The Moral Instruction of Children

by Felix Adler

Take from actual life the case of a husband who fairly idolized his young wife and lost her by death three months after marriage. We may suppose that in the course of years he will learn to submit to his destiny. We may even hope that peace will come back to his poor heart, but we can not imagine that he will ever again be happy. Another case is that of a person who has committed a great wrong, the consequences of which are irreparable, and of which he must carry the agonizing recollection with him to the grave. Time may assuage the pangs of remorse, and religion may comfort him, but happiness can never be the portion of such as he.

Still another instance—less serious, but of more frequent occurrence—is that of a merchant who has always occupied a commanding position in the mercantile community, and who, already advanced in years, is suddenly compelled to face bankruptcy. The thought of the hardships to which his family will be exposed, of his impending disgrace, drives him nearly to distraction. The question is, would the merchant, would those others, be justified in committing suicide? Certainly not. The merchant, if he has the stuff of true manhood in him, will begin over again, at the bottom of the ladder if need be, will work to support his family, however narrowly. It would be the rankest selfishness in him to leave them to their fate. The conscience-stricken sinner must be willing to pay the penalty of his crime, to the end that he may be purified even seven times in the fire of repentance. And even the lover who has lost his bride will find, if he opens his eyes, that there is still work for him to do in life. The world is full of evils which require to be removed, full of burdens which require to be borne. If our own burden seems too heavy for us, there is a way of lightening it. We may add to it the burden of some one else, and ours will become lighter. Physically, this would be impossible, but morally it is true. The rule of conduct, therefore, thus far reads, Preserve thy life in order to perform thy share of the work of the world. But the formula, even in this shape, is not yet entirely adequate, for there are those who can not take part in the work of the world, who can only suffer—invalids, e. g., who are permanently incapacitated, and whose infirmities make them a constant drag on the healthy lives of their friends. Why should not these be permitted to put an end to their miseries? I should say that so long as there is the slightest hope of recovery, and even where this hope is wanting, so long as the physical pain is not so intense or so protracted as to paralyze the mental life altogether, they should hold out. They are not cut off from the true ends of human existence. By patient endurance, by the exercise of a sublime unselfishness, they may even attain on their sick-beds a height of spiritual development which would otherwise be impossible; and, in addition, they may become by their uncomplaining patience the sweetest, gentlest helpers of their friends, not useless, assuredly, but shining examples of what is best and noblest in human nature. The rule, therefore, should read: Preserve thy life in order to fulfill the duties of life, whether those duties consist in doing or in patiently suffering. As has been said long ago, we are placed on guard as sentinels. The sentinel must not desert his post. I think it possible to make the pupil in the grammar grade understand that suicide is selfish, that we are bound to live, even though life has ceased to be attractive, in order that we may perform our share of the world's work and help others and grow ourselves in moral stature. This does not, of course, imply any condemnation of that vast number of cases in which suicide is committed in consequence of mental aberration.

In the advanced course we shall have to return to this subject, and shall there refer in extenso to the views of the Stoics. The morality of the Stoic philosophers in general is so high, and their influence even to this day so great, that their defense, or rather enthusiastic praise of suicide,[16] needs to be carefully examined. I am of the opinion that we have here a case in which metaphysical speculation has had the effect of distorting morality. Metaphysics in this respect resembles religion. On the one hand the influence of religion on morality has been highly beneficial, on the other it has been hurtful in the extreme—instance human sacrifices, religious wars, the Inquisition, etc. In like manner, philosophy, though not to the same extent, has both aided morality and injured it. I regard the Stoic declamations on suicide as an instance of the latter sort. The Stoic philosophy was pantheistic. To live according to Nature was their principal maxim, or, more precisely, according to the reason in Nature. They maintained that in certain circumstances a man might find it impossible to live up to the rational standard; he might, for instance, discover himself to be morally so weak as to be unable to resist temptation, and in that case it would be better for him to retire from the scene and to seek shelter in the Eternal Reason, just as, to use their own simile, one who found the room in which he sat filled to an intolerable degree with smoke would not be blamed for withdrawing from it. It was their pantheism that led them to favor suicide, and in this respect it is my belief that the modern conscience, trained by the Old and New Testaments, has risen to a higher level than theirs. We moderns feel it impossible to admit that to the sane mind temptation can ever be so strong as to be truly irresistible. We always can resist if we will. We can, because we ought; as Kant has taught us to put it. We always can because we always ought.

Note.—Despite the rigorous disallowance of suicide in general plainly indicated in the above, I should not wish to be understood as saying that there are no circumstances whatever in which the taking of one's life is permissible. In certain rare and exceptional cases I believe it to be so. In the lecture as delivered I attempted a brief description of these exceptional cases, too brief, it appeared, to prevent most serious misconception. I deem it best, therefore, to defer the expression of my views on this delicate matter until an occasion arrives when I shall be able to articulate my thought in full detail, such as would here be impossible.

From the commandment "Preserve thy life" it follows not only that we should not lay violent hands upon ourselves, but that we should do all in our power to develop and invigorate the body, in order that it may become an efficient instrument in the service of our higher aims. The teacher should inform himself on the subject of the gymnastic ideal of the Greeks and consider in how far this ideal is applicable to modern conditions. In general, the teacher should explore as fully as possible the ethical problems on which he touches. He should not be merely "one lesson ahead" of his pupils. Really it is necessary to grasp the whole of a subject before we can properly set forth its elements. A very thorough normal training is indispensable to those who would give moral instruction to the young.

The duties of cleanliness and temperance fall under the same head as the above. In speaking of cleanliness, there are three motives—the egoistic, the æsthetic, and the moral—to which we may appeal. Be scrupulously clean for the sake of health, be clean lest you become an object of disgust to others, be clean in order to retain your self-respect. Special emphasis should be laid on secret cleanliness. Indolent children are sometimes neat in externals, but shockingly careless in what is concealed from view. The motive of self-respect shows itself particularly in secret cleanliness.

The duty of temperance is supported by the same three motives. Intemperance undermines health, the glutton or the drunkard awakens disgust, intemperance destroys self-respect. To strengthen the repugnance of the pupils against intemperance in eating, contrast the way in which wild beasts eat with that in which human beings partake of their food. The beast is absorbed in the gratification of its appetite, eats without the use of implements, eats unsocially. The human way of eating is in each particular the opposite. Show especially that the act of eating is spiritualized by being made subservient to friendly intercourse and to the strengthening of the ties of domestic affection. The family table becomes the family altar. Call attention also to the effects of drunkenness; point out the injuries which the drunkard inflicts on wife and children by his neglect to provide for them, by the outbursts of violence to which he is subject under the influence of strong drink; describe his physical, mental, and moral degradation; lay stress on the fact that liquor deprives him of the use of his reason. With respect to temperance in food, there are one or two points to be noted. I say to my pupils if you are particularly fond of a certain dish, sweetmeats, for instance, make it a rule to partake less of that than if you were not so fond of it. This is good practice in self-restraint. I make out as strong a case as possible against the indulgence of the candy habit. Young people are not, as a rule, tempted to indulge in strong drink; but they are tempted to waste their money and injure their health by an excessive consumption of sweets. It is well to apply the lesson of temperance to the things in which they are tempted. For the teacher the following note may be added: Of the senses, some, like that of taste, are more nearly allied to the physical part of us; others, like sight and hearing, to our rational nature. This antithesis of the senses may be used in the interest of temperance. Appeal to the higher senses in order to subdue the lower. A band of kindergarten children, having been invited on a picnic, were given the choice between a second plate of ice cream, for which many of them were clamoring, and a bunch of flowers for each. Most of them were sufficiently interested in flowers to prefer the latter. In the case of young children, the force of the physical appetite may also be weakened by appealing to their affection. During the later stage of adolescence, when the dangers which arise from the awakening life of the senses become great and imminent, the attention should be directed to high intellectual aims, the social feelings should be cultivated, and a taste for the pleasures of the senses of sight and hearing—namely, the pleasures of music, painting, sculpture, etc.—should be carefully developed. Artistic, intellectual, and social motives should be brought into play jointly to meet the one great peril of this period of life.

Duties which relate to the Feelings.

Under this head let me speak first of fear. There is a distinction to be drawn between physical and moral cowardice. Physical cowardice is a matter of temperament or organization. Perhaps it can hardly ever be entirely overcome, but the exhibition of it can be prevented by moral courage. Moral cowardice, on the other hand, is a fault of character. In attempting to formulate the rule of conduct, appeal as before to the egoistic motive, then to the social—i. e., the desire for the good opinion of others—and lastly to the moral motive, properly speaking. Fear paralyzes; it fascinates its victim like the fabled basilisk. Nothing is more common than a sense of helpless immobility under the influence of fear. There is a way of escape. You might run or leap for your life, but you can not stir a limb. What you need to do is to turn away your attention by a powerful effort of the will from the object which excites fear. So long as that object is before you the mind can not act; the mind is practically absent. What you need is presence of mind. Let the teacher adduce some of the many striking instances in which men in apparently desperate straits have been saved by presence of mind. The rule thus far would read: Be brave and suppress fear, because by so doing you may escape out of danger. In the next place, by so doing you will escape the reproaches of your fellow-men, for cowardice is universally condemned as shameful. Cite from Spartan history examples showing in the strongest light the feeling of scorn and contempt for the coward. There are, however, cases where death is certain, and where there is no support like that of public opinion to sustain courage. What should be the rule of duty in such cases? Take the case of a person who has been shipwrecked. He swims the sea alone, he is still clinging to a spar, but realizes that in a few minutes he must let go, his strength being well-nigh spent. What should be his attitude of mind in that supreme moment. The forces of nature are about to overwhelm him. What motive can there be strong enough to support bravery in that moment? The rule of duty for him would be: Be brave, because as a human being you are superior to the forces of nature, because there is something in you—your moral self—over which the forces of nature have no power, because what happens to you in your private character is not important, but it is important that you assert the dignity of humanity to the last breath.