FOURTH LECTURE
Of the Course on the Obstacles and Hindrances to Education, arising from the peculiar faults of Parents, Teachers and Scholars, and that portion of the Public immediately concerned in directing and controlling our Literary Institutions.
BY JAMES M. GARNETT.
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 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 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, 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 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 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 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 untaught 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 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.