WORLD-BUILDING
An outline.—Education is the process of world-building. Every man builds his own world and is confined, throughout life, to the world which he himself builds. He cannot build for another, nor can another build for him. Neither can there be an exchange of worlds. Moreover, the process of building continues to the end of life. In building their respective worlds all men have access to the same materials, and the character of each man’s world, then, is conditioned by his choice and use of these materials. If one man elects to build a small world for himself, he will find, at hand, an abundant supply of petty materials that he is free to use in its construction. But, if he elects to build a large world, the big things of life are his to use. If he chooses to spend his life in an ugly world, he will find ample materials for his purpose. If, however, he prefers a beautiful world, the materials will not be lacking, and he will have the joy and inspiration that come from spending a lifetime amid things that are fraught with beauty.
Exemplifications.—This conception of education is not a figment of fancy but a reality whose verification can be attested by a thousand examples. We have only to look about us to see people who are living among things that are unbeautiful and who might be living in beautiful worlds had they elected to do so. Others are spending their lives among things that are trivial and inconsequential, apparently blind to the great and significant things that lie all about them. Some build their worlds with the minor materials, while others select the majors. Some select the husks, while others choose the grain. Some build their worlds from the materials that others disdain and seem not to realize the inferiority of their worlds as compared with others. Their supreme complacency in the midst of the ugliness or pettiness of their worlds seems to accentuate the conclusion that they have not been able to see, or else have not been able to use, the other materials that are available.
Flowers.—To the man who would live in a beautiful world flowers will be a necessity. To such a man life would be robbed of some of its charm if his world should lack flowers. But unless he has subjective flowers he cannot have objective ones. He must have a sensory foundation that will react to flowers or there can be no flowers in his world. There may be flowers upon his breakfast table, but unless he has a sensory foundation that will react to them they will be nonexistent to him. He can react to the bacon, eggs, and potatoes, but not to the flowers, unless he has cultivated flowers in his spirit before coming to the table.
Lily-of-the-valley civilization.—All the flowers that grow may adorn his world if he so elects. He may be content with dandelions and sunflowers if he so wills, or he may reach forth and gather about him for his delight the entire gamut of roses from the Maryland to the American Beauty, the violet and its college-bred descendant the pansy, the heliotrope, the gladiolus, the carnation, the primrose, the chrysanthemum, the sweet pea, the aster, and the orchid. But, if he can reach the high plane of the lily-of-the-valley, in all its daintiness, delicacy, chastity, and fragrance, he will have achieved distinction. When society shall have attained to the lily-of-the-valley plane, life will be fine, fragrant, and beautiful. Intemperance will be no more, and profanity, vulgarity, and coarseness will disappear. Such things cannot thrive in a lily-of-the-valley world, but shrink away from the presence of beauty and purity.
Music.—Again, the man who is building such a world will elect to have music as one of the elements. But here, again, we find that he must have a sensory foundation or there will be no music for him. Moreover, the nature of this sensory foundation will determine the character of the music to be found in his world. He may be satisfied with “Tipperary” or he may yearn for Handel, Haydn, Mozart, Beethoven, Melba, and Schumann-Heink. He may not be able to rise above the plane of ragtime, or he may attain to the sublime plane of “The Dead March in Saul.” He has access to all the music from the discordant hand organ to the oratorio and grand opera. In his introduction of a concert company, the chairman said: “Ladies and gentlemen, the artists who are to favor us this evening will render nothing but high-grade selections. If any of you are inclined to be critical and to say that their music is above your heads, I beg to remind you that it will not be above the place where your heads ought to be.” In substance he was saying that the nature of the music depended not so much upon the singers as upon the sensory foundation of the auditors.
Music and life.—Having a sensory foundation capable of reacting to the best music, this man opens wide the portals of his world for the reception of the orchestra, the concert, the opera, and the choir, and his spirit revels in the “concord of sweet sounds.” Through the toil of the day he anticipates the music of the evening, and the next day he goes to his work buoyant and rejuvenated by reason of the musical refreshment. He has music in anticipation and music in retrospect, and thus his world is regaled with harmony. His world cannot be a dead level or a desert, for it is diversified by the alluring undulations of music and made fertile by the perennial fountains of inspiring harmony, and his world
“shall be filled with music
And the cares that infest the day
Shall fold their tents like the Arabs,
And as silently steal away.”
Children.—Again, this man elects to have children in his world, for he has come to know that there is no sweeter music on earth than the laughter of a child. Were he sojourning five hundred miles away from the abode of children he would soon be glad to walk the entire distance that he might again hear the prattle, the laughter, or even the crying of a child. Cowboys on the plains have been thrown into a frenzy of delight at the sight of a little child. Full well the man knows that, if he would have children in his world, he must find these children for himself; for this task may not be delegated. If he would bring Paul and Florence Dombey into his world, he must win them to himself by living with them throughout all the pages of the book. In order to lure Pollyanna into his world to imbue it with the spirit of gladness, he must establish a community of interests with her by imbibing her spirit as revealed in the book.
Characterizations.—He may not have Little Joe in his world unless his spirit becomes attuned to the pathos of Bleak House. And he both wants and needs Little Joe. Echoing and reëchoing through his soul each day are the words of the little chap, “He wuz good to me, he wuz,” and acting vicariously for the little fellow he touches the lives of other unfortunates as the hours go by and brings to them sunshine and hope and courage. And he must needs have Tiny Tim, also, to banish the cobwebs from his soul with his fervent “God bless us every one.” The day cannot go far wrong with this simple prayer clinging in his memory. It permeates the perplexities of the day, gives resiliency to his spirit, and encourages and reënforces all the noble impulses that come into his consciousness. Wherever he goes and whatever he is doing he feels that Tiny Tim is present to bestow his childish benediction.
Lessons from childhood.—In Laddie he finds a whole family of children to his liking and feels that his world is the better for their presence. To Old Curiosity Shop and Silas Marner he goes and brings thence Little Nell and Eppie, feeling that in their boon companionship they will make his world more attractive to himself and others by their gentle graces of kindness and helpfulness. In his quest for children of the right sort he lingers long with Dickens, the apostle and benefactor of childhood, but passes by the colored supplement. For all the children in his world he would have the approval and blessing of the Master. He would know, when he hears the words “Except ye become as little children,” that reference is made to such children as he has about him. At the feet of these children he sits and learns the lessons of sincerity, guilelessness, simplicity, and faith, and through their eyes he sees life glorified.
Stars.—Nor must his world lack stars. He needs these to draw his thoughts away from sordid things out into the far spaces. He would not spend a lifetime thinking of nothing beyond the weather, the ball-score, his clothes, and his ailments. He wants to think big thoughts, and he would have stars to guide him. He knows that a man is as high, as broad, and as deep as his thoughts, and that if he would grow big in his thinking he must have big objects to engage his thoughts. He would explore the infinite spaces, commune with the planets in their courses, attain the sublime heights where the masters have wrought, and discover, if possible, the sources of power, genius, and inspiration. He would find delight in the colors of the rainbow, the glory of the morning, and the iridescence of the dewdrop. He would train his thoughts to scan the spaces behind the clouds, to transcend the snow-capped mountain, and to penetrate the depths of the sea. He would visualize creation, evolution, and the intricate processes of life. So he must have stars in his world.
Books.—In addition to all these he must have books in his world, and he is cognizant of the fact that his neighbors judge both himself and his world by the character of the books he selects. He may select Mrs. Wiggs or Les Miserables. If he elects to have about him books of the cabbage patch variety, he condemns himself to that sort of reading for a whole lifetime. Nor is any redemption possible from such standards save by his own efforts. Neither men nor angels can draw him up to the plane of Victor Hugo if he elects to abide in the cabbage patch. If he prefers Graustark to Macbeth, all people, including his dearest friends, will go on their way and leave him to his choice. If he says he cannot read Shakespeare, Massinger, Milton, or Wordsworth, he does no violence to the reputation of these writers, but merely defines and classifies himself.
Authors as companions.—Having learned or sensed these distinctions, he elects to consort with Burns, Keats, Shelley, Southey, Homer, Dante, Virgil, Hawthorne, Scott, Maupassant, Goethe, Schiller, and George Eliot. In such society he never has occasion to explain or apologize for his companions. He reads their books in the open and gains a feeling of elation and exaltation. When he would see life in the large, he sits before the picture of Jean Valjean. When he would see integrity and fidelity in spite of suffering, he sits before the portrait of Job. When he would see men of heroic size, he has the characters of Homer file by. If he would see the panorama of the emotions of the human soul, he selects Hugo as his guide. If he would laugh, he reads Tam O’Shanter; if he would weep, he reads of the death of Little Nell. If he would see real heroism, he follows Sidney Carton to the scaffold, or Esther into the presence of the King. He goes to Shelley’s Skylark to find beauty, Burns’s Highland Mary to find tenderness, Hawthorne’s Scarlet Letter to find tragedy, and the Book of Job to find sublimity. Through his books he comes to know Quasimodo and Sir Galahad; Becky Sharp and Penelope; Aaron Burr and Enoch Arden; and Herodias and Florence Nightingale.
People.—But his world would be incomplete without people, and here, again, he is free to choose. And, since he wants people in his world who will be constant reminders to him of qualities that he himself would cultivate, he selects Ruth and Jephthah’s daughter to represent fidelity. When temptation assails him he finds them ready to lead him back and up to the plane of high resolves. To remind him of indomitable courage and perseverance he selects William the Silent, Christopher Columbus, and Moses. When his courage is waning and he is becoming flaccid and indolent, their very presence is a rebuke, and a survey of their achievements restores him to himself. As examples of patriotic thinking and action he invites into his world Samuel Adams, Thomas Jefferson, and Alexander Hamilton. They remind him that he is a product of the past and that it devolves upon him to pass on to posterity without spot or blemish the heritage that has come to him through the patriotic service and sacrifice of his progenitors.
Influence of people.—That he may never lose sight of the fact that it is cowardly and degrading to recede from high ideals he opens the doors of his world for Milton, Beethoven, and Michael Angelo. Their superb achievements, considered in connection with their afflictions and hardships, are a source of inspiration to him and keep him up to his best. As a token of his appreciation of these exemplars he strives to excel himself, thus proving himself a worthy disciple. They need not chide him, for in their presence he cannot do otherwise than hold fast to his ideals and struggle upward with a courage born of inspiration. Living among such goodly people, he finds his world resplendent with the virtues that prove a halo to life. With such people about him he can be neither lonely nor despondent. If the cares of life fret him for the moment, he takes counsel with them and his equilibrium is restored. In their company he finds life a joyous experience, for their very presence exhales the qualities that make life worth while.
As an inevitable result of all the influences that constitute his world he finds himself yearning for meliorism as the crownpiece. Drinking from the fount of inspiration that gushes forth at the behest of all these wholesome influences, he longs for betterment. Good as he finds the things about him, he feels that they are not yet good enough. So he becomes the eloquent apostle of meliorism, proclaiming his gospel without abatement. The roads are not good enough, and he would have better ones. Our houses are not good enough, and he would have people design and build better ones. Our music is not good enough as yet, and he would encourage men and women to write better. Our books are not good enough, and he would incite people to write better ones. Our conduct of civic affairs is not good enough, and he would stimulate society to strive for civic betterment. Our municipal government is not good enough, and he proclaims the need to make improvement. Our national government is not all that it might be, and he would have all people join in a benevolent conspiracy to make it better.
Influence of the school.—Thus day by day this man continues the building of a world for himself. And day by day he strives to make his world better, not only as an abiding place for himself but also as an example for others. In short, this man is a product of the vitalized school, and is weaving into the pattern of his life the teachings of the school. In exuberance of spirit and in fervent gratitude he looks back to the school that taught him to know that education is the process of world-building. And to the school he gives the credit for the large and beautiful world in which he lives.