The Moral Instruction of Children. Felix Adler
schools and subordinate them to sectarian purposes. The example of Germany can not, therefore, be quoted as a precedent in point. The system of compromise in Germany marks an advance in the direction of increasing state influence. Its adoption in this country would mark a retrograde movement in the direction of increasing church influence.
Nor can the system, when considered on its own merits, be called a happy one. Prof. Gneist, in his valuable treatise, Die Konfessionelle Schule (which may be read by those who desire to inform themselves on the historical evolution of the Prussian system), maintains that scientific instruction must be unsectarian, while religious instruction must be sectarian. I agree to both his propositions. But to my mind it follows that, if religious instruction must be sectarian, it ought not to have a place in state schools, at least not in a country in which the separation of church and state is complete. Moreover, the limitation of religious teaching to a few hours a week can never satisfy the earnest sectarian. If he wants religion in the schools at all, then he will also want that specific kind of religious influence which he favors to permeate the whole school. He will insist that history shall be taught from his point of view, that the readers shall breathe the spirit of his faith, that the science teaching shall be made to harmonize with its doctrines, etc. What a paltry concession, indeed, to open the door to the clergyman twice or three times a week, and to permit him to teach the catechism to the pupils, while the rest of the teaching is withdrawn from his control, and is perhaps informed by a spirit alien to his! This kind of compromise can never heartily be indorsed; it may be accepted under pressure, but submission to it will always be under protest.1
The third arrangement that has been suggested is that each sect shall build its own schools, and draw upon the fund supplied by taxation proportionately to the number of children educated. But to this there are again two great objections: First, it is the duty of the state to see to it that a high educational standard shall be maintained in the schools, and that the money spent on them shall bear fruit in raising the general intelligence of the community. But the experience of the past proves conclusively that in sectarian schools, especially where there are no rival unsectarian institutions to force them into competition, the preponderance of zeal and interest is so markedly on the side of religious teaching that the secular branches unavoidably suffer.2 If it is said that the state may prescribe rules and set up standards of its own, to which the sectarian schools shall be held to conform, we ask, Who is to secure such conformance? The various sects, once having gained possession of the public funds, would resent the interference of the State. The Inspectors who might be appointed would never be allowed to exercise any real control, and the rules which the State might prescribe would remain dead letter.
In the second place, under such an arrangement, the highest purpose for which the public schools exist would be defeated. Sectarian schools tend to separate the members of the various denominations from one another, and to hinder the growth of that spirit of national unity which it is, on the other hand, the prime duty of the public school to create and foster. The support of a system of public education out of the proceeds of taxation is justifiable in the last analysis as a measure dictated to the State by the law of self-preservation. The State maintains public schools in order to preserve itself – i. e., its unity. And this is especially true in a republic. In a monarchy the strong arm of the reigning dynasty, supported by a ruling class, may perhaps suppress discord, and hold the antagonistic elements among the people in subjection by sheer force. In a republic only the spirit of unity among the people themselves can keep them a people. And this spirit is fostered in public schools, where children of all classes and sects are brought into daily, friendly contact, and where together they are indoctrinated into the history, tradition, and aspirations of the nation to which they belong.
What then? We have seen that we can not encourage, that we can not permit, the establishment of sectarian schools at the public expense. We have also seen that we can not teach religion in the public schools. Must we, therefore, abandon altogether the hope of teaching the elements of morals? Is not moral education conceded to be one of the most important, if not the most important, of all branches of education? Must we forego the splendid opportunities afforded by the daily schools for this purpose? Is there not a way of imparting moral instruction without giving just offense to any religious belief or any religious believer, or doing violence to the rights of any sect or of any party whatsoever? The correct answer to this question would be the solution of the problem of unsectarian moral education. I can merely state my answer to-day, in the hope that the entire course before us may substantiate it. The answer, as I conceive it, is this: It is the business of the moral instructor in the school to deliver to his pupils the subject-matter of morality, but not to deal with the sanctions of it; to give his pupils a clearer understanding of what is right and what is wrong, but not to enter into the question why the right should be done and the wrong avoided. For example, let us suppose that the teacher is treating of veracity. He says to the pupil, Thou shalt not lie. He takes it for granted that the pupil feels the force of this commandment, and acknowledges that he ought to yield obedience to it. For my part, I should suspect of quibbling and dishonest intention any boy or girl who would ask me, Why ought I not to lie? I should hold up before such a child the Ought in all its awful majesty. The right to reason about these matters can not be conceded until after the mind has attained a certain maturity. And as a matter of fact every good child agrees with the teacher unhesitatingly when he says, It is wrong to lie. There is an answering echo in its heart which confirms the teacher's words. But what, then, is it my business as a moral teacher to do? In the first place, to deepen the impression of the wrongfulness of lying, and the sacredness of truth, by the spirit in which I approach the subject. My first business is to convey the spirit of moral reverence to my pupils. In the next place, I ought to quicken the pupil's perceptions of what is right and wrong, in the case supposed, of what is truth and what is falsehood. Accordingly, I should analyze the different species of lies, with a view of putting the pupils on their guard against the spirit of falsehood, however it may disguise itself. I should try to make my pupils see that, whenever they intentionally convey a false impression, they are guilty of falsehood. I should try to make their minds intelligent and their consciences sensitive in the matter of truth-telling, so that they may avoid those numerous ambiguities of which children are so fond, and which are practiced even by adults. I should endeavor to tonic their moral nature with respect to truthfulness. In the next place, I should point out to them the most frequent motives which lead to lying, so that, by being warned against the causes, they may the more readily escape the evil consequences. For example, cowardice is one cause of lying. By making the pupil ashamed of cowardice, we can often cure him of the tendency to falsehood. A redundant imagination is another cause of lying, envy is another cause, selfishness in all its forms is a principal cause, etc. I should say to the moral teacher: Direct the pupil's attention to the various dangerous tendencies in his nature, which tempt him into the ways of falsehood. Furthermore, explain to your pupils the consequences of falsehood: the loss of the confidence of our fellow-men, which is the immediate and palpable result of being detected in a lie; the injuries inflicted on others; the loosening of the bonds of mutual trust in society at large; the loss of self-respect on the part of the liar; the fatal necessity of multiplying lies, of inventing new falsehoods to make good the first, etc. A vast amount of good, I am persuaded, can be done in this way by stimulating the moral nature, by enabling the scholar to detect the finer shades of right and wrong, helping him to trace temptation to its source, and erecting in his mind barriers against evil-doing, founded on a realizing sense of its consequences.
In a similar if not exactly the same way, all the other principal topics of practical morality can be handled. The conscience can be enlightened, strengthened, guided, and all this can be done without once raising the question why it is wrong to do what is forbidden. That it is wrong should rather, as I have said, be assumed. The ultimate grounds of moral obligation need never be discussed in school. It is the business of religion and philosophy to propose theories, or to formulate articles of belief with respect to the ultimate sources and sanctions of duty. Religion says we ought to do right because it is the will of God, or for the love of Christ. Philosophy says we should do right for utilitarian or transcendental reasons, or in obedience to the law of evolution, etc. The moral teacher, fortunately, is not called upon to choose between these various metaphysical and theological asseverations. As an individual he may subscribe to any one
Since the above was written, the draft of the
During the reactionary period which followed the Revolution of 1848, the school regulations of Kur-Hessen provided that twenty hours a week be devoted in the Volkschulen to religious teaching.