Читать книгу The Religious Training of Children - Abby Morton Diaz - Страница 6

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What is religion? Hearing it always spoken of as referring to the One Universal Cause, we may naturally wonder how this matter is regarded in other parts of our common universe, not alone in that small portion occupied by our solar system, with its Jupiter, Saturn, and the rest, but in the infinitude of fixed stars and their planets, and in all the worlds existing beyond our telescopic vision. As the Source of this infinite manifestation is omnipresent Mind, we may safely infer that from this Source mind everywhere exists; and, further, that proceeding therefrom it will be likely to do elsewhere what it does in our small speck of a world—i.e., strive for a conscious union with its Source.

True, we cannot know; but with us religion seems so narrowed, so materialized, by the restrictions and forms of ecclesiasticism, that somehow we can have more breathing room by considering it co-extensive with the universe.

It seems good, however, to find everywhere a surety that this world with all its belongings is not doing itself, so to speak, but that it has a producing Cause—a somewhat other than appears—immanent in all, and to which, or whom, we as individuals stand in the relation of the created to the Creative, existence to Being, sustained to the Sustaining. To this unseen Presence we ascribe what alone seems sufficient unto its full manifestation—namely, the infinitude of wisdom, love, power, strength, intelligence, harmony, good—all united in the one word God. In the Hebrew this word signifies Being, Life; to nourish, to sustain, to pour forth energy; a power going forth, entering into, setting up motion, ruling, guiding, causing to revolve. From the same root are derived words which signify brooding; the act of a mother nursing her offspring; the principle of motherhood.

In all times and places, people have striven for a consciousness of union with this omnipresent Cause. We have from the Greeks: "There is but one Being. . . . author of life . . . energy of all things. One universal soul pervading the universal sphere." Hindoo: "Consider all things as existing in the Divine Spirit . . . supreme, omnipresent Intelligence pervading all. . . . All things in the universe are merely the primeval heart of Buddha. This heart is universally diffused and comprehends all things within itself. The Lord, existing through himself, of whom and through whom all things were, are, and will be." Egyptian: "God, the beginning, the One Father, the Spirit who animates and perpetuates the world." Mohammedan: "God is the All." Our own Scriptures: "One Father, of whom are all things."

In regard to this divine life in man, we have in our Bible: "It is the same God working in you all. The tabernacle of God is with man. Ye are builded together for a habitation of God in the Spirit." Hindoo: "I am pervaded by Thee; Thou containest me. Within, beyond, my God existeth. In thee, in me, in every one, the Lord of Life resides." Persian: "Soul of the soul, intellect exists by Thee." Dr. Channing: "The everlasting Father, quickening, sustaining, renewing us." Theodore Parker: "As God fills all space, so all spirit. Thou art nearer to us than we are to ourselves." Emerson: "Man rests upon the bosom of his God, and draws, at his need, inexhaustible power."

Statements of this nature, expressed in the Scriptures of the different peoples, are known as their religions. None show need of creed or formalistic service. They have no formal significance. They are of the spirit, and concern man's inmost. The word religion, aside from the thing itself, has been variously defined. According to Cicero it signifies "to re-read." Another ancient authority gives for the meaning, "to bind back to God." Dr. Watts defined it as "duty to God." We are told in our Scriptures that man is patterned after the Divine.

Now, as to these meanings, we may well say that each human life should be such that observers may there "re-read" the divine pattern inscribed on the heart. We may state also that, for this complete outliving, the individual human being must turn inward from the outer, the sense-life, and feel consciously "bound back" to the Father, or Begetter—that which gets us to be. And we may further say that duty to God requires a complete showing forth of the divine pattern, and that lack of this completeness is irreligion—actual sin—the word sin meaning, to come short of the mark. "We have all sinned and come short of the glory of God;" that is, we have all failed of showing forth the gloriousness of our divine possibilities.

Religious training, then, is so to manage, to train, that the God imprint on each child shall be revealed. How shall this be done? Obviously not by teaching that this innermost Presence is far off, up above, looking down; nor by making this far-away God a convenience in answering unanswerable child-questions—as God did this, God did that, God will feel thus and so. A little girl, asking about her deceased baby brother, was told that God had taken him up into heaven, the idea being given that heaven was somewhere above the sky. Soon after the birth of another boy, her mother noticed that in saying her evening prayers the child mentioned every member of the family except the baby. "But why not pray for your little baby brother?" the mother asked. "Hush!" whispered the child, "I don't want God to know I've got another little baby brother." She evidently had an idea of magnitude, of far-offness, and of an unearthly sort of Being, somewhere, with unlimited extension of the sense of hearing as well as capacity for taking away children.

Man is said to be created in the image of God; but we may as well say that God has been made in the image of man, for it is certainly the case that man everywhere has carried to infinity his own highest conceptions, and called that infinite GOD. This, indeed, is a necessity of the case. But let us take what is really our highest. By this, our present conception of God is infinite love, intelligence, truth, power, wisdom, good, strength, life. Our duty to God, then, is to let these appear in character and conduct. In the religious training which will accomplish this we are not to consider the child as a receptacle to be filled. We are not to put anything into him. The divine germ is there, awaiting development. How shall we aid this? Is it by telling him if he is naughty God will not love him, or will send him to hell to be forever lost? Or must we make him afraid of God? Clearly this cannot be the way. Fear can never develop love. Nor will the intellectual methods of learning texts of Scripture be effective, nor yet repeating the Golden Rule, or the Ten Commandments, or answers to questions contained in the Catechism.

What is the divine method as seen in nature? It accomplishes by working from within outward, not from without inward. The inmost desire of a pine, we will say, is to be a pine. This is its ideal, its religion, or duty to its Creator. In a nursery of plants their training does not consist in putting anything into them. What they can be and do is already there in embryo. It cannot be supplied. So of our nursery-ground of young human plants. In each are divine possibilities. Our part is to aid in their development, and our first move is to gain that co-operation which in the plant seems automatic. Like the nurseryman, we must work with, not upon, our material. And how can this intelligent co-operation be secured? Interest the child in his own perfection. Lead him to desire this as he desires of a plant in his garden—that it shall be, and do, its best. He would have it gain a full and shapely growth, and express its utmost possibilities in foliage, bloom, and fruit. Wisely trained in this line of thought, a child would be as much disturbed by finding a blemish on himself, as to discover that a spot was soiling his white lily.

Every child enjoys perfection. A boy is pleased to see perfection in a jackknife. The better its steel, the keener its edge, the nicer its finish, and the more things it will do well, the greater his pleasure. The girl, likewise, is pleased to see a superior kind of doll. The more life-like its countenance, the sweeter its smile, the more real its ringlets, the more shapely its limbs, the more gown-like its dress, the more things it can do well, and the more closely it corresponds to a live child, the greater her pleasure. So of any tools or toys; also of fruits and flowers. A perfect apple or rose causes involuntary admiration. In a story, the child is pleased with the brave boy—the truthful, the kind, the honorable, the helpful, the generous, the intelligent; and the brighter these qualities shine out from a dark ground of circumstances the greater his admiration.

It may be said that this is no more than natural. But what do we mean by natural, other than that such is his nature? He responds to perfection because it is his nature to do so; and what is this nature but a manifestation of the Divine? Even a boy possessing opposite qualities is compelled instinctively to appreciate the good ones in others. Why not take advantage of this natural aid, and, by wisely thought-out methods, induce the little one to make himself the kind of boy he can approve? In this we can always trust nature as a compelling power. No boy will be able to approve of himself if that self be unworthy his approval. Thus we have an almighty force on our side, if we will but recognize and work in line with it.

Begin early, say the trainers of animals and of plants. Likewise, with children begin early—that is, before they can perceive that anything is begun. It is the unconscious influence that tells. Not even grown people like to know that somebody is trying to do them good. To a very young child a mother could say: "My dear, suppose you make yourself just such a little boy (or girl) as you would like to play with and stay in the room with. You know what kind you like best." This could begin a profitable talk, and it might be further suggested—"for you know you will have to stay with yourself day and night as long as you live; and as there can be no separation you will be more comfortable by making yourself the kind of companion you can enjoy. It would be unpleasant to be obliged to take for a constant playmate a person you disliked or despised—how much worse were that person yourself!"

Just here a child incident related by a mother is apropos: Her daughter of four or five years told a falsehood. She said to the child, "What a pity! for this makes a dark spot on yourself." Hearing this the girl began to cry. "But, my dear," said the mother, "if from this moment you speak the exact truth the dark spot will go away." This comforted the child and gave her inspiration. How much better some such method as this than the customary one of saying: "Oh, what a naughty girl! Now God won't love you," or "God will punish you," or "if you do so, you will not go to heaven when you die!"

In regard to the matter of interesting the child in its own perfection, it may be asked, Is this religion? Surely. Is not God perfect? And is not the child created spiritually in the image and likeness of God, thus bearing the Divine imprint? And is it not religion that this inmost of the child be shown forth? Is not this "duty to God?"

A question is sure to be raised concerning the ability of a child to tell right from wrong; but it has already been shown that as soon as he is old enough to hear a story he approves the good, the true, and the lovely. As to how he does it, there is no better answer than—because it is his nature to do so.

It is usually at about this time that the child, having heard various allusions to "God" by various people, begins to ask those unanswerable questions so perplexing to a mother, and which are often answered by statements having no foundation in knowledge. Now, as in all the world it is only we humans who are spiritually one with the Divine Cause, it follows that all God-knowledge must come through our own innermost. This guide is called conscience. We are spoken of as being guided by its voice. Of a penitent wrong-doer it is said that he is "conscience-stricken." Of a doer of right that he is "conscientious." Now, what is conscience? When that earnest seeker, Madame Guyon, asked her spiritual adviser, "Where can I find God?" he answered, "Look within." And, indeed, in what other direction can we look, since it is by the spirit that we are allied to God? God-seekers in all times and places have thus found and spoken. This inner witness, this voice of conscience, is the voice of God. And can there be a surer guide?

Suppose, then, we answer our young questioner, our child God-seeker, in this way: "My dear, when you hear of two children and their different ways, you do not have to be told which is the right and which is the wrong way. You do not even ask. And when you yourself speak in a kindly or unkindly way, there is an inner something which lets you know which of the two is the good way. You do not hear this something; you do not see it; you cannot touch it. It speaks without the common kind of voice. But in its silent way it informs you of the difference between right and wrong. This inner voice, which you cannot physically hear, but which lets you know, you may call the voice of God; and the more earnestly you listen the more plainly it will speak. Is it not good that children and all of us have so kind a teacher?"

The child may not fully understand—does any one? But of the two directions—within ourselves and a special place located above somewhere—we have set our young questioner in the true one. To bring a child under the rule of this inner Voice does more for him than to answer his question. It establishes within himself an ever-abiding tribunal, clothed with authority from on high.

Next we will consider what would come from bringing all children into obedience to this Law written upon the heart, and how we may advance still further in our religious training of children.