Introduction.—It will have been noticed that in choosing our
illustrative material we have confined ourselves to what may be called
classical literature. The German Märchen has lived in the traditions
of the German people for centuries, and is as fresh to-day as Snow-white
herself when she woke from her trance. The fables, as has been shown,
have been adopted into the language and literature of Persia, of Arabia,
of the nations of Europe, and are still found in the hands of our own
children. Let us continue to pursue the same method of selection.
Instead of relying on juvenile literature just produced, or attempting
to write moralizing stories specially adapted for the purpose in hand,
let us continue, without excluding invention altogether, to rely mainly
on that which has stood the test of time. In the third part of our
primary course we shall use selected stories from the classical
literature of the Hebrews, and later on from that of Greece,
particularly the Odyssey and the Iliad. The stories to which I refer
possess a perennial vitality, an indestructible charm. I am, I trust, no
blind worshiper of antiquity. The mere fact that a thing has existed for
a thousand or two thousand years is not always proof that it is worth
preserving. But the fact that after having been repeated for two
thousand years a story still possesses a perfectly fresh attraction for
the child of to-day, does indeed prove that there is in it something of
imperishable worth. How is this unique charm of the classical literature
to be explained? What quality exists in Homer, in the Bible, enabling
them, despite the changes of taste and fashion, to hold their own? The
novels of the last century are already antiquated; few care to read
them. The poetry of the middle ages is enjoyed only by those who
cultivate a special taste for it. Historical and scientific works hardly
have time to leave an impression before new books appear to crowd them
out. But a few great masterpieces have survived, and the truth and
beauty of these the lapse of ages, it seems, has left unaltered. Mr.
Jebb remarks[11] that Homer aims at the lucid expression of primary
motives, and refrains from multiplying individual traits which might
interfere with their effect, and that this typical quality in Homer's
portraiture has been one secret of its universal impressiveness. The
Homeric outlines are in each case brilliantly distinct, while they leave
to the reader a certain liberty of private conception, and he can fill
them in so as to satisfy his own ideal. We may add that this is just as
true of the Bible as of Homer. The biblical narrative, too, depicts a
few essential traits of human nature, and refrains from multiplying
minor traits which might interfere with the main effect. The Bible, too,
draws its figures in outline, and leaves every age free to fill them in
so as to satisfy its own ideal. Thus the biblical story, as conceived in
the mind of Milton, reflects the Puritan ideal; the same story, narrated
in a modern pulpit or Sunday-school, will inevitably reflect, to a
greater or less degree, the modern humanitarian ideal, and this liberty
of interpretation is one cause of the vitality of the Bible. But it may
be asked further, How did Homer, how did the biblical writers, succeed
in producing such universal types, in drawing their figures so correctly
that, however the colors may thenceforth be varied, the outlines remain
forever true? He who should attempt at the present day to give
expression to the most universal traits of human nature, freed from the
complex web of conditions, disengaged from the thousand-fold minor
traits which modify the universal in particular instances, would find it
difficult to avoid one or the other of two fatal errors. If he keeps his
eyes fixed on the universal, he is in danger of producing a set of
bloodless abstractions, pale shadows of reality, which will not live for
a day, much less for a thousand years. If, on the other hand, he tries
to keep close to reality he will probably produce more or less accurate
copies of the types that surround him, but the danger will always be
that the universal will be lost amid the particulars. By what quality in
themselves or fortunate constellation of circumstances did Homer and the
biblical writers succeed in avoiding both these errors, in creating
types of the utmost universality and yet imparting to them the breath of
life, the gait and accent of distinctive individuality? I imagine that
they succeeded because they lived at a time when life was much less
complex than it is at present, when the conversation, the manners, the
thoughts, the motives of men were simple. They were enabled to
individualize the universal because the most universal, the simplest
motives, still formed the mainspring in the conduct of individuals. It
was not necessary for them to enter into the barren region of
abstraction and generalization to discover the universal. They pictured
what they actually saw. The universal and the individual were still
blended in that early dawn of human history.
We have thus far spoken of Homer and the Bible jointly. But let us now
give our particular attention to the biblical narrative. The narrative
of the Bible is fairly saturated with the moral spirit; the moral issues
are everywhere in the forefront. Duty, guilt and its punishment, the
conflict of conscience with inclination, are the leading themes. The
Hebrew people seem to have been endowed with what may be called "a moral
genius," and especially did they emphasize the filial and fraternal
duties to an extent hardly equaled elsewhere. Now it is precisely these
duties that must be impressed on young children, and hence the biblical
stories present us with the very material we require. They can not, in
this respect, be replaced; there is no other literature in the world
that offers what is equal to them in value for the particular object we
have now in view. Before proceeding, however, to discuss the stories in
detail, let me remind you that in studying them a larger tax is made on
the attention of children, and a higher development of the moral
judgment is presupposed, than in the previous parts of our course; for
in them a succession of acts and their consequences are presented to the
scholar, on each of which his judgment is to be exercised. Those who
teach the biblical stories merely because it has been customary to
regard the Bible as the text-book of morals and religion, without,
however, being clear as to the place which belongs to it in a scheme of
moral education, will always, I doubt not, achieve a certain result. The
stories will never entirely fail of their beneficial effect, but I can
not help thinking that this effect will be greatly heightened if their
precise pedagogic value is distinctly apprehended, and if the
preparatory steps have been taken in due course. It seems to me that the
moral judgment should first be exercised on a single moral quality as
exhibited in a single act before it is applied to a whole series of
acts; and hence that the fable should precede the story.
In making our selection from the rich material before us we need only
keep in mind the principle already enunciated in the introductory
lectures—that the moral teaching at any period should relate to the
duties of that period.
Adam and Eve in Paradise.
This is a wonderful story for children. It deserves to be placed at the
head of all the others, for it inculcates the cardinal virtue of
childhood—obedience. It is also a typical story of the beginning, the
progress, and the culmination of temptation. Will you permit me to
relate the story as I should tell it to little children? I shall
endeavor to keep true to the outlines, and if I depart from the received
version in other respects, may I not plead that liberty of
interpretation to which I have referred above.
Once upon a time there were two children, Adam and Eve. Adam was a fine
and noble-looking lad. He was slender and well built, and fleet of foot
as a young deer. Eve was as beautiful as the dawn, with long golden
tresses, and blue eyes, and cheeks like the rose. They lived in the
loveliest garden that you have ever heard of. There were tall trees in
it, and open meadows where the grass was as smooth as on a lawn, and
clear, murmuring brooks ran through the woods. And there were dense
thickets filled with the perfume of flowers, and the flowers grew in
such profusion, and there were so many different kinds, each more
beautiful than the rest, that it was a perfect feast for the eyes to
look at them. It was so warm that the children never needed to go
in-doors, but at night they would just lie down at the foot of some
great tree and look at the stars twinkling through the branches until
they fell asleep. And when it rained they would find shelter in some
beautiful cavern, spreading leaves and moss upon the ground for a bed.
The garden where they lived was called Paradise. And there were ever so
many animals in it—all kinds of animals—elephants, and tigers, and
leopards, and giraffes, and camels, and sheep, and horses, and cows; but
even the wild animals did them no harm. But the children were not alone
in that garden: their Father lived with them. And every morning when
they woke up their first thought was to go to him and to look up into
his mild, kind face for a loving glance, and every evening before they
went to sleep he would bend over them. And once, as they lay under the
great tree, looking at a star shining through the branches, Adam said to
Eve: "Our Father's eye shines just like that star."
One day their Father said to them: "My children, there is one tree in
this beautiful garden the fruit of which you must not eat, because it is
hurtful to you. You can not understand why, but you know that you must
obey your Father even when you do not understand. He loves you and knows
best what is for your good." So they promised, and for a time
remembered. But one day it happened that Eve was passing near the tree
of the fruit of which she knew she must not eat, when what should she
hear but a snake talking to her. She did not see it, but she heard its
voice quite distinctly. And this is what the snake said: "You poor Eve!
you must certainly have a hard time. Your Father is always forbidding
you something. How stern he is! I am sure that other children can have
all the fruit they want." Eve was frightened at first. She knew that her
Father was kind and good, and that the snake was telling a falsehood. He
did not always forbid things. But still he had forbidden her to eat of
the fruit, and she thought that was a little hard; and she could not
understand at all why he had done so. Then the snake spoke again:
"Listen, Eve! He forbade you to eat only of it. It can do no harm just
to look at it. Go up to it. See how it glistens among the branches! How
golden it looks!" And the snake kept on whispering: "How good it must be
to the taste! Just take one bite of it. Nobody sees you. Only one bite;
that can do no harm." And Eve glanced around, and saw that no one was
looking, and presently with a hasty movement she seized the fruit and
ate of it. Then she said to herself: "Adam, too, must eat of it. I can
never bear to eat it alone." So she ran hastily up to Adam, and said:
"See, I have some of the forbidden fruit, and you, too, must eat." And
he, too, looked at it and was tempted, and ate. But that evening they
were very much afraid. They knew they had done wrong, and their
consciences troubled them. So they hurried away into the wood where it
was deepest, and hid themselves in the bushes. But soon they heard their
Father calling to them; and it was strange, their Father's voice had
never sounded so sad before. And in a few moments he found them where
they were hiding. And he said to them: "Why do you hide from me?" And
they were very much confused, and stammered forth all sorts of excuses.
But he said: "Come hither, children." And he looked into their eyes, and
said: "Have you eaten of the fruit of which I told you not to eat?" And
Adam, who was thoughtless and somewhat selfish, spoke up, and said:
"Yes, but it was Eve who gave me of it; she led me on." And Eve hung her
head, and said: "It was the snake that made me eat." Now the snake, you
know, was no real snake at all; she never saw it, she only heard its
voice. And, you know, when we want to do anything wicked, there is
within every one of us something bad, that seems to whisper: "Just look!
Mere looking will do no harm"; and then: "Just taste; no one sees you."
So the snake was the bad feeling in Eve's heart. And their Father took
them by the hand, and said: "Tomorrow, when it is dawn, you will have to
leave this place. In this beautiful Paradise no one can stay who has
once disobeyed. You, Adam, must learn to labor; and, you, Eve, to be
patient and self-denying for others. And, perhaps, after a long, long
time, some day, you will come back with me into Paradise again."
It is a free rendering, I admit. I have filled in the details so as to
bring it down to the level of children's minds, but the outlines, I
think, are there. The points I have developed are all suggested in the
Bible. The temptation begins when the snake says with characteristic
exaggeration: "Is it true that of all the fruit you are forbidden to
eat?" Exaggerating the hardships of the moral command is the first step
on the downward road. The second step is Eve's approach to look at the
fruit—"and she saw that it was good for food, and pleasant to the
eyes." The third step is the actual enjoyment of what is forbidden. The
fourth step is the desire for companionship in guilt, so characteristic
of sin—"and she gave also unto her husband with her, and he did eat."
The next passage describes the working of conscience, the fear, the
shame, the desire to hide, and then comes the moral verdict: You are
guilty, both of you. You have lost your paradise. Try to win it back by
labor and suffering.
Note.—I would add to what has been said in the text, that the
pupils are expected to return to the study of the Bible, to read
and re-read these stories, and to receive a progressively higher
interpretation of their meaning as they grow older. If in the above
I have spoken in a general way of a Father and his two children, it
will be easy for the Sunday-school teacher to add later on that the
Father in the story was God.
Cain and Abel.
In teaching the story of the two brothers Cain and Abel the following
points should be noted. The ancients believed that earthly prosperity
and well-being depended on the favor of God, or the gods, and that the
favor of the gods could be secured by sacrifice. If any one brought a
sacrifice and yet prosperity did not set in, this was supposed to be a
sign that his sacrifice had not been accepted. On the other hand, to say
of any person that his sacrifice had been accepted, was tantamount to
saying that he was happy and prosperous. Applying this to the story of
Cain and Abel, we may omit all mention of the bringing of the
sacrifices, which presents a great and needless difficulty to children's
minds, and simply make the equivalent statement that Abel was prosperous
and Cain was not.
Again, Cain is not represented as an intentional murderer. The true
interpretation of the story depends on our bearing this in mind. It is
erroneous to suppose that a brand was fixed on Cain's forehead. The
passage in question, correctly understood, means that God gave Cain a
sign to reassure him that he should not be regarded by men as a common
murderer. With these prefatory remarks the story may be told somewhat as
follows:
Long ago there lived two brothers. The name of the elder was Cain, and
of the younger Abel. Cain was a farmer. He toiled in the sweat of his
brow, tilling the stubborn ground, taking out stones, building fences.
Winter and summer he was up before the sun, and yet, despite all his
labor, things did not go well with him. His crops often failed through
no fault of his. He never seemed to have an easy time. Moreover, Cain
was of a proud disposition. Honest he was, and truthful, but taciturn,
not caring much to talk to people whom he met, but rather keeping to
himself. Abel, on the other hand, was a shepherd. He led, or seemed to
lead, the most delightfully easy life. He followed his flocks from one
pasture to another, watching them graze; and at noon he would often lie
down in the shade of some leafy tree and play on his flute by the hour.
He was a skillful musician, a bright, talkative companion, and
universally popular. He was a little selfish too, as happy people
sometimes are. He liked to talk about his successes, and, in a perfectly
innocent way, which yet stung Cain to the quick, he would rattle on to
his brother about the increase of his herds, about his plans and
prospects, and the pleasant things that people were saying of him. Cain
grew jealous of his brother Abel. He did not like to confess it to
himself, but yet it was a fact. He kept comparing his own life of
grinding toil with the easy, lazy life of the shepherd—it was not quite
so lazy, but so it seemed to Cain—his own poverty with the other's
wealth, his own loneliness with Abel's popularity. And a frown would
often gather on his brow, and he grew more and more moody and silent. He
knew that he was not in the right state of mind. There was a voice
within him that said: "Sin is at thy door, but thou canst become master
over it." Sin is like a wild beast crouching outside the door of the
heart. Open the door ever so little, and it will force its way in, and
will have you in its power. Keep the door shut, therefore; do not let
the first evil thought enter into your heart. Thus only can you remain
master of yourself. But Cain was already too far gone to heed the
warning voice. One day he and Abel were walking together in the fields.
Abel, no doubt, was chatting in his usual gay and thoughtless manner.
The world was full of sunshine to him; and he did not realize in the
least what dark shadows were gathering about his brother's soul. Perhaps
the conversation ran somewhat as follows: He had just had an addition to
his herd, the finest calf one could imagine: would not Cain come to
admire it? And then, to-morrow evening he was to play for the dancers on
the green, at the village feast: would not Cain join in the
merry-making? When the solitary, embittered Cain heard such talk as this
the angry feeling in his heart rose up like a flood. Overmastered by his
passion, with a few wild, incoherent words of rage he turned upon his
brother and struck him one fierce blow. Ah, that was a relief! The
pent-up feeling had found vent at last. The braggart had received the
chastisement he deserved! And Cain walked on; and for a time continued
to enjoy his satisfaction. He had just noticed that Abel, when struck,
had staggered and fallen, but he did not mind that. "Let him lie there
for a while; he will pick himself up presently. He may be lame for a few
days, and his milk-white face may not be so fair at the feast, but that
will be all the better for him. It will teach him a lesson."
Nevertheless, when he had walked on for some distance he began to feel
uneasy. He looked around from time to time to see whether Abel was
following him, and the voice of conscience began to be heard, saying,
"Cain, where is thy brother?" But he silenced it by saying to himself,
"Am I my brother's keeper? Is he such a child that he can not take care
of himself—that he can not stand a blow?" But he kept looking back more
and more often, and when he saw no one coming, he came at last to a dead
halt. His heart was beating violently by this time; the beads of
perspiration were gathered on his brow. He turned back to seek his
missing brother. Then, as he did not meet him, he began to run, and
faster and faster he ran, until at last, panting and out of breath, with
a horrible fear hounding him on, he arrived at the place where he had
struck the blow. And there he saw—a pool of blood, and the waxen face
of his brother, and the glazed, broken eyes! And then he realized what
he had done. And it is this situation which the Bible has in view in the
words, "Behold, thy brother's blood cries up from the earth against
thee." And then as he surveyed his deed in stony despair, he said to
himself, "I am accursed from the face of the earth"—I am unworthy to
live. The earth has no resting-place for such as I. But a sign was given
him to show him that his life would not be required of him. He had not
committed willful murder. He had simply given the reins to his violent
passion. He must go into another land, where no one knew him, there
through years of penance to try to regain his peace of soul. The moral
of the story is: Do not harbor evil thoughts in the mind. If you have
once given them entrance, the acts to which they lead are beyond your
control. Cain's sin consisted in not crushing the feeling of envy in the
beginning; in comparing his own lot with that of his more favored
brother and dwelling on this comparison, until, in a fit of insane
passion, he was led on to the unspeakable crime which, indeed, he had
never contemplated, to which he had never given an inward assent. The
story also illustrates the vain subterfuges with which we still seek to
smother the consciousness of guilt after we have done wrong, until the
time comes when our eyes are opened and we are compelled to face the
consequences of our deeds and to realize them in all their bearings. The
story of Cain and Abel is thus a further development of the theme
already treated in simpler fashion in the story of Adam and Eve, only
that, while in the latter case the filial duty of obedience to parents
is in the foreground, attention is here directed to the duty which a
brother owes to a brother. It is a striking tale, striking in the
vividness with which it conjures up the circumstances before our minds
and the clearness with which the principal motives are delineated; and
it contains an awful warning for all time.
The question here presents itself, whether we should arrange the
biblical stories according to subjects—e. g., grouping together all
those which treat of duty to parents, all those which deal with the
relations of brothers to brothers, etc.—or whether we should adopt the
chronological arrangement. On the whole, I am in favor of the latter. It
is expected that the pupils, as they grow older, will undertake a more
comprehensive study of the Bible, and for this they will be better
prepared if they have been kept to the chronological order from the
outset. Another more practical reason is, that children tire of one
subject if it is kept before their minds too long. It is better,
therefore, to arrange the stories in groups or cycles, each of which
will afford opportunity to touch on a variety of moral topics. It will
be impossible to continue to relate in extenso the stories which I
have selected, and I shall therefore content myself in the main with
giving the points of each story upon which the teacher may lay stress.
The Story of Noah and his Sons.
Describe the beauty of the vine, and of the purple grapes hanging in
clusters amid the green leaves. How sweet is this fruit to the taste!
But the juice of it has a dangerous property. Once there lived a man,
Noah, who had three sons. He planted a vine, plucked the grapes, but did
not know the dangerous property of the juice. The second son, on seeing
his father in a state of intoxication, allowed his sense of the
ridiculous to overcome his feeling of reverence. But the eldest and the
youngest sons acted differently. They took a garment, covered their
father with it, and averted their faces so as not to see his disgrace.
The moral is quite important. An intelligent child can not help
detecting a fault now and then even in the best of parents. But the
right course for him to take is to throw the mantle over the fault, and
to turn away his face. He should say to himself: Am I the one to judge
my parents—I who have been the recipient of so many benefits at their
hands, and who see in them so many virtues, so much superior wisdom? By
such reasoning the feeling of reverence is even deepened. The momentary
superiority which the child feels serves only to bring out his general
inferiority.
The Abraham Cycle.
There is a whole series of stories belonging to this group, illustrating
in turn the virtues of brotherly harmony, generosity toward the weak,
hospitality toward strangers, and maternal love. Abraham and Lot are
near kinsmen. Their servants quarrel, and to avoid strife the former
advises a separation. "If thou wilt go to the left," he says, "I will
turn to the right; if thou preferrest the land to the right, I will take
the left." Abraham, being the older, was entitled to the first choice,
but he waived his claim. Lot chose the fairer portion, and Abraham
willingly assented. "Let there be no strife between us, for we be
brethren." The lesson is, that the older and wiser of two brothers or
kinsmen may well yield a part of his rights for harmony's sake.
Abraham's conduct toward the King of Sodom is an instance of generosity.
The story of the destruction of Sodom and Gomorrah may be introduced by
describing the Dead Sea and the surrounding scene of desolation. The
moral lies in the circumstance that ill treatment of strangers brought
down the doom. Hospitality toward strangers is one of the shining
virtues of the Old Testament heroes. Even at the present day strangers
are still despised and ridiculed by the vulgar, their foreign manners,
language, and habits seeming contemptible; the lesson of hospitality is
not yet superfluous.
The story of Hagar and her Child I should recast in such a way as to
exclude what in it is repellent, and retain the touching picture of
maternal affection. I should relate it somewhat as follows: There was
once a little lad whose name was Ishmael. He had lost his father and had
only his mother to cling to. She was a tall, beautiful lady, with dark
eyes which were often very sad, but they would light up, and there was
always a sweet smile on her lips whenever she looked at her darling boy.
Ishmael and his mother, Hagar, had never been separated; they were all
in all to each other. One day it happened that they walked away from
their home, which was near the great, sandy desert. Ishmael's mother was
in deep distress, there was something troubling her, and every now and
then a tear would steal down her cheeks. Ishmael was sad, too, because
his mother was, but he did not dare to ask her what it was that grieved
her, fearing to give her pain. So they walked on and on, holding each
other's hands in silence. But at last they saw that they had lost their
way; and they tried first one direction, and then another, thinking that
it would bring them back toward home, but they only got deeper and
deeper into the vast, lonely desert. And the sun burned hot and hotter
above their heads, and little Ishmael, who had tried to keep up like a
brave lad, at last became so parched with thirst, and so faint with want
of food, and so tired with walking—for they had wandered about for
many, many hours—that he could go on no farther. Then his mother took
him up in her arms and laid him under a bush, where there was a little
shade. And then, oh then, how her poor heart was wrung, and how she wept
to see her darling in such suffering, and how she cried for help! Then
she sat down on the glaring sand at some distance away, and turned her
face in the direction opposite to where Ishmael was lying; for she said,
"I can not bear to see my boy die." But just as she had given up all
hope, suddenly she saw a noble-looking man, wearing the dress of the
Bedouins, approach her. He had come from behind one of the sand hills,
and it seemed to her as if he had come down straight from the sky. He
asked her why she was in such grief, and when she told him, and pointed
to her little son, he said: "It is fortunate that you have come to this
place. There is a beautiful oasis close by." An oasis, children, is a
spot of fruitful green earth right in the midst of the desert, like an
island in the ocean. And the man took the boy up and carried him in his
arms, and Hagar followed after him. And presently, when they came to the
oasis, they found a cool, clear spring, full of the most delicious
water, and palm-trees with ever so many dates on them, and all the
people who lived there gathered around them. And the man who had been
so kind proved to be the chief. And he took charge of Ishmael's
education, showed him how to shoot with the bow and how to hunt, and was
like a real father to him. And when Ishmael grew up he became a great
chief of the Bedouins. But he always remained true to his mother, and
loved her with all his heart.
I am strongly in favor of omitting the story of the Sacrifice of
Isaac. I do not think we can afford to tell young children that a
father was prepared to draw the knife against his own son, even though
he desisted in the end. I should not be willing to inform a child that
so horrible an impulse could have been entertained even for a moment in
a parent's heart. I regard the story, indeed, as, from an historical
point of view, one of the most valuable in the Bible; it has a deep
meaning; but it is not food fit for children. A great mistake has been
made all along in supposing that whatever is true in religion must be
communicated to children; and that if anything be very true and very
important we ought to hasten to give it to children as early as
possible; but there must be preparatory training. And the greatest
truths are often of such a kind as only the mature mind, ripe in thought
and experience, is fitted to assimilate.
One of the most charming idyls of patriarchal times is the story of
Rebecca at the Well. It illustrates positively, as the story of Sodom
does negatively, the duty of hospitality toward strangers. "Drink, lord,
and I will give thy camels drink also," is a pleasant phrase which is
apt to stick in the memory. Moreover, the story shows the high place
which the trusted servant occupied in the household of his master, and
offers to the teacher an opportunity of dwelling on the respect due to
faithful servants.
The Jacob Cycle.
What treatment shall Jacob receive at our hands, he, the sly trickster,
who cheats his brother of his birthright and steals a father's blessing?
Yet he is one of the patriarchs, and is accorded the honorable title of
"champion of God." To hold him up to the admiration of the young is
impossible. To gloss over his faults and try to explain them away were a
sorry business, and honesty forbids. The Bible itself gives us the right
clew. His faults are nowhere disguised. He is represented as a person
who makes a bad start in life—a very bad start, indeed—but who pays
the penalty of his wrong-doing. His is a story of penitential
discipline.
In telling the story, all reference to the duplicity of Rebecca should
be omitted, for the same reason that malicious step-mothers and cruel
fathers have been excluded from the fairy tales.
The points to be discussed may be summarized as follows:
Taking advantage of a brother in distress.—Jacob purchases the
birthright for a mess of pottage.
Tender attachment to a helpless old father.—Esau goes out hunting to
supply a special delicacy for his father's table. This is a point which
children will appreciate. Unable to confer material benefits on their
parents, they can only show their love by slight attentions.
Deceit.—Jacob simulates the appearance of his older brother and
steals the blessing. In this connection it will be necessary to say that
a special power was supposed to attach to a father's blessing, and that
the words once spoken were deemed irrevocable.
Jacob's penitential discipline begins.—The deceiver is deceived, and
made to feel in his own person the pain and disappointment which deceit
causes. He is repeatedly cheated by his master Laban, especially in the
matter which is nearest to him, his love for Rachel.
The forgiveness of injuries.—Esau's magnanimous conduct toward his
brother.
The evil consequences of tale-bearing and conceit.—It is a
significant fact that Joseph is not a mere coxcomb. He is a man of
genius, as his later career proves, and the stirrings of his genius
manifest themselves in his early dreams of future greatness. Persons of
this description are not always pleasant companions, especially in their
youth. They have not yet accomplished anything to warrant distinction,
and yet they feel within themselves the presentiment of a destiny and of
achievements above the ordinary. Their faults, their arrogance, their
seemingly preposterous claims, are not to be excused, but neither is
the envy they excite excusable. One of the hardest things to learn is to
recognize without envy the superiority of a brother.
Moral cowardice.—Reuben is guilty of moral cowardice. He was an
opportunist, who sought to accomplish his ends by diplomacy. If he, as
the oldest brother, had used his authority and boldly denounced the
contemplated crime, he might have averted the long train of miseries
that followed.
Strength and depth of paternal love.—"Joseph is no more: an evil
beast has devoured him. I will go mourning for my son Joseph into the
grave." It is a piece of poetic justice that Jacob, who deceived his
father in the matter of the blessing by covering himself with the skin
of a kid, is himself deceived by the blood of a kid of the goats with
which the coat of Joseph had been stained.
In speaking of the temptation of Joseph in the house of Potiphar, it is
enough to say that the wife conspired against her husband, and
endeavored to induce Joseph to betray his master. A pretty addition to
the story is to be found in the Talmud, to the effect that Joseph saw in
imagination the face of his father before him in the moment of
temptation, and was thereby strengthened to resist.
The light of a superior mind can not be hidden even in a
prison.—Joseph wins the favor of his fellow-prisoners, and an
opportunity is thus opened to him to exercise his talents on the largest
scale.
Affliction chastens.—The famine had in the mean time spread to
Palestine. The shadow of the grief for Joseph still lay heavily on the
household of the patriarch. Joseph is lost; shall Benjamin, too, perish?
It is pleasant to observe that the character of the brothers in the mean
time has been changed for the better. There is evidently a lurking sense
of guilt and a desire to atone for it in the manner in which Judah
pledges himself for the safety of the youngest child. And the same
marked change is visible in the conduct of all the brothers on the
journey. The stratagem of the cup was cunningly devised to test their
feelings. They might have escaped by throwing the blame on Benjamin.
Instead of that, they dread nothing so much as that he may have to
suffer, and are willing to sacrifice everything to save him. When this
new spirit has become thoroughly apparent, the end to which the whole
group of Jacob stories pointed all along is reached; the work of moral
regeneration is complete. Jacob himself has been purified by affliction,
and the brothers and Joseph have been developed by the same hard
taskmaster into true men. The scene of recognition which follows, when
the great vice-regent orders his attendants from the apartment and
embraces those who once attempted his life, with the words, "I am
Joseph, your brother: does my father still live?" is touching in the
extreme, and the whole ends happily in a blaze of royal pomp, like a
true Eastern tale.
A word as to the method which should be used in teaching these
stories. If the fairy tale holds the moral element in solution, if the
fable drills the pupil in distinguishing one moral trait at a time, the
biblical stories exhibit a combination of moral qualities, or, more
precisely, the interaction of moral causes and effects; and it is
important for the teacher to give expression to this difference in the
manner in which he handles the stories. Thus, in the fables we have
simply one trait, like ingratitude, and its immediate consequences. The
snake bites the countryman, and is cast out; there the matter ends. In
the story of Joseph we have, first, the partiality of the father, which
produces or encourages self-conceit in the son; Joseph's conceit
produces envy in the brothers. This envy reacts on all concerned—on
Joseph, who in consequence is sold into slavery; on the father, who is
plunged into inconsolable grief; on the brothers, who nearly become
murderers. The servitude of Joseph destroys his conceit and develops his
nobler nature. Industry, fidelity, and sagacity raise him to high power.
The sight of the constant affliction of their father on account of
Joseph's loss mellows the heart of the brothers, etc. It is this
interweaving of moral causes and effects that gives to the stories their
peculiar value. They are true moral pictures; and, like the pictures
used in ordinary object lessons, they serve to train the power of
observation. Trained observation, however, is the indispensable
preliminary of correct moral judgment.
The Moses Cycle.
The figures of the patriarchs and the prophets appeal to us with a fresh
interest the moment we regard them as human beings like ourselves, who
were tempted as we are, who struggled as we are bound to do, and who
acted, howsoever the divine economy might supervene, on their own
responsibility. Looked at from this point of view, the figure of Moses,
the Liberator, approaches our sympathies at the same time that he towers
in imposing proportions above our level. Let us briefly review his
career. Like Arminius at a later day, he is educated at the court of the
enemies of his people. In dress, in manners, in speech, he doubtless
resembles the grandees of Pharaoh's court. When he approaches the well
in Midian, the daughter of Jethro exclaims, "Behold, an Egyptian is
coming!" But at heart he remains a Hebrew, and is deeply touched by the
cruel sufferings of his race. His first public intervention on their
behalf takes place when he strikes down and kills a native overseer whom
he detects in the act of maltreating a Hebrew slave. This is
characteristic of the manner in which reformers begin. They direct their
first efforts against the particular consequences of some great general
wrong. Later on they perceive the uselessness of such a procedure and
take heart to attack the evil at its source. Moses flees into the
desert. The lonely life he leads there is necessary to the development
of his ideas. Solitude is essential to the growth of genius. The
burning bush is the outward symbol of an inward fact. The fire which can
not be quenched is in his own breast, and out of that inward burning he
hears more and more distinctly the voice which bids him go back and free
his people. But when he considers the means at his disposal, when in
fancy he sees his people, a miserable horde of slaves, pitted against
the armed hosts of Pharaoh, he is ready to despair; until he hears the
comforting voice, which says, "The Eternal is with thee; the
unchangeable power of right is on thy side: it will prevail!" Like
Jeremiah, like Isaiah, like all great reformers, Moses is profoundly
imbued with the sense of his unfitness for the task laid upon him. He
pleads that he is heavy of speech. He can only stammer forth the message
of freedom. But he is reassured by the thought that a brother will be
found, that helpers will arise, that the thought which he can barely
formulate will be translated by other lesser men into a form suitable
for the popular understanding. He returns to Egypt to find that the
greatest obstacle in his way is the lethargy and unbelief of the very
people whom he wishes to help. This again is a typical feature of his
career. The greatest trials of the reformer are due not to the open
enmity of the oppressor, but to the meanness, the distrust and jealousy,
of those whom oppression has degraded. At last, however, the miracle of
salvation is wrought, the weak prevail over the mighty, the cause of
justice triumphs against all apparent odds to the contrary. The slaves
rise against their masters, the flower of Egyptian chivalry is
destroyed. Pharaoh rallies his army and sets out in pursuit. But the
Hebrews, under Moses's guidance, have gained the start, and escape into
the wilderness in safety.
Freedom is a precious opportunity—no more. Its value depends on the use
to which it is put. And therefore, no sooner was the act of liberation
accomplished, than the great leader turned to the task of positive
legislation, the task of developing a higher moral life among his
people. But here a new and keener disappointment awaited him. When he
descended from the mount, the glow of inspiration still upon his face,
the tablets of the law in his hand, he saw the people dancing about the
golden calf. It is at this moment that Michel Angelo, deeply realizing
the human element in the biblical story, has represented the form of the
liberator in the colossal figure which was destined for Pope Julius's
tomb. "The right foot is slightly advanced; the long beard trembles with
the emotion which quivers through the whole frame; the eyes flash
indignant wrath; the right hand grasps the tablets of the law; in
another moment, we see it plainly, he will leap from his sitting posture
and shatter the work which he has made upon the rocks." This trait, too,
is typical. Many a leader of a noble cause has felt, in moments of deep
disappointment, as if he could shatter the whole work of his life. Many
a man, in like situation, has said to himself: The people are willing
enough to hail the message of the higher law to-day, but to-morrow they
sink back into their dull, degraded condition, as if the vision from the
mount had never been reported to them. Let me, then, leave them to their
dreary ways, to dance about their golden calf. But a better and stronger
mood prevailed in Moses. He ascended once more to the summit, and there
prostrated himself in utter self-renunciation and self-effacement. He
asked nothing for himself, only that the people whom he loved might be
benefited ever so little, be raised ever so slowly above their low
condition. And again the questioning spirit came upon him, and he said,
as many another has said: The paths of progress are dark and twisted;
the course of history seems so often to be in the wrong direction. How
can I be sure that there is such a thing as eternal truth—that the
right will prevail in the end? And then there came to him that grand
revelation, the greatest, as I think, and the most sublime in the Old
Testament, when the eternal voice answered his doubt, and said: "Thou
wouldst know my ways, but canst not. No living being can see my face;
only from the rearward canst thou know me." As a ship sails through the
waters and leaves its wake behind, so the divine Power passes through
the world and leaves behind the traces by which it can be known. And
what are those traces? Justice and mercy. Cherish, therefore, the divine
element in thine own nature, and thou wilt see it reflected in the world
about thee. Wouldst thou be sure that there is such a thing as a divine
Power? be thyself just and merciful. And so Moses descended again to his
people, and became exceeding charitable in spirit. The Bible says: "The
man Moses was exceeding humble; there was no one more humble than he on
the face of the earth." He bore with resignation their complaints, their
murmurings, their alternate cowardice and foolhardiness. He was made to
feel, like many another in his place, that his foes were they of his own
household. He had an only brother and an only sister. His brother and
sister rose up against him. His kinsmen, too, revolted from him. He
endured all their weakness, all their follies; he sought to lift them by
slow degrees to the height of his own aims. He set the paths of life and
death before them, and told them that the divine word can not be found
by crossing the seas or by searching the heavens, but must be found in
the human heart; and if men find it not there they will find it nowhere
else. And so, at last, his pilgrimage drew to a close. He had reached
the confines of Palestine. Once more he sought the mountain-top, and
there beheld the promised land stretching far away—the land which his
eyes were to see but which he was never to enter. Few great reformers,
indeed few men who have started a great movement in history, and have
been the means of producing deep and permanent changes in the ideas and
institutions of society, have lived to see those changes consummated.
The course of evolution is slow, and the reformer can hope at best to
see the promised land from afar—as in a dream. Happy he if, like
Moses, he retains the force of his convictions unabated, if his
spiritual sight remains undimmed, if the splendid vision which attended
him in the beginning inspires and consoles him to the end.
The narrative which has thus been sketched touches on some of the
weightiest problems of human existence, and deals with motives both
complex and lofty. I have entered into the interpretation of these
motives for the purpose of showing that they are too complex and too
lofty to be within the comprehension of children, and that it is an
error, though unfortunately a common one, to attempt to use the grand
career of a reformer and liberator as a text for the moral edification
of the very young. They are wholly unprepared to understand, and that
which is not understood, if forced on the attention, awakens repugnance
and disgust. Few of those who have been compelled to study the life of
Moses in their childhood have ever succeeded in conquering this
repugnance, or have drawn from it, even in later life, the inspiration
and instruction which it might otherwise have afforded them. For our
primary course, however, we can extract a few points interesting even to
children, thus making them familiar with the name of Moses, and
preparing the way for a deeper interest later on. The incidents of the
story which I should select are these: The child Moses exposed on the
Nile; the good sister watching over his safety; the kind princess
adopting him as her son; the sympathy manifested by him for his
enslaved brethren despite his exemption from their misfortunes. The
killing of the Egyptian should be represented as a crime, palliated but
not excused by the cruelty of the overseer. Special stress may be laid
upon the chivalric conduct of Moses toward the young girls at the well
of Midian. The teacher may then go on to say that Moses, having
succeeded in freeing his people from the power of the Egyptian king,
became their chief, that many wise laws are ascribed to him, etc. The
story of the spies, and of the end of Moses, may also be briefly told.
The mention of the laws of Moses leads me to offer a suggestion. I have
remarked above that children should be taught to observe moral pictures
before any attempt is made to deduce moral principles; but certain
simple rules should be given even to the very young—must, indeed, be
given them for their guidance. Now, in the legislation ascribed to Moses
we find a number of rules fit for children, and a collection of these
rules might be made for the use of schools. They should be committed to
memory by the pupils, and perhaps occasionally recited in chorus. I have
in mind such rules as these:[12]
1. Ye shall not lie. (Many persons who pay attention only to the
Decalogue, and forget the legislation of which it forms a part, seem not
to be aware that there is in the Pentateuch [Lev. xix, 11] a distinct
commandment against lying.)
2. Ye shall not deceive one another.
3. Ye shall take no bribe.
4. Honor thy father and thy mother.
5. Every one shall reverence his mother and his father. (Note that the
father is placed first in the one passage and the mother first in the
other, to indicate the equal title of both to their children's
reverence.)
6. Thou shalt not speak disrespectfully of those in authority.
7. Before the hoary head thou shalt rise and pay honor to the aged.
10. Thou shalt not spread false reports.
11. Thou shalt not go about as a tale-bearer among thy fellows.
12. Thou shalt not hate thy neighbor in thy heart, but shalt warn him of
his evil-doing.
13. Thou shalt not bear a grudge against any, but thou shalt love thy
neighbor as thyself.
8. Thou shalt not speak evil of the deaf (thinking that he can not hear
thee), nor put an obstacle in the way of the blind.
9. If there be among you a poor man, thou shalt not harden thy heart,
nor shut thy hand from thy poor brother, but thou shalt open thy hand
wide unto him, and shalt surely lend him sufficient for his need.
14. If thou seest the property of thine enemy threatened with
destruction, thou shalt do thy utmost to save it.
15. If thou findest what is not thine own, and the owner is not known
to thee, guard it carefully, that thou mayest restore it to its rightful
owner.
16. Thou shalt not do evil because many others are doing the same evil.
Bearing grudges, lying, mocking those who (like the deaf and blind) are
afflicted with personal defects, appropriating what is found without
attempting to discover the owner, seeking to excuse wrong on the plea
that many others are guilty of it—all these are forms of moral evil
with which children are perfectly familiar, and against which they need
to be warned. It is more than strange that such commandments as the
sixth and eighth of the Decalogue (the commandment against murder and
against adultery, forsooth), which are inapplicable to little children,
should be made so much of in primary moral instruction, while those
other commandments which do come home to them are often overlooked. The
theory here expounded, that moral teaching should keep pace with the
experience and intelligence of the child, should save us from such
mistakes.
To proceed with the stories, the book of Joshua offers nothing that we
can turn to account, nor do the stories of Jael, Deborah, and Gideon
contain moral lessons fit for the young. Sour milk is not proper food
for children, nor do those stories afford the proper moral food in
which, so to speak, the milk of human kindness has turned sour. The
labors of Samson, the Hebrew Hercules, are likewise unfit to be used at
this stage, at least for the purpose of moral instruction. The story of
the daughter of Jephtha, the Hebrew Iphigenia, is exquisitely pathetic,
but it involves the horrible idea of human sacrifice, and therefore had
better be omitted. The acts and speeches of Samuel mark an epoch in the
history of the Hebrew religion, and are of profound interest to the
scholar. But there are certain features, such as the killing of Agag,
which would have to be eliminated in any case; then the theological and
moral elements are so blended that it would be difficult if not
impossible to separate them; and altogether the character of this mighty
ancient seer, this Hebrew Warwick, this king-maker and enemy of kings,
is above the comprehension of primary scholars. We shall therefore omit
the whole intervening period, and pass at once from the Moses cycle to
The David Cycle.
The first story of this group is that of Naomi and Ruth, the
ancestress of David. Upon the matchless beauty of this tale it is
unnecessary to expatiate. I wish to remark, however, in passing that it
illustrates as well as any other—better perhaps than any other—the
peculiar art of the biblical narrative to which we have referred above.
If any one at the present day were asked to decide whether a woman
placed in Ruth's situation would act rightly in leaving her home and
following an aged mother-in-law to a distant country, how many pros and
cons would he have to weigh before he would be able to say yes or no?
Are her own parents still living, and are they so situated that she is
justified in leaving them? Are there other blood relations who have a
prior claim on her? Has she raised expectations at home which she ought
not to disappoint, or undertaken duties which ought not to be set aside
in deference to a sentiment no matter how noble? Of all such side issues
and complications of duty which would render a decision like hers
difficult in modern times, the story as we have it before us is cleared.
All minor traits are suppressed. It is assumed that she has a right to
go if she pleases, and the mind is left free to dwell, unimpeded by any
counter-considerations, upon the beauty of her choice. This choice
derives its excellence from the fact that it was perfectly free. There
was no tie of consanguinity between Naomi and her. The two women were
related in such a way that the bond might either be drawn more tightly
or severed without blame. Orpah, too, pitied her mother-in-law. She
wept, but she returned to her home. We can not, on that account, condemn
her. It was not her bounden duty to go. Ruth, on the other hand, might
perhaps have satisfied her more sensitive conscience by accompanying her
mother-in-law as far as Bethlehem, and then returning to Moab. But she
preferred instead exile and the hardships of a life among strangers. Not
being a daughter, she freely took upon herself the duties of a daughter;
and it is this that constitutes the singular merit of her action. In
telling the story it is best to follow the original as closely as
possible. "Entreat me not to leave thee, nor to desist from following
after thee, for whither thou goest, I will go; and where thou lodgest, I
will lodge: thy people shall be my people: where thou diest will I die
and there will I be buried." Where in universal literature shall we find
words more eloquent of tender devotion than these? It will be noticed
that I have left out the phrase "and thy God shall be my God" for two
reasons. No matter how much we may love another person, religious
convictions ought to be held sacred. We have no right to give up our
convictions even for affection's sake. Moreover, the words correctly
understood are really nothing but an amplification of what has preceded.
The language of Ruth refers throughout to the proposed change of
country. "Whither thou goest, I will go; where thou lodgest, I will
lodge: thy folk shall be my folk; where thou diest, I will die." And the
phrase "Thy God shall be my God" has the same meaning. The ancients
believed that every country has its God, and to say "Thy God shall be my
God" was tantamount to saying "Thy country shall be my country." It is
better, therefore, to omit these words. Were we to retain them, the
impression might be created that Ruth contemplated a change of religion
merely to please the aged Naomi, and such a step from a moral point of
view would be unwarrantable. It was this Gentile woman Ruth who became
the ancestress of the royal house of David.
The story of David's life is replete with dramatic interest. It may
be arranged in a series of pictures. First picture: David and
Goliath—i. e., skill pitted against brute strength, or the deserved
punishment of a bully. Every boy takes comfort in this story. Second
picture: David and Jonathan, their arms twined about each other's neck,
a beautiful example of youthful friendship. Especially should the
unselfishness of Jonathan be noted. He, the Hebrew crown prince, so far
from being jealous of his rival, recognized the superior qualities of
the latter and served him with the most generous fidelity. Third
picture: David the harper, playing before the gloomy, moody king, whom
an evil spirit has possessed. It should be noted how difficult is the
task incumbent upon Jonathan of combining his duty to his father and his
affection for his friend. Yet he fails in neither. Fourth picture:
David's loyalty manifest. He has the monarch in his power in the camp,
in the cave, and proves that there is no evil intention in his mind. The
words of Saul are very touching, "Is it thy voice I hear, my son David?"
Fifth picture: the battle, the tragical end of Saul and Jonathan. The
dirge of David floats above the field: "The beauty of Israel is slain
upon the high places. How are the mighty fallen!" etc. A second series
of pictures now begins. David is crowned king, first by his clansmen,
then by the united tribes. David, while besieging Bethlehem, is athirst
and there is no water. Three of his soldiers cut their way to the well
near the gate, which is guarded by the enemy, and bring back a cup of
water. He refuses it, saying: "It is not water, but the blood of the men
who have risked their lives for me." Omitting the story of Bathsheba, we
come next to the rebellion of Absalom. The incidents of this rebellion
may be depicted as follows: First, Absalom in his radiant beauty at the
feast of the sheep-shearer. Next, Absalom at the gate playing the
demagogue, secretly inciting the people to revolt. Next, David ascending
Mount Olivet weeping, the base Shimei, going along a parallel ridge,
flinging stones at the king and reviling him. David remarks: "If my own
son seek my life, how shall I be angry with this Benjamite?" Next, the
death of Absalom in the wood. Finally, David at the gate receiving the
news of Absalom's death, and breaking forth into the piercing cry: "O my
son Absalom, my son, my son Absalom! would God I had died for thee! O
Absalom, my son, my son!" It is the story of a rebellious and undutiful
child, and illustrates by contrast the unfathomable depth of a father's
love, of a love that yearns even over the wicked, over the lost.
The points of the stories included in the David cycle are: skill and
courage triumphant over brute strength, unselfish friendship, loyalty, a
leader's generosity toward his followers, and parental love. The
arrangement of the words in the lament of David for his son deserves to
be specially noted. It corresponds to and vividly describes the rhythmic
movements of the emotions excited by great sorrow. From the life of
Solomon we select only the judgment, related in I Kings, iii. We may
compare with it a similar story, showing, however, interesting
variations, in the Jātaka tales.
With this our selections from the Old Testament narrative come to an
end. The ideal types are exhausted, and the figures which now appear
upon the scene stand before us in the dry light of history.
From the New Testament we select for the primary course the story of the
Good Samaritan, as illustrative of true charity. Selected passages from
the Sermon on the Mount may also be explained and committed to memory.
The Beatitudes, however, and the parables lie outside our present
limits, presupposing as they do a depth of spiritual experience which is
lacking in children.
Note.—It should be remembered that the above selections have been
made with a view to their being included in a course of unsectarian
moral instruction. Such a course must not express the religious
tenets of any sect or denomination. Much that has here been
omitted, however, can be taught in the Sunday schools, the
existence of which alongside of the daily schools is, as I have
said, presupposed in these lectures. I have simply tried to cull
the moral meaning of the stories, leaving, as I believe, the way
open for divergent religious interpretations of the same stories.
But I realize that the religious teacher may claim the Bible wholly
for his own, and may not be willing to share even a part of its
treasure with the moral teacher. If this be so, then these
selections from the Bible, for the present, at all events, will
have to be omitted. They can, nevertheless, be used by judicious
parents, and some if not all of the suggestions they contain may
prove acceptable to teachers of Sunday schools.
