Observations upon Liberal Education. George Turnbull
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can the whip produce a liking to reason?
SOC. I told you from the beginning the observation was not mine. But if you attend to it, you will see, by this very instance given, that it is no quibble. I said the whip did no good when it merely produced a dislike to it, and no liking to something contrary to the vice that deserved the whip. Now here in the case of stubbornness, and in that case only, the whip may banish stubbornness and produce pliableness; and all that reason wants is to have a fair hearing. So that the rod applied in the case of obstinacy may beget a disposition, a willingness to hear reason, rather than be whipt for not hearing it: and reason, when it can once gain attention, will soon give such pleasure, that listening to it will be liked more than the whip can be feared by any one used to it. For by use the whip soon loses all its terror. But reason, by practice, becomes daily more sweet and agreeable. Besides, in the case of stubbornness, or wilful headstrong refusal to hearken to reasonable conversation and instruction, there remains no other cure but the rod. Whereas, if docility be not wanting, there can never be occasion for any thing but information and reasoning, and the rewards of love and praise due to improving minds; the strongest relish of which will never diminish regard to virtue, or a sense of its intrinsic beauty, amiableness and excellence. If you once get into children love of credit, and an apprehension of shame and disgrace, you have put into them the true principle, which will constantly work and incline them to the right.
CT. Your notions are uncommon; the practice of the world, founded upon experience, the best guide, seems to be against them: yet they are very specious. I will think of them.
SOC. If experience be not on my side, I must be wrong. But I am sure, Ctesicles, whether you agree with what hath been said upon better authority than my own, or not, you will grant to him and me, that for all their innocent folly, playing and childishness, children are to be left perfectly free and unrestrained, as far as is consistent with respect to those who are present, and that even with the greatest allowance: and that if these faults of their age, rather than of the children, were left to time and good example to correct and cure, children would escape a great deal of useless, misapplied correction, which, surely, good parents or masters can’t have pleasure in.
CT. I never use the rod for any thing but vice.
SOC. Well, Ctesicles, so far you are right. But what do you think, is one virtuous, or so much as secure against vice, till he cordially loves virtue, and could not be whipt into any vicious compliance? Surely, you will not say he is. You feel a nobler and purer principle of honesty in your own heart. And therefore, if I should grant, you may scourge into the hatred of vice, yet I would willingly know what you do to beget the love of virtue? I know some reward virtue by sugar-plumbs; what is your way?
CT. Why, by giving them that or any thing they like.
SOC. Is it temperance, self-denial, or the power of abstaining from bodily gratifications, when duty commands, that you thus reward to strengthen it?
CT. I know not what to make of you. As it seems to me, you would neither have rewards nor punishments used in education.
SOC. Surely you would not have rewards and punishments employed to educate virtuous habits, which directly tend to destroy them. Tell me, pray, which would you have your sons to like best, virtue and knowledge, or sugar plumbs?
CT. You are merry, Socrates.
SOC. I am very serious. For how can that be considered as a reward for doing any thing, which is not better liked than the thing it is given in recompence for? “Do this and I will give you a sugar plumb.” What does it mean, but put yourself to pain for a moment, and you shall be abundantly recompensed by what I am to give you afterwards.—How Socrates went on we know not, the remainder of the conference not having been transmitted to us.
But this seems, my good friend, to be certain, that every affection in the human breast, which is implanted there by nature, is of great use; and that we may nurse any young affection into virtue or vice, as we please; whereas you cannot extirpate or crush any one of them nature hath inlaid into our frame, without rendering man a much more imperfect creature than he is furnished and equipped by nature to be. And in particular, as love of liberty and dominion is a very necessary one, so a sense of shame and a sense of honour are of indispensible utility.
Eutyphron, a noted preceptor, who had formed many great princes, patriots and heroes, was wont to say, “That he who knew how to reconcile this seeming contradiction, had, in his opinion, got the true arcanum of education, viz. ‘To form self-command or self-denial, and mastership of the passions, without weakening the vigour and activity of the mind, or destroying that love of power, dominion and authority, without which there can be no greatness of mind; nay no incentive to industry and improvement.’” And indeed, at first view, it seems to be a very difficult, if not impracticable task. But if we look more deeply into the matter, it will no longer appear a paradox. For what is the true principle of fortitude, generosity, patriotism, philanthropy? Whence proceed great actions, or what alone renders capable of them? Is it not such mastery over the appetites and inclinations as emboldens and enables one to resist the importunity of present pleasure or pain for the sake of what reason approves: such resolution and firmness as strengthens us to oppose terror or desire, till reason hath pronounced the action proposed, at least not unbecoming, and to look down with brave and generous disdain upon any thing that competes with honour and integrity? This temper ought therefore to be formed betimes: this habit, which is the only solid foundation of virtue, and happiness, virtue’s gift, ought to be wrought into and settled in the mind, as early as may be, from the very first dawnings of apprehension in children; and to be confirmed in them by all the care imaginable, of those who have the oversight of their education. So only are habits formed: so alone is any disposition rendered natural to the mind. But how can this be done otherwise than by accustoming children betimes not to have things unless they be proper for them, and only because they are so, and not in compliance with their wilfulness and peevish fretting or crying?
For this reason, the youth under his care were early taught the beauty, the dignity of self-dominion, and rule over their passions, and inured to the practice of it, and to placing their whole ambition in excelling others in wisdom and virtue, and in meriting thereby the esteem of all good men. They were taught to yield to reason, and to conquer by reason; and to take high delight in the ability of doing good; but to look upon compliance with vice as sinking and degrading the man. And thus their natural love of power took an excellent turn. They felt themselves grow in capacity, power and liberty, in proportion as they advanced in wisdom, and were able to resist pain or pleasure. And this inward force they could not feel without a sincere triumph of reason and conscience, that needs only to be felt to be preferred before all the gratifications of mere sense. By practice in self-denial and liberality, they became strangers to all fear, but the fear of incurring guilt, by acting contrary, or not sufficiently attending to the counsels of reason. They looked upon injustice, ingratitude, intemperance, ungenerousness, and the other vices of the mind, as the greatest evils man ought either to fear or be ashamed of. To dread any thing more than sin, was in their eyes errant cowardise. For thus they used to reason with themselves. “Is not my honour, my integrity, my principal good?—What remains to me worth enjoying in life, if that be impaired or sullied? Shall I then tremble at a wound in my body, and not be afraid of a wound in my better part?—If my reason be my dignity, then, surely, when I suffer my palate, my belly, or any of my senses to get the ascendant over my reason, and betray me into disobedience to it, or neglect of its authority—what do I but basely desert or betray my trust, and give up for a pitiful bribe all that ought to be dearest and most valuable in my estimation!” Indeed virtue must be an empty sound, or this is the chief lesson education ought to inculcate: “That no external evil is to be so much feared as the smallest immoral indulgence.”16 And never was there a truly great man, who had not his mind early seasoned and deeply tinctured with this noble sentiment. This produced an Epaminondas and a Pelopidas, a Scipio, a Cato, &c.—No other lesson could have formed such truly generous heroic minds, who thought of duty, and of that alone, in all their undertakings. But why do I say lesson? It was not by bare lectures, but by discipline and practice this God-like temper was produced. The youth in the ancient schools, which formed legislators, politicians, heroes, patriots, men equally fit to fight against tyranny, and to oppose luxury