problem which we are attacking, so far from being solved, has heretofore hardly even been stated. And this is due to the fact that moral instruction has been thus far almost entirely in the hands of persons whose chief interest was religious, and who, whatever their good intentions might be, were hardly qualified to look at the subject from the educator's point of view. The work of breaking ground in the matter of moral instruction has still to be done. As to the selective principle which I have in view I feel a certain confidence in its correctness; but I am aware that the applications of it will doubtless require manifold amendment and correction, for which purpose I invoke the experience and honest criticism of my fellow-teachers. This being understood, I venture to ask your attention to the following considerations:
The life of every human being naturally divides itself into distinct periods – infancy, childhood, youth, etc. Each period has a set of interests and of corresponding duties peculiar to itself. The moral teaching should be graded according to periods. The teaching appropriate to any period is that which bears upon the special duties of that period. To illustrate, the ethics of childhood may be summarized as follows: The personal duties of a child are chiefly the observance of a few simple rules of health and the curbing of its temper. It owes social duties to parents, brothers and sisters, and kinsfolk, to its playmates, and to servants. The child is not yet a citizen, and the ethics of politics, therefore, lie far beyond its horizon; it does not yet require to be taught professional ethics, and does not need to learn even the elements of intellectual duty, because its energies are still absorbed in physical growth and play. The duties of childhood can be readily stated. The peculiar duties of the subsequent stages of development, for instance, of middle life and old age, are complex, and not so easy to define. But I believe that the attempt to describe them will throw light on many recondite problems in ethics.
My first point therefore is, that the moral teaching at a given period should be made to fit the special duties of that period. Secondly – and this touches the core of the matter – in every period of life there is some one predominant duty around which all the others may be grouped, to which as a center they may be referred. Thus, the paramount duty of the young child is to reverence and obey its parents. The relation of dependence in which it stands naturally prescribes this duty, and all its other duties can be deduced from and fortified by this one. The correctness of its personal habits and of its behavior toward others depends primarily on its obedience to the parental commands. The child resists the temptation to do what is wrong, chiefly because it respects the authority and desires to win the approbation of father and mother. Secondary motives are not wanting, but reverence for parents is the principal one.
Thirdly, in each new period there emerges a new paramount ethical interest, a new center of duties. But with the new system of duties thus created the previous ethical systems are to be brought into line, into harmonious correlation. And this will be all the more feasible, because the faithful performance of the duties of any one period is the best preparation for the true understanding and fulfillment of those of the next. From these statements the following conclusions may be drawn with respect to the question under discussion – namely, the proper sequence of the topics of duty in a course of moral lessons.
The moral lessons being given in school, must cover the duties which are peculiar to the school age. The paramount duty should be placed in the foreground. Now the paramount duty of children between six and fourteen years of age is to acquire knowledge. Hence we begin the lessons with the subject of intellectual duty. In the next place, the duties learned in the previous periods are to be brought into line with the duties of the school age. At each new step on the road of ethical progress the moral ideas already acquired are to be reviewed, confirmed, and to receive a higher interpretation.
We have already seen that, before the child enters school, its personal duties are such as relate to the physical life and the feelings, and its chief social duties are the filial and fraternal.
Therefore, the order of topics for the lessons thus far stands: The duty of acquiring knowledge; the duties which relate to the physical life; the duties which relate to the feelings; the filial duties; the fraternal duties.
Again, a child that has learned to respect the rights of its brothers and sisters, and to be lovingly helpful to them, will in school take the right attitude toward its companions. The fraternal duties are typical of the duties which we owe to all our companions, and, indeed, to all human beings.
The next topic of the lessons, therefore, will be the duties which we owe to all human beings.
Finally, life in school prepares for life in society and in the state, and so this course of elementary moral lesson will properly close with "The elements of civic duty."
V.
THE MORAL OUTFIT OF CHILDREN ON ENTERING SCHOOL
It is difficult to trace the beginnings of the moral life in children. The traveler who attempts to follow some great river to its source generally finds himself confused by the number of ponds and springs which are pointed out to him with the assurance in the case of each that this and no other is the real source. In truth, the river is fed not from one source but from many, and does not attain its unity and individuality until it has flowed for some distance on its way. In like manner, the moral life is fed by many springs, and does not assume its distinctive character until after several years of human existence have elapsed. The study of the development of conscience in early childhood is a study of origins, and these are always obscure. But, besides, the attention hitherto given to this subject has been entirely inadequate, and even the attempts to observe in a systematic way the moral manifestations of childhood have been few.
Parents and teachers should endeavor to answer such questions as these: When do the first stirrings of the moral sense appear in the child? How do they manifest themselves? What are the emotional and the intellectual equipments of the child at different periods, and how do these correspond with its moral outfit? At what time does conscience enter on the scene? To what acts or omissions does the child apply the terms right and wrong? If observations of this kind were made with care and duly recorded, the science of education would have at its disposal a considerable quantity of material from which no doubt valuable generalizations might be deduced. Every mother especially should keep a diary in which to note the successive phases of her child's physical, mental, and moral growth; with particular attention to the moral; so that parents may be enabled to make a timely forecast of their childrens' characters, to foster in them every germ of good, and by prompt precautions to suppress, or at least restrain, what is bad.
I propose in the present lecture to cast a glance at the moral training which the normal child receives before it enters school, and the moral outfit which it may be expected to bring with it at the time of entering. Fortunately, it is not necessary to go very deeply into the study of development of conscience for this purpose. A few main points will suffice for our guidance.
First Point.– The moral training of a child can be begun in its cradle. Regularity is favorable to morality. Regularity acts as a check on impulse. A child should receive its nourishment at stated intervals; it should become accustomed to sleep at certain hours, etc. If it protests, as it often does vigorously enough, its protests should be disregarded. After a while its cries will cease, it will learn to submit to the rule imposed, and the taking of pleasure in regularity and the sense of discomfort when the usual order is interrupted become thenceforth a part of its mental life. I do not maintain that regularity itself is moral, but that it is favorable to morality because it curbs inclination. I do not say that rules are always good, but that the life of impulse is always bad. Even when we do the good in an impulsive way we are encouraging in ourselves a vicious habit. Good conduct consists in regulating our life according to good principles; and a willingness to abide by rules is the first, the indispensable condition of moral growth. Now, the habit of yielding to rules may be implanted in a child even in the cradle.
Second Point.– A very young child – one not older than a year and a half – can be taught to obey, to yield to the parent's will. A child a year and a half old is capable of adhering to its own will in defiance of the expressed will of father or mother. In this case it should be constrained to yield. We shall never succeed in making of it a moral person if it does not realize betimes that there exists a higher law than the law of its will. And of this higher law, throughout childhood, the parent is, as it were, the embodiment. When I say that obedience can be exacted of a child of such tender age, that a child so young is capable of deliberately opposing the will of the parent, I speak from experience. I know a certain little lady who undertook a struggle with her father precisely in the way described. The struggle lasted fully thirty-five minutes by the clock. But when it was over, the child stretched out her little arms and put up her lips to be kissed, and for days after fairly clung to her father, showing him her attachment in the most demonstrative manner. Nor should this increase of affectionateness excite surprise – it is the proper result of a conflict of this sort between father and child when conducted in the right spirit. The child is happy to be freed from the sway of its wayward caprice, to feel that its feeble will has been taken up into a will larger and stronger than its own.
Third Point.– What is called conscience does not usually begin to show itself until the child is about three years old. At this age the concept self usually emerges, and the child begins to use the personal pronoun I. This is one of these critical turning points in human development, of which there are several. The beginning of adolescence marks another. I am inclined to suspect that there is one at or about thirty-three. There seem to be others later on. At any rate the first turning point – that which occurs at three – is marked unmistakably. At this time, as we have just said, the child begins to be distinctly self-conscious; it says "I," and presently "you," "he," and "they." Now, moral rules formulate the relations which ought to subsist between one's self and others, and to comprehend the rules it is clearly necessary to be able to hold apart in the mind and to contrast with one another the persons related. It is evident, therefore, that the emergence of the concept self must have a decided effect on moral development.
I feel tempted to pause here a moment and to say a word in passing about the extreme importance of the constituent elements of the concept self. For it must not be supposed that the pronoun "I" means the same thing on the lips of every person who uses it. "I" is a label denoting a mass of associated ideas, and as these ideas are capable of almost endless variation, so the notion of selfhood is correspondingly diversified in different individuals. In the case of children, perhaps the principal constituents of the concept are supplied by their outward appearance and environment. When a child speaks of itself, it thinks primarily of its body, especially its face, then of the clothes it usually wears, the house it lives in, the streets through which it habitually walks, its parents, brothers, sisters, school-masters, etc.7 If we analyze the meaning of "I" in the case of two children, the one well-born and well brought up, the other without these advantages, we shall perhaps find such differences as the following: "I" in the one case will mean a being living in a certain decent and comfortable house, always wearing neat clothing, surrounded by parents, brothers, and sisters who speak kindly to one another and have gentle manners, etc. In the other case, the constituents of the concept self may be very different. "I" in the case of the second child may mean a creature that lives in a dark, filthy hovel and walks every day through narrow streets, reeking with garbage. "I" may mean the child of a father who comes home drunk and strikes the mother when the angry fit is upon him. "I" stands for a poor waif that wears torn clothes, and when he sits in school by the side of well-dressed children is looked at askance and put to shame. It is obvious that the elements which go to make up the concept self affect the child's moral nature by lowering or raising its self-esteem. I remember the case of one, who as a boy was the laughing-stock of his class on account of the old-fashioned, ill-fitting clothes which he was compelled to wear, and who has confessed that even late in life he could not entirely overcome the effect of this early humiliation, and that he continued to be painfully aware in himself, in consequence, of a certain lack of ease and self-possession. Hence we should see to it that the constituent elements of the concept self are of the right kind. It is a mistake to suppose that the idea of selfhood stands off independently from the elements of our environment. The latter enter into, and when they are bad eat into, the very kernel of our nature.
We have seen that the development of the intellect as it appears in the growing distinctness of self-consciousness exercises an important influence on the development of the moral faculty. But there is still another way in which this influence becomes apparent. The function of conscience further depends on the power of keeping alternative courses of action before the mind. Angels capable only of the good, or fiends actuated exclusively by malice, could not be called moral creatures. A moral act always presupposes a previous choice between two possible lines of action. And until the power of holding the judgment in suspense, of hesitating between alternative lines of conduct, has been acquired, conscience, strictly speaking, does not manifest itself. We may say that the voice of conscience begins to be heard when, the parent being absent, the child hesitates between a forbidden pleasure and obedience to the parental command. Of course, not every choice between alternative courses is a moral act. If any one hesitates whether to remain at home or to go for a walk, whether to take a road to the right or to the left, the decision is morally indifferent. But whenever one of the alternative courses is good and the other bad, conscience does come into play.
At this point, however, the question forcibly presents itself, How does it come to pass in the experience of children that they learn to regard certain lines of action as good and others as bad? You will readily answer, The parent characterizes certain acts as good and others as bad, and the child accepts his definition; and this is undoubtedly true. The parent's word is the main prop of the budding conscience. But how comes the parent's word to produce belief? This is indeed the crucial question touching the development of the moral faculty. Mr. Bain says that the child fears the punishment which the parent will inflict in case of disobedience; that the essential form and defining quality of conscience from first to last is of the nature of dread. He seems to classify the child's conscience with the criminal conscience, the rebel conscience which must be energized by the fear of penalties. But this explanation seems very unsatisfactory. Every one, of course, must admit that the confirmations of experience tend greatly to strengthen the parent's authority. The parent says, You must be neat. The child, if it does as it is bidden, finds an æsthetic pleasure in its becoming appearance. The parent says, You must not strike your little brother, but be kind to him; and the child, on restraining its anger, is gratified by the loving words and looks which it receives in return. The parent says, You must not touch the stove, or you will be burned. The disobedient child is effectually warned by the pain it suffers to be more obedient in future. But all such confirmations are mere external aids to parental authority. They do not explain the feeling of reverence with which even a young child, when rightly brought up, is wont to look up to his father's face. To explain this sentiment of reverence, I must ask you to consider the following train of reasoning. It has been remarked already that the parent should be to the child the visible embodiment of a higher law. This higher law shining from the father's countenance, making its sublime presence felt in the mother's eye, wakens an answering vibration in the child's heart. The child feels the higher presence and bows to it, though it could not, if it tried, analyze or explain what it feels. We should never forget that children possess the capacity for moral development from the outset. It is indeed the fashion with some modern writers to speak of the child as if it were at first a mere animal, and as if reflection and morality were mechanically superadded later on. But the whole future man is already hidden, not yet declared, but latent all the same in the child's heart. The germs of humanity in its totality exist in the young being. Else how could it ever unfold into full-grown morality? It will perhaps serve to make my meaning clearer if I call attention to analogous facts relating to the intellectual faculty. The formula of causality is a very abstract one, which only a thoroughly trained mind can grasp. But even very young children are constantly asking questions as to the causes of things. What makes the trees grow? what makes the stars shine? – i. e., what is the cause of the trees growing and the stars shining? The child is constantly pushing, or rather groping, its way back from effects to causes. The child's mind acts under what maybe called the causative instinct long before it can apprehend the law of causation. In the same way young children perfectly follow the process of syllogistic reasoning. If a father says, on leaving the house for a walk: I can take with me only a child that has been good; now, you have not been good to-day; the child without any difficulty draws the conclusion, Therefore I can not go out walking with my father to-day. The logical laws are, as it were, prefigured in the child's mind long before, under the chemical action of experience they come out in the bright colors of consciousness. Or, to use another figure, they exert a pressure on the child of which he himself can give no account. And in like manner the moral law – the law which prescribes certain relations between self and others – is, so to speak, prefigured in the child's mind, and when it is expressed in commands uttered by the parent, the pressure of external authority is confirmed by a pressure coming from within. We can illustrate the same idea from another point of view. Whenever a man of commanding moral genius appears in the world and speaks to the multitude from his height, they are for the moment lifted to his level and feel the afflatus of his spirit. This is so because he expresses potentialities of human nature which also exist in them, only not unfolded to the same degree as in him. It is a matter of common observation that persons who under ordinary circumstances are content to admire what is third rate and fourth rate are yet able to appreciate what is first rate when it is presented to them – at least to the extent of recognizing that it is first rate. And yet their lack of development shows itself in the fact that presently they again lose their hold on the higher standard of excellence, and are thereafter content to put up with what is inferior as if the glimpses of better things had never been opened to them. Is it not because, though capable of rising to the higher level, they are not capable of maintaining themselves on it unassisted. Now, the case of the parent with respect to the child is analogous. He is on a superior moral plane. The child feels that he is, without being able to understand why. It feels the afflatus of the higher spirit dwelling in the parent, and out of this feeling is generated the sentiment of reverence. And there is no greater benefit which father or mother can confer on their offspring than to deepen this sentiment. It is by this means that they can most efficiently promote the development of the child's conscience, for out of this reverence will grow eventually respect for all rightly constituted authority, respect and reverence for law, human and divine. The essential form and defining quality of conscience is not, therefore, as Bain has it – fear of punishment. In my opinion such fear is abject and cowardly. The sentiment engendered by fear is totally different from the one we are contemplating, as the following consideration will serve to show: A child fears its father when he punishes it in anger; and the more violent his passion, the more does the child fear him. But, no matter how stern the penalty may be which he has to inflict, the child reveres its father in proportion as the traces of anger are banished from his mien and bearing, in proportion as the parent shows by his manner that he acts from a sense of duty, that he has his eye fixed on the sacred measures of right and wrong, that he himself stands in awe of the sublime commands of which he is, for the time being, the exponent.