Chapter VII: Introduction (4)

Nor is this all. The Optician and the Oculist have studied the matter so carefully and know the eye so thoroly in its various stages of development that they know exactly the size of type that children of various ages should use. And they know, too, the kind of paper that should be used in books for children. And they have told us all about it. But we systematically disregard all this information gained with such painstaking care, and instead of using the large clear type and the unglazed, soft tinted paper recommended, we persist in tolerating the unsatisfactory merely because it is a little cheaper. Penny wise and pound foolish we surely are. What we save now we shall have to pay later on with compound interest besides compelling our children to undergo physical pain and mental handicap.

And yet again. We are told by our scientific friends the relative amounts of window and floor space that the schoolroom should have in order to be adequately lighted! Not one in ten has as much window space as it should have, and a good portion of what has been provided is frequently covered up by shades thru the teacher's perverted notion of relative values--seeming to have greater appreciation for certain so-called artistic effects than for eye comfort and safety in work. And then again, these scientific friends of ours have told us that there should be in the schoolroom no cross lights; that the light should not shine upon the blackboards nor into the faces of the children, but that it should come only from the rear and the left and from above. They have found out, too, and told us, the proper shades of color for the walls--scientific knowledge, all of it, and therefore thoroly reliable. But how systematically do we disregard all this valuable information! In the construction of a new school building there is nothing that should receive more careful and scientific consideration than the matter of lighting, but too often the architect is either entirely ignorant of the entire matter, or else is selfishly interested in so-called architectural effects.

I do not mean that we all disregard all these things, that we have no school houses properly constructed, no school books properly printed, and no teachers intelligent and sensible in their handling of boys and girls. Not at all. During the last twenty years we have made long strides in advance along many of these lines in many places. But the bright spots are still the exception and not the rule. The friends of children and of the race need to keep vigilantly at work.

Now, let us look at the matter from another point of view. Let us ask what are the results of this persistent and widespread disregard of the normal conditions under which the eye should work and of the fundamental laws of eye development. What do we find? Why, we find just what you are prepared to expect after considering the above disregard. We find that, whereas at the beginning of school life the percentage of school children suffering from visual defects is relatively small, that percentage increases as we ascend the grades. In other words, the regular, systematic work of our schools is all the time weakening the eyes--all the time causing serious visual defects. Gulick and Ayers came to this conclusion as one of the results of their exhaustive investigation, made in 1908, which culminated in the well known work on "Medical Inspection of Schools," published at that time. This is all the more striking since they found that the prevalence of other physical defects steadily decreases as the years pass.

An investigation carried on in Jefferson City, Missouri, in 1907-1908, illustrates the point under discussion; 20% of all children in grades one to three inclusive were found to have defective vision, whereas in grades nine to twelve inclusive 40.5% were found thus handicapped. In some parts of Germany the increase in defective vision as children ascend the grades is seen to be much more marked than in our own country. In one particular study that comes to mind, a study of short-sightedness alone (published, however, some years ago) it was shown that the increase was from practically none at all to approximately 100%. In other words, the work of the schools had made practically every child near-sighted. And the general tendency seems to be in this direction. Indeed, I know of but one study in which a contrary tendency has been observed. And that was in a rural district--St. Louis County, Missouri--where a study was made about four years ago. Under the conditions observed there, the frequency of short-sightedness seemed to diminish with increasing age. And the reasons for this local tendency, being so directly contrary to the general tendency, men have been trying to understand. Various suggestions have been made such as the atmosphere of the rural as against the city districts being, in the main, more favorable from hygienic points of view; or the fewer pupils in the classes in school, thus enabling the teachers to give more personal attention so preventing undue eye-strain; and the shorter school year maintained in the country giving the children less prolonged periods of eye-strain. But whatever be the explanation of this interesting exception, it yet remains true that the regular work of the school, week in, week out, year after year, causes the eyes of our children to deteriorate, or at least the two go hand in hand with grounds for a very strong suspicion in the minds of those who have expert knowledge of the general situation that the one is the cause of the other.

With this point established, namely, that the work of the schools is but ill-adapted to the structure the nature of the child's eye, resulting in steady deterioration, let us try to see how widespread is such deterioration and how serious. This can best be done briefly thru the use of a few statistics taken from the results of investigations that have been made as to the physical conditions of our school children. From these results I disregard all figures save those that bear on the matter of visual defects since that is our one topic of discussion.

In Cleveland, Ohio, in 1906-1907, a very exhaustive and illuminating investigation was made under the general supervision of Dr. Wallin, one of the most eminent authorities on the relationship of the physical and the mental in the work of our schools. Dr. Wallin called to his assistance many experts, both medical and physical, and his report was a very noteworthy one from many points of view. I touch only two or three points here and there. In one school, the Mayflower, located in a fine residence section of the city, 972 pupils were examined, and 20% of them found to be suffering from some rather serious form of eye defect. In an East End school, another of the so-called better class of schools, 668 children were examined and 32.4% found with defective vision. Even more startling than these were the results found in a school of about the same size in what was called a "congested" district of the city. Six hundred and sixteen were examined and 71.1% found defective.

Another very significant fact was brought to light by this investigation--the disregard paid to the whole matter by parents and teachers. Perhaps I should not include teachers in speaking of this disregard since they have, at best, but advisory power. In the East End school, out of the 668 children examined, 216, or 32.4% were found defective, but only 43, or 6.4%, were being relieved by the use of glasses. And in the "congested" district the disparity was even more striking since out of the 437, or 71.1% of the entire number who had visual defects, only 11, or 1.8%, were being relieved.

In one investigation made in New York City in 1908, 1,442 pupils were considered, and 42% found suffering from eye defects. In Jefferson City, Missouri, in 1908, the results of the examination of 1,000 white children showed 36.5% suffering from somewhat serious visual defects; and many others in lesser degrees. Of these 1,000 children, 410, or 41%, were found to need the assistance of glasses, but only 38, or 3.8%, were being thus assisted.

In Los Angeles, California, in 1909, 5,000 children were examined, and 61% found to be suffering from the same trouble. Again, in Philadelphia, in 1909, the well-known Dr. Risley found, in an examination of 2,422 children, that 44.7% were continual sufferers from some form of eye trouble. I could easily cite similar results from many more studies, but surely these are sufficient. These are startling facts, and very serious when we think merely of this one fact alone without considering it in its relationship to anything else. But when we stop to consider the fact that these sufferers are children, in the schools, and are thus handicapped in their work of education--in their efforts to fit themselves for the struggle of life--it assumes even larger proportions and becomes truly appalling.

What does it mean? Why, it means, in terms of the school man, retardation and elimination. To the layman those words may need interpretation. Retardation means the checking of a pupil in his educational progress thru the grades, necessitating the spending of a longer period than that which is considered normal. For example, a normal pupil is one who enters school at six years of age and is promoted each year regularly; or "a pupil whose age and grade correspond to this standard." Thus, the standard age for a second grade pupil, during the year, is 7 years; for a fourth grade, 9 years; and for an eighth grade, 13 years; or in every case, five more than the number of his grade. If one is older than the number of his grade plus five, he is retarded by the amount of the difference; thus a twelve-year-old child in the sixth grade is retarded one year since a sixth-grade child should be but eleven years old. Somehow he has lost a year. Thru failure to do satisfactory work such a child has had to repeat the work of some one of his grades. Elimination means the dropping out of a child from school altogether before the regular course is completed. We find relatively little elimination in the lower grades since the compulsory attendance laws require attendance. But just as soon as the upper limit of age is reached there is much of it.

I do not know how closely you have followed this matter of retardation in the schools and elimination from them, but I think sufficiently to render it unnecessary for me to discuss the matter at length. Let me refer to but one study which is typical as showing the seriousness of the situation. In 1907, Mr. S. L. Heeter, at that time Superintendent of Schools in St. Paul, Minnesota, working under instruction of his Board of School Inspectors, made a very careful investigation as to the matter of retardation in the schools of that city. You may be surprised to learn some of the results. He found more than one-half, exactly 56%, of all the children in the schools at least one year behind normal grade, and many of them much more than one year behind. To be exact: 12,672 children were below grade. Of these, 6,328 were one year behind; 3,650 were two years behind; 1,689 were three years behind; 651 were four years behind; 221 were five years behind, and 133 were six years behind. Now, what is the cause of such a serious situation? Mr. Heeter, in his report of his findings, speaks as follows:

"There are evidently many causes of this phenomenal retardation--yet it seems likely that one of the largest factors ... is physiological, and that more attention given in our schools to the bodily conditions of our children will throw new light on our educational problems, and even on the subject of backward children, and of delinquency itself." "It appears," he goes on to say, "that the schools have been too exclusively concerned about the minds of children and too little concerned about their bodies. Much time and energy and money have been wasted in trying to make all children equal in mental power, without regard to physical inequalities, until now waste products are clogging our educational machinery." And Mr. Heeter's conclusion is that of all who have studied the matter with any care.

Let me now show the relationship existing between the two, that is, between retardation and physical defects. I can do it briefly by referring to the work of Dr. Cronin in New York City. This is but one instance, but it is typical of conditions. A few years ago, as chief Medical Inspector of the schools of New York City, Dr. Cronin read a paper before the School Hygiene Association of America in which he made the statement that an examination of all children reported as backward by various teachers revealed 95% of them as physically defective.

Thus, in a hasty way, but I think correctly, I have thrown the chief burden of backwardness in school, or retardation, upon physical defects. But our special topic is eye trouble. How much of this burden must be referred to this specific source? It is difficult to say exactly. But knowing as we do the great prevalence of eye defects among school children, from 20% to 71%, you remember, depending somewhat upon locality and environment; and knowing, too, the close relationship existing between the eyes of our children and the work of the schools (this school work, you know, is nearly all done with the eyes. It should not be, but it is); knowing all this, it is not beside the mark to say that a very large percentage of the retardation must be laid at its doors.

And what are we going to do about it? What should be done? The reform is easily seen to be a many-sided one. It is educational--our teachers should come to know that the book is only one, and not the chief one, of the many sources of knowledge open to the child; it is physiological--we should all know the eye better than we do, its normal use and its limitations; the reform is architectural--our architects and boards of education should realize that the seating and the lighting of school houses should receive most careful consideration; the reform is economic--we should come to appreciate the unwisdom of being "penny wise and pound foolish," and recall the old saw, "a stitch in time saves nine"; the reform is medical--we should get our people to see that thoro and regular medical inspection of all our school children is the only sensible method of procedure. And so I might go on naming phase after phase of the problem. It is so many-sided that we can not hope for its immediate and perfectly satisfactory solution. But there are certain quite specific ends in view that should at once and all the time be kept before us. Touching the matter of medical inspection, our state law, instead of being merely permissive should be mandatory, and should be made to apply to every school community in the state. Of course, the cry of expense would be at once raised, but it could easily be shown, were there time at my disposal, that it would be an economic mesure rather than one increasing the cost of our schools. Because every time that a child repeats a grade in school, that year's school work in the life of the child has cost the city or school community twice as much as it should. Whenever, as in the case of St. Paul, already cited, a child is two, three, or six years behind normal grade, there is an extra heavy burden of taxation placed on the city. Medical inspection, wherever it has been made effective, has resulted in lowering, very materially, the amount of retardation. And it is looked upon as saving the community very much more than it has cost, saying nothing at all about the added effectiveness of the child for the work of the school nor of his greater happiness. This statement could easily be substantiated were there time. But that is not necessary. It is so apparent that he who runs may read.

But the time when we can expect such a law to be put in force is, I am afraid, considerably removed from the present. Large bodies move slowly; we must have patience. We must keep steadily at it preaching the good gospel of reform. But in the meantime can we not hasten the glad day of full and complete medical inspection, and at the same time bring relief to a very large number of little sufferers, by throwing emphasis, whenever the opportunity offers, upon the phase of the subject that is before us this morning? The eye trouble is the chiefest of all those of a physical nature. It has far more to do in causing retardation of our boys and girls than any of the other physical defects, and therefore should receive its own prompt and vigorous attention irrespective of everything else. Upon this one point let us have immediate relief and keep it up as rapidly as possible. Let us adopt some program of action which will bring relief as quickly as possible to children suffering from visual defects. For I have no sympathy with the position taken by that foolish mother (perhaps I should be charitable and merely say "ignorant" mother. I think she was both ignorant and foolish), who said to me when I was urging her to have glasses fitted for her little girl, "Why, Mr. Ladd, I can't bear to think of Mary wearing glasses. I am going to keep them away from her just as long as she can possibly get along without them." I replied, "My good woman, if you have any regard for the comfort and well-being of your little girl, or if you care for her progress in school, instead of keeping glasses away from her as long as possible, you should see to it that she has the best that can be procured just as soon as they can be of the slightest assistance." I went on to tell her that it was entirely possible that the use of the glasses at that time for a year or two might enable her to do without them permanently later on. But she did not get them; of course not. They would not have added to the attractiveness of the little face. How hard it is for the unreflecting to deny themselves a present pleasure, whether in money or pride, for a future good!

V

THE HOME, THE CHURCH, AND THE SCHOOL

_An Extension Lecture delivered in many places in North Dakota and Minnesota_

It goes without saying, I am sure, that these three great institutions--the Home, the Church, and the School--fundamental as they are in the life of each, and even of civilization itself, can not be adequately handled in the brief time given to a single address. But yet I think that in that time we can account for each, roughly trace its interesting career, and locate it in our complex life of to-day with function briefly stated. And in it all, or out of it all, directly or indirectly, I think we shall see the relationship existing between the three. This relationship, so strong and so vital, the appreciation of which is so necessary for constructive action and large results in life, I particularly desire to make appear. And it is this relationship that gives appropriateness to the handling of the three in a single address tho each, from a different point of view, might well be made the center of an entire evening's consideration.

The home, the church, and the school! What troops of memories arise around each as we turn our gaze backward! How sweet and sacred appears the home as we recall mother and father, sister and brother, in the old home setting in the early days of our pilgrimage! How solemn and hallowed seems the church as we go back in thought to our first connections with it in Sunday school, in its communion service, and to our own entrance as members! And how fascinating and joyful, even the sometimes tinged with regret or apprehension, the school as we retrace our pathway over the years of its associations! The home, the church, and the school--but the first of these is the home.

THE HOME

Let me ask you, therefore, to think with me first of the home--of that institution which in its very inception, more than any other, was God-inspired; that institution which from its very beginning up to the present hour has, more than any other, reflected the spirit and purpose of God--that institution whose center is the child and whose function that child's development--_the home_. It is the most ancient of all the institutions of man. Organized and set apart at the very dawn of human life, when the morning stars were singing together, the divine Voice gave it sanction and stated its function: "Be fruitful and multiply, and replenish the earth." And the institution, as the ages have passed, has never once lapsed and never repudiated its origin or its work. Still it has advanced so far and improved so much in outward appearance, at any rate, and developed so greatly that, as we know it to-day, we may almost call it a modern institution, so modern indeed and so different from all others as to merit the name of American institution.

Students of history have so laid bare the conditions of living and of home life in the past as to reveal to us the fact that the home, as we know it and love it, did not exist prior to our own day. In all former periods, even tho glorious to look back upon, some of them, golden days as they were of the world's upward struggle, we search in vain for our kind of a home. The home of the American workman to-day is provided with more comforts and conveniences, has in it more of the elements of culture and refinement, is more eloquent of love and the higher life than was the home of the ruler of a few generations ago. And the chief factors in it all, those which bind all together and give meaning, are the honored place given the wife and mother and, springing from that, love, love of parent for child and child for parent. For we all know, when we come to think of it, that our love of home and dear ones is ever our motive for action as we explore new fields and mark out new paths, overcome obstacles and surmount difficulties--in a word, carry the banners of civilization to new heights!

The home of all people, in all ages of the world's history, but especially as we know it to-day, is the one thing for which men live and work. Stop the first man you meet on the street,--"rich man, poor man, beggar-man, thief, doctor, lawyer, butcher, priest,"--any man, going along with a preoccupied mind, thinking of the case he is to plead, the trade he is to make, the book he is to write. Get into this man's mind, down below this particular thing that is on the surface of it, and down there there is one picture that you wilt always find, the picture of a cozy corner somewhere, of a woman sitting by the table or before the fire, of two or three growing girls, and a boy or two that look like him. Meet him wherever you will, find him in whatever occupation, or in whatever stage of spiritual or intellectual development; whenever you get under his jacket, whether it be a blouse or a tuxedo, you'll find this picture hanging on the wall of his heart. Ninety-nine men out of every hundred say, with Robert Burns:

"To make a happy fire-side clime
For weans and wife,
That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life."

And the young man of to-day, looking forth into the years that are to come, picturing himself as and where he would like to be, who sees himself alone, without the joys and companionship of wife and child, the young man who doesn't plan to have a home of his own to which he can lead the choice of his heart and in which he may multiply, thru the development of his own offspring, his powers of usefulness,--such a young man is a selfish monstrosity. And the young woman who isn't longing for a home of her own--for a little kingdom in which as Queen, she may rule jointly with a chosen King in loving ministration to their natural subjects--such a young woman is an abnormal specimen. The desire of every little girl for a doll, the craving of every boy for an animal pet, is but the manifestation of the deep-seated instinct of parenthood. Do nothing to stifle it. Minister to its growth and development. And young man--young woman, you who have left behind the days of knee trousers and short dresses, and with them have laid aside the doll and the pet, think it not weakness when you find yourself irresistibly drawn by the sweet smile of an innocent babe or by the childish prattle of one a little farther on. Be not ashamed when, under such influence, you picture yourself the center of a home, and in this connection think of him or her whom you would like to have share it with you. It is the sweetest influence that can ever come into your life. Rightly regarded and used, it will do more for your happiness and usefulness than any or all others that will ever come to you.

But when the crucial moment comes--when the die is to be cast and the promise asked and given that will bind the two lives together, halt for a moment until one asks and the other answers this "Woman's Question."

THE WOMAN'S QUESTION

"Do you know you have asked for the costliest thing
Ever made by the Hand above--
A woman's heart and a woman's life
And a woman's wonderful love?

"You have written my lesson of duty out;
Manlike you have questioned me;
Now stand at the bar of my woman's soul
Until I question thee.

"You require your mutton shall always be hot,
Your stockings and shirts shall be whole.
I require your heart to be true as God's stars
And as pure as Heaven your soul.

"You require a cook for your mutton and beef.
I require a far better thing.
A seamstress you're wanting for stockings and shirts,
I look for a man and a king.

"A king for a beautiful realm called home,
And a man that the Maker, God,
Shall look upon as He did the first
And say, 'It is very good.'

"I am fair and young, but the rose will fade
From my soft fair cheek some day;
Will you love me then 'mid the falling leaves
As you did in the bloom of May?

"Is your heart an ocean so strong and deep
I may launch my all on its tide?
A loving woman finds Heaven or hell
On the day she is made a bride.

"I require all things that are grand and true,
All things that a man should be,
If you promise me this, I would stake my life
To be all you demand of me.

"If you can not do this, a seamstress and cook
You can hire with little to pay.
But a woman's heart and a woman's life
Are not to be won that way."

Yes, Bobby Burns was right when he said,

"To make a happy fire-side clime,
For weans and wife,
That's the true pathos and sublime
Of human life."

Exactly what is God's ultimate purpose for the human race, I think no one knows. And I am not sure that we need to know. Where clear vision is not granted we walk by faith. But even if the ultimate end is not clearly portrayed, even if we are kept in the dark as to the great outcome, we do know pretty well His method of procedure. A careful study of the past and a critical analysis of the data now at hand looking to the future enable us to grasp with some clearness the leading outlines of the program. From generation to generation, from century to century, from age to age, as time has rolled on, there has been a gradual moving onward and upward, a steady improvement both in the refining and civilizing of man's own being and in bringing that being into sympathetic relations with the external world, that is, a gradual development of man's own powers, and an ever increasing control of the forces of nature. In spite of the fact that this progress has been, at times, painfully slow, it has never once ceased, and during the last century it has moved on with constantly accelerating speed until to-day the human race stands upon the highest point ever reached. I have absolutely no sympathy with that narrow pessimism which is always talking about "the good old times." All in all, there never was a time in the history of the world when man knew so much as to-day; there never was a time when his life was so ministered to by the forces of nature; never a time when his heart was so tender, when it responded so quickly to human suffering, never a time when all forms of evil were so quickly condemned nor when so much good was being done. The long program seems to have been for each age and each generation to hand on to its successors the legacy received, but increased and strengthened and bettered. How much longer this upward movement is to continue, how much more the race is to know and do, how much better it is to be, no one knows. God's ultimate purpose, His great object in view--we may not be able to grasp, but certainly it is not difficult for us to note the general direction of the movement. It is upward.

In all this, wherein does the home come, and what is its function? Is it not, has it not been from the very beginning the Divine agency used for doing this great work? Was not the home instituted, endowed with the divine power of love, and consecrated for the perpetuation of the race? "Be fruitful and multiply and replenish the earth." True, as many times pointed out, our toils and our struggles, our earnings and our productions, incidentally give us pleasure and satisfaction and power, but yet even these are but a means to an end,--that parents may beget, rear, and educate their children in such a way that they can carry the banner of civilization a little higher--lift society to a higher level and draw mankind nearer to God.

So it is that the center and circumference of the home is the child. In the child the home finds its meaning, its excuse, and its justification. It exists, then, that the child may be adequately prepared for doing its great work in the world. Whatever else it may do, on the side, it has one great problem. The child! The child! The best crop the farmer raises, the best article the manufacturer puts on the market, the best ware the merchant handles, the best case the lawyer pleads, the best sermon the minister preaches--or at least that which gives meaning to all of these--the child! "The fruit of all the past and the seed of all the future." God bless the home and God bless its best fruitage--the child!

THE CHURCH

Thus the home--God's simple yet mighty agent in His great work of developing the human race. Its work was accepted and for a time all went well. Such preparation, mostly physical, as the child needed for its future work the home gave without difficulty. But this simple life could not continue indefinitely. One of the fundamental principles of life absolutely forbade man's standing still. The laws of growth and development pushed him on. Whether he would or not, he was compelled to move forward, just as the acorn, obeying the law of its being, changes its form, its size, and adds to its complexity. Little by little man, obeying these inexorable laws, began to develop. His mental, his moral, and his physical natures gradually assumed new forms--new needs and desires were born. More and more his vision became expanded until he could see into and mesurably appreciate the forces of nature. His life was becoming more complex. Now, this larger life, this greater complexity of life, in addition to its own complexity, added materially to the work of preparing the child for playing its part in this great onward movement.

Such preparation as was needed by the child of the primitive home to equip it for playing its part as an adult would no longer suffice. The home must now do something more than satisfy the needs of the body--provide food, clothing, and shelter, and incidentally give opportunity to learn, mostly by imitation, how to do this for another generation of children. The spiritual life needed attention and, as well, the intellectual. Competition was growing keen, and each felt the need of a better equipment that he might play his part well in the larger life that was surely before him. And this larger outlook upon life was itself growing by what it was feeding upon and making its own demands for better things.

But the home was handicapped. It felt the need, but with all other things that it had to do, had no time to take up these new duties. And again, the most of the homes, even if time had been abundant, did not know how to do the new work. So it set about finding a solution to its problem. This was found in the principle of the division of labor. It was seen that time would be saved and results much more satisfactorily reached by delegating to persons definitely prepared and set aside for that purpose certain phases of this work. So the church was instituted and, a little later, the school. To the church was delegated, speaking broadly, the religious and moral development of the child and to the school, the intellectual development.

It was exactly the same principle that, later on, took from the home the weaving of cloth and the making of shoes and other industrial pursuits. With this added complexity of life, the homes could not profitably carry on all these varied activities--be, in addition to a home, also a tailor shop and a shoe factory, a church and a school. And so the homes of a community combined, selecting one man particularly adapted to that work to make all the shoes for the community, another the cloth, etc. And, in like manner, earlier in history, one was set aside to minister to the spiritual life, and one to teach the children. Both were offshoots of the home, delegated by the home to do a certain very definite portion of its work. Each took directions from the collective home and looked to it as the source of its authority. And such it was. The point is this: the home was the original educational institution and, as well, the original religious institution. At first it alone performed the work of all three: it was our home, our church, and school all in one. It finally established the others and merely delegated work to these supplemental agencies, so, at any time, it may withdraw that work from them. It is master of the situation. This withdrawal may be done either by the collective home or by any individual home. If any home represented here this evening, for any reason whatever, wishes to resume the religious function and alone direct the religious development of the children, no one can say it nay. And it is the same in regard to the school. If any parent here wishes to withdraw his children from the school and himself, either directly or indirectly, provide for their intellectual development, he has a perfect right to do so. Our compulsory attendance laws are satisfied when evidence is furnished of the child's advancement. Of course the church and the school, in this primitive stage, were both exceedingly crude--corresponding to the crude notions of religious and intellectual development then held by man, yet playing the same great part as now in the drama of life. I suppose it is true that these differentiations were at first only semi-conscious, but nevertheless they were real differentiations and had large influence upon the development of man.

To trace the development of the church thru its early stages is not necessary for the purpose of this address, so I pass at once to the establishment of the Christian church which is in reality our representative of the same fundamental institution. Like the home and the school, the church began in a very humble way, and during the progress of the centuries passed thru many vicissitudes and underwent many changes. Let me speak very briefly of four stages, or periods, of the history of the Christian church: first, the primitive stage, that period of about 350 years following its birth when, in the main, motives were pure, ambitions unselfish, and ideals high. But, tho it was founded to provide the means of securing the religious development of the child and the race thru the perpetuation and extension of the teachings of Christ, and tho it was launched forth into its great career in the spirit of love and meekness and fellowship that characterized His life, it was not long, as history counts time, before that worthy function was entirely lost sight of, that spirit wholly cast aside, and the new institution entered upon its second period, becoming a mere political machine which, in its utter disregard of rights and justice, in the shrewdness and daring of its schemes, and in the blackness of its methods, almost surpassed even our own most skilful efforts in those directions. "My kingdom is not of this world," Christ had said, and yet the church, founded upon His teachings and led by men pretending to be His true representatives, had become, in very deed, a kingdom of this world. The possession and use of worldly power by the church had so blunted its moral sense that Dante, in the early part of the fourteenth century, felt forced to exclaim, and exclaimed with truth:

"The Church of Rome,
Mixing two governments that ill assort,
Hath missed her footing, fall'n into the mire,
And there herself and burden much defiled."

But Dante's criticism and other forces brought to bear drew back the erring leaders to some slight conception of their function and to some slight effort toward the performance of duty, tho neither conception nor performance took them back to their pristine merit. And the church entered another historical stage, the third, and one whose dominant thought and purpose prevails even up to modern times. Indeed, so recently has it passed that its dark outlines are even yet discoverable as we glance backward. In this new conception of the church and its work we find the function of the institution to be not religious development of the individual and of the race, as it had been at first, but merely technical salvation. And the institution may be pictured as a great lifeboat thrust out into the storm to save from destruction those who can be drawn within--_while all others perish_.

You remember the painting of the picture, foreground and background, how the emphasis was thrown upon the world to come! This world was not man's home. He was a sojourner here, a wanderer. His citizenship was in Heaven. He was a pilgrim passing thru a strange and weary land, and the only purpose of the pilgrimage was a preparation for the life to come. The nature of man himself was corrupt. The world around him was evil. Alone and unaided he was powerless. He was lost both for this world and the next. The storms of life were about him, the great waves were ready to engulf him. But the church, as a lifeboat, was thrust out into the breakers, and upon certain stipulated conditions was ready to take him in. The church was represented as having received direct from the hands of God "the keys of heaven and hell," and as being able to open the gates of a better world to all true believers. But true believers, you know, were no longer the pure followers of the crucified Christ, simply those who would accept the man-made dogmas of the church. No matter how full of error the church was, no matter how corrupt her leaders, there could be no safety outside of her fold. Accept the dogma, salvation was sure; once within, all was well. Religious development was not sought. The character of the life, previous or prospective, mattered not. Acceptance of the dogma was the only requirement. So she taught--having departed Oh! so far from her character and program when given existence by the home and started out on her beneficent work. And so tight had her grip become that none dared dispute her claims. The child had outgrown her mother, that is, the church had, in its own conception, outgrown the home, and it repudiated her control. Indeed, she held the keys--she was the ark of safety.

I have dwelt upon this because, with varying degrees of emphasis, that has been the conception of the church from medieval times almost to our own day. Indeed, I am not sure that it has entirely passed even at the present time. There are doubtless some people who continue thus to regard the church, and there is more than one branch of the institution whose definitely formulated statements of belief can be interpreted in no other way however much, as a practical fact, the members have departed from them.

There are some branches of the church that still teach that the child, newly born into the world, fresh from the hand of God, is already corrupt, prone to evil, of its own volition choosing evil in preference to good. And, believing that, they require the parents when presenting the babe at the altar for holy baptism, to affirm that that pure and innocent babe has inherited an evil and corrupt nature, and that it was conceived and born in sin. A monstrous doctrine, violating not only every parental instinct, but as well all the principles of psychology and ethics. Yea, verily, the Dark Ages are not yet wholly past! Yes, there are doubtless some who still look upon the church as a lifeboat, and who think that that lifeboat should offer safety and protection to those alone who already have on the life preserver. In other words, there are still some who seem to think that church membership should be granted only to those whose character and belief already assure them of abundant entrance into the heavenly kingdom and who, therefore, do not really need church membership.

But yet, on the whole, as a working conception, we have discarded the lifeboat idea and are now regarding the church rather as a great school, so to speak, in which all the children of men, thru the grace of God and mutual helpfulness, may gradually develop the Christian character and eventually come to be the very elect of God. No longer is it being regarded as merely an ark of safety, a lifeboat, ministering to the few, but as a great social beneficent institution shedding abroad upon all people its life-giving light and lifting all men nearer to God; true, giving her choicest blessings to those who come closest and partake most fully of her nature, but yet like the sun which shines upon all and both by direct and indirect rays warms and lightens all. Between the two views, what a contrast! And that change can not be better seen than by a contrast of the methods of work--the methods used to replenish the ranks, to offer the boon of membership to those deemed worthy or to those whom such boon could help.

The old evangelism--you remember its key-note, the old revival meeting, in which skilful word painting presented the two extremes, heaven and hell. And when the emotional nature was wrought up to the desired pitch and fear to the right degree, a choice was demanded,--conversion, it was called. The newer evangelism--Christian nurture in the home and school, and the various agencies of the church--is not as spectacular as the old. It doesn't make as much noise nor draw to itself so much attention. Nor do results so readily lend themselves to figures and tabulation. It does not bring about certain times when large accessions are made to the church membership, feeling rather that a continuous stream, tho smaller, indicates a more healthy growth. But it recognizes the fact that human nature is not necessarily depraved, that, on the other hand, the Christian life is the natural life and that the child under the sweet influences of the home and school and church passes naturally from one stage to another often not knowing when the transitions take place. Christian nurture--_a continuous process_--in which development is the key-note, not conversion, a sudden transformation, a terrible wrenching of the whole being, is the church's present method of growth. Oh! the old has not entirely gone--here and there we occasionally see evidences of its presence. Professional evangelism we call it to-day. I ran across it in a recent trip East. A big, barnlike structure had been erected which was called "the tabernacle." Its floor was of sawdust sprinkled on the ground. Here for about a month a professional evangelist had harangued the curious crowds in immoderate, and oftentimes immodest language. Wit and sarcasm and slang and emotion had been freely used in his efforts to make sinners "hit the sawdust trail," to use his own spectacular language, as well as to extort money from the pockets of the attendants. He left the town $5,000 richer than when he entered and also carried with him, as advertising material, a long list of so-called converts. A travesty on the sacred work of the church! But such methods are to-day the exception and not the rule, and the exceptions merely prove the rule.

And to-day church membership is graciously held out to all who need help in the work of perfecting character--to all who need assistance in leading the Christian life, as well as to those whose battles have already been fought and won. The question asked is no longer, "Have you attained?" but rather, "Do you wish to attain?" When an individual, child or adult, seeks entrance at the doors of an educational institution, the only condition imposed is assurance of his desire to be a learner. The doors swing open. And thank God the church is at last coming to the same position. And so we see her to-day well started upon the fourth stage of her development, accepting as her one great work that given her at birth so long ago--the religious development of the child and the race.

THE SCHOOL

The American school is a wonderful institution. In its absolute universality and impartiality, in its fine spirit of democracy both of teachers and pupils, there is nothing like it elsewhere in the world. It is a product of the genius of our people. Product? Yes, but, also, successively, the most influential cause of the genius of our people. From the first, in a somewhat remarkable degree, we have been a people knowing no social classes or distinctions. The caste idea, so prevalent in European countries, has ever been repugnant to us. And our schools, emanating from such a people, have had a powerful reflex influence in shaping the people and keeping those fine ideals ever before us. But let us go back and see whence it came--trace the connection between the complex, highly influential institution of to-day and the simple offshoot of the home of primitive times. Just when it was first instituted, nobody knows; but in essential features it is very ancient. Long before the beginning of the Christian era, as a supplementary agent of the home having in charge that one portion of its work, it was a well-recognized and highly esteemed institution.

I have already called attention to the great changes that have taken place in the home and in the church as the centuries have passed. The school likewise has changed, and is to-day as far removed from its original prototype as either of the others. It has changed because the home has changed, and in its changes has kept pace with the changing ideals and added complexities of home life. At the very first, only the essentials--teacher and boy--were present: no building, the great out-of-doors furnished the room and the friendly tree the only protection from sun and storm; no course of study, no book--the teacher was all in all. But this stage passed and the next, that continued so long and is more characteristic, followed. Here we find the building and the book as well as the teacher and the boy. The boy's one task is to transfer the contents of the book to his own mental storehouse and the teacher's function to see that the transfer is made. Knowledge was the main element of the child's preparation, that the home demanded of its school. And this often but ill-fitted him for the performance of the duties of life. This period continued for many centuries, down almost to the present time. But another and a greater followed--a period in which not merely knowledge was demanded as an outcome of the school's activities, but something else very different, including that, it is true, but finer and greater than that--something toward which they are the contributing agents--a somewhat harmonious development of the entire life--physical, mental, and moral.

Little by little, as time has passed, the home seems to have been throwing added burdens upon the school until now it sometimes looks as if the school is expected to give the entire preparation of the child--moral, physical, and manual, as well as mental. It sometimes seems as if the home had gone off on a vacation and left the school to do its work. Now, that statement implies a criticism of the home. On the other hand, it is frequently said by unfriendly critics of our public schools that the schools are all the time reaching out and, in a grasping way, more and more taking unto themselves the sacred rights and privileges of the home, even setting themselves up in authority over the home, aye, even alienating the affections of the children, making the home of none effect. Where does the truth lie? Has the home been so negligent of its duty, or has the school forgotten that it is the creature of the home? Which is the usurper? That is an interesting question. We can not go into it in detail, but let me suggest that it has all come about not so much from the unwarranted assumption of the school, nor the conscious and wilful neglect of the home as from the unconscious working out of a great principle fundamental in human development--namely, that the three phases of a child's life--the physical, the moral, and the intellectual,--can not be separately developed.

At first the home had the three lines of work. Soon it delegated two of them to other agencies and then, thru inexperience or thoughtlessness, made the fatal mistake of withdrawing supervision, assuming that no oversight was necessary. Unwise and short-sighted! No individual would thus deal with any other interest. The farm, the store, the financial interest of any kind, even the thing that ministers to the pleasure of life, often receives more personal attention from the parent than does the school. And this situation is not peculiar to our own day. When I was a boy, in another and distant state, we used to sing a song called "The Parent and the School." The various verses showed that parents were in the habit of visiting every other known place--the theater, the concert, the fair, the sea, the neighbors, and each verse closed with the refrain, "And why don't they visit the school?" They should, but they did not then, nor do they to-day. Somehow, all along the line, the home has seemed to think that if it should satisfy the physical needs of the child in providing food and clothing and shelter, the school should develop the intellectual and the church the moral natures in different places and at different times, and under different conditions, and that in some mysterious manner the three could become satisfactorily blended into a harmonious life. Impossible! The three natures are so clearly interrelated, each depends so much upon the others, that the separate and independent development of any one is impossible.