Moral-Spiritual Values

Moral-Spiritual Values

WILLIAM B. WILLIAMSON

CHEYNEY STATE COLLEGE

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Professor Williamson, who teaches philosophy at Cheyney, here applies the tools of language analysis to the term "moral-spiritual values" in an effort to dispel the reverential and obscuring cloud surrounding it. He discovers that the concept of "morality" provides a criterion for both 'religion' and 'values’ The notion that "moral-spiritual values" are universalizable standards available for the guidance of behavior may be controversial, but it opens up a number of interesting questions respecting the teaching of common values in a pluralist society's public schools.

The term "moral-spiritual values" is used widely in the United States. Indeed, it has almost a revered place not only in ordinary language, but in the language of education where "moral-spiritual values" is used, on the one hand, with hushed tones in some resemblance to the awe with which the Orthodox Jew contemplates the name of God and, on the other hand, as a "sacred calf," displayed to show that life in the United States is not without grounding in the great "verities and virtues." The need for such public and self-assurance has deepened since recent Supreme Court decisions have outlawed as part of school exercises compulsory school prayers, readings from the Holy Bible, and the use of the Lord's Prayer. Politicians and private citizens alike are discussing "moral-spiritual values" with the hope that these words will provide a link with the vast religious heritage of the United States, and an answer to the present search for common universal values in a pluralistic society.

In its current usage, however, "moral-spiritual values" has no unique and distinct meaning. A survey made among several hundred teachers disclosed meanings which ranged from adherence to the Ten Commandments to the picking and choosing of values according to the individual's personal taste and religious dictates. One colleague was so distressed by the results of the survey that he recommended authoritarian definition (by the Church, of course) to put things right and lead in the proper direction again. But will it? R. M. Hare's distinction between meaning and criteria should help at this point. The question is not what is the meaning of "moral-spiritual values," but what are the criteria (characteristics in use) of the separate words as they are ordinarily used. Using this approach, a rational basis can be established on which "moral-spiritual values" can be used more accurately. Such an analysis of the words "value," "moral," and "religion" might not only dispel some of the reverential but quite useless regard in which the words are held, but also reveal a common, explicable, central core of meaning, the implications of which will be useful to home, church, synagogue, and school, in our society of many religions.

TOWARD THE DEFINITION OF 'MORAL' AND 'RELIGION'

The words 'moral' and 'religion' belong to a large class of words which, while acceptable in everyday communication at face value, seem on closer analysis to defy clear and exact meaning. In an analysis of 'moral' some help may be derived from etymology. On the whole, 'moral' has remained close to its Latin origin: moralis means "relating to conduct;" and mores (plural of mos) means "manners, customs, or accepted ways of behavior." Professor Elmer Sprague, in What Is Philosophy?, avoids defining 'moral' by offering a clever definition of 'morality' as having "to do with making and following rules that are intended to govern human actions." Moral rules are generally accepted to be principles which govern human behavior, e.g., the Ten Commandments. In totality the Decalogue is called a moral code. Such rules or principles always imply moral judgments which are assertions characterizing a human thought, choice or act, as either good or bad, right or wrong. As they stand, the Commandments are imperatives, of course.

From this survey of definitions we can now propose a tentative reportive definition of 'moral' as "behavior in accordance with accepted standards" and 'immoral' as the opposite, even though we must avoid oversimplification on the relation of principles about, and standards governing, human

behavior. This definition provides the descriptive element necessary to every moral assertion, but it is not sufficient to reveal the broader, delicate logic of moral language.

Moral language is used not only descriptively when it relates to conformity or nonconformity with social standards of behavior, but also evaluatively when value words are used to approve or disapprove. Evaluative statements usually express either some claim for a universal application of one's own standards of behavior, or a claim of universal obligation or duty which is present in the situation itself. Another important feature of moral language, perhaps the most important, is Hare's criterion that moral assertions are prescriptive; that is, they prescribe universally a principle of choice and a course of action. Without such universality, it would not be possible to use the principle as a criterion of what one should do here and now. I. T. Ramsey has suggested another criterion as he notes that a moral assertion also may be characterized as a response to the external and authoritative obligation of a challenge inherent in a situation. The concept of an objective moral demand to which a moral response is made preserves an objective basis for morality, as well as a necessary stimulus for the acceptance of individual responsibility for moral choices.

CONDITIONS OF JUDGMENT

Also deeply involved in any understanding of the word 'moral' are the pre-existent conditions which make it possible for a person to make moral judgments and to note the moral principles implied therein. First, it can be assumed that the consideration of moral questions presupposes a reasoning, physically healthy person, and one who is able to distinguish between what he thinks to be the facts of the situation (called by some the "isness") and what he believes ought to be the case (called the "oughtness"). Second, the person must be both free to choose and to act in the situation, and also he must be willing to accept the responsibility for his choice and/or act. The mere suggestion that

the person "could not have chosen otherwise" in a given situation removes the apparent choice or action from the category of moral responsibility. Persons thus deprived of freedom to choose and act can hardly be praised or blamed, rewarded or punished.

Third, 'morality' presupposes some motivation, either internal or external. Morals would have only academic meaning without the power of motivation to make practical application possible. It is at the point of motivation in 'morality' that 'religion' seems to come close to 'moral,' although obviously 'religion' is not the only motivating influence in moral choice and action. A fourth criterion for the making of moral judgments is that for each reasonable, free and motivated moral decision, the person can offer a reasonable explanation of and for his choice or action. He will say, "Yes, I considered the factors, I was unhindered in my choice, and I was strongly motivated by my religious faith. I chose, therefore, to take a stand for political rights for all."

THE LOGIC OF THE LANGUAGE

Assuming the conditions of reason, freedom, motivation, and explanation, a definition of 'moral,' therefore, must contain elements acknowledging that the logic of the language of morals is descriptive (relating to behavior in accordance with accepted standards), evaluative (relating to judgments implying approval or disapproval), prescriptive (in claiming that something ought to be done), and responsive (relating to a demand within each situation itself). 'Moral' may be correctly used, after satisfying the necessary presuppositions, to name the descriptive (isness), the evaluative (good and bad), the prescriptive (all ought to), and the responsive (demand in a situation) functionings which are involved in making the distinctions in human behavior usually considered to be between right and wrong.

The attention to the words 'religion' and 'religious' rather than the word 'spiritual' is not to avoid any substantive issue, but because 'spiritual' is a technical word. It comes from the etymological background of the Latin adjective spiritualis and the noun spiritus, meaning "breath or vital substance," and which refers to non-corporeal quality or substance, our knowledge of which has no empirical grounding. For this reason, 'spiritual' is often used, as in 'moral-spiritual values,' as a

synonym for 'religious.' It is in this usage that 'spiritual' may be taken to mean any religious subject or concern. Of course, there may be those who would think the switch no great advantage in the task of definition. However, 'religion' is the less difficult of the two words because in several of the relevant usages, it does refer to human experience, and has the advantage of greater specificity.

It is obviously not easy to define 'religion' since the word admits of no single meaning. The average man defines 'religion' in terms of his own faith, and relegates the religion of others to "wishful thinking," "too much ritual," or "superstition." A further problem is that there are no public or universal standards for or criteria of unambiguous definition. The United Nations Commission on Human Rights debate in April 1962 regarding draft principles on freedom and non-discrimination in the matter of religious rights and practices illustrated the dilemmas arising out of ambiguity in the definition of 'religion.' "According to some members, religion was not merely an individual and a social phenomenon, but it also, by its very nature, pervaded all the thought, endeavors, and activities of its adherents. . . . Another view was that ... in every State there were to be found not only followers of numerous religious beliefs ... but also atheists (agnostics, freethinkers, and rationalists), [who] were to be protected against discrimination, since to them their convictions were no less sacred." (Report of the 18th Session, Supplement No. 8, 1962, pp. 15 & 16.) The protest of the Afghanistan! delegate provided stimulus for the writing of this paper. He said, "Religion has a 'usual' meaning, which includes going to church, performing rites, among other related activities."

DEFINITIONS OF 'RELIGION’

What is the 'usual' meaning of 'religion'? Etymology is both inadequate and obscure. The base roots are the Latin word religio which carried with it the concept of awe and fear of the gods, and the Greek 'αλεγεﺎν' meaning "to revere or reverence." The word itself suffers also from a built-in vagueness (it is used interchangeably with other vague words, e.g. "religion is belief in immortality"), and ambiguity (it has more than one definition, e.g. "religion is doing good"). A look at several definitions offered for the word 'religion' will illustrate the problem: E. B. Taylor said, "Religion is a belief in spiritual beings"; Matthew Arnold said, "Religion is morality touched with emotion"; according to an unknown writer, "Religion is the cooperative quest for a completely satisfying life."

An analysis of the word in use usually brings a dozen or more legitimate, meaningful uses of the word 'religion': faith, love, reverence, belief in God, system of beliefs, rites and ceremonies, immortality, standards for conduct, prayer, church organization, a particular faith, and conversion. It is, of course, necessary to reduce such a list to a few common characteristics or criteria which will constitute a meaningful yardstick for the use of the word 'religion.'

Four characteristics appear to embrace all others:

'Religion' is the acknowledgment of beliefs expressed in statements which are considered to be assertions of fact and convey information;

It also adumbrates certain practices of worship, both personal and public, informal and ritualistic;

It also implies a commitment to some moral rules or at least to a "way of life";

It is also the acceptance of the external authority of some organized religious body.

Further analysis proves that while the second and the fourth are necessary to the 'usual' concept of 'religion,' there may be instances where a correct use of 'religion' need not include them as criteria, e.g., "I have a religion, but I neither worship nor belong to any organization." The first and third characteristics are necessary criteria. One would be using 'religion' incorrectly if one said, "I have a religion, but I believe in nothing at all, and it makes absolutely no difference in my daily life." One other characteristic-criterion needs to be mentioned: the psychological "glue" or emotional commitment which welds belief and morality to religious living and action.

'Religion,' therefore, can be said to mean the acknowledgment of certain beliefs, the commitment to a morality or involvement in a way of life, resulting from these beliefs, and the psychological conviction that makes it all possible. And 'religious' means exhibiting the practical effects of 'religion' such as beliefs, morality, and commitment.

ON THE MEANING OF VALUES

At a church youth study conference, one of the "buzz-groups"1 was assigned the topic, "The Confusion of Values." After "buzzing" a considerable time with little profit, someone said, "What are these 'things' about which we are confused?" Then followed an attempt to define ‘values' which was at the same time pathetic and heartwarming. It was pathetic because the "definitions" were most frequently expressed in terms of the general significance of the "object" of supposed reference; and it was heartwarming because the search for a clear and unambiguous meaning of this most important word was energetic and sincere.

What is ‘value'? If there is any unforgivable failure in an argument it is the failure to provide definitions, meanings, or rules which govern the intelligible use of a word or term. It is wrongly assumed that the context in which a word is used in itself provides definition, or excuses us from more precise definition. Further, the dictionary is not much help here, for it provides a synonym or equivalence definition: 'Value' means "worth or utility" (as estimated); or "what is or passes as the equivalent." Evaluate is said to mean "determine value." Value words are "words or terms which imply an evaluation." And a value judgment is to "decide, conclude, or form an opinion on value(s)." Remembering that in definition we are to define words and not things, and to give the rules (criteria) for intelligible use, perhaps we can say that a Value' is an estimation of worth (made by a person about an object); value words (good, bad, right, wrong, etc.) are words expressing a person's evaluation; and a value judgment is simply to use value words about anything, e.g., to say something is either good or bad. Care must be exercised to ensure that our use of these words has rational meaning at least, and that we can supply characteristics supporting our evaluations.

While the preceding paragraph would not materially assist the youthful debaters mentioned above, it does bring us closer to a consideration of the characteristics of ‘values' which have made their way into ordinary language. While many areas of value experience have been distinguished, four kinds of ‘values' have been emphasized by philosophers: (1) happiness (commonly held to be the thing of greatest value); (2) truth (intellectual value); (3) beauty (aesthetic value); and (4) goodness (moral or religious value). The latter two are not absolutely distinguishable since they both depend on a certain appreciation, but philosophers have stipulated that aesthetic values are not as elusive as moral values, though some have thought them to be more so! A reading of the critics' columns in newspapers and journals will tend to support the latter position.

Another distinction in ‘values' is between intrinsic (the value and worth of something in itself apart from anything else to which it might lead), and instrumental (value and worth in that which follows from something, e.g., we call a surgical procedure "good"). Economics is a field in which both intrinsic and instrumental values are manifest. While money or Adam Smith's slogan "value in use" seems quite instrumental, certainly there are in both the overtones of the intrinsic. 'Values' are also said to be both positive and negative, permanent and transient, catholic and exclusive, higher and lower, but a discussion of these characteristics would be outside the scope of this paper.

CRITERIA FOR DISCUSSION OF 'VALUE'

A fruitful consideration at this point would be the question: What criteria or prior conditions are necessary to discuss, examine, and correctly use the word ‘values'? First, talk about Value' implies or assumes something existing which could be said to possess the value—no existence means no value. W. R. Sorley, in Moral Values and the Idea of God, writes:

Thus, on analysis, we find that the subject or bearer of value is always something which we describe by a concrete term and not by an abstract term.

Therefore, we can say both "money has value" and "love has value," but we cannot say "good is good" because it is a tautology and is trivial, since the concept of "good" is not in itself good—it has no value. Second, talk about Value' makes sense only in relation to persons. While it may seem that Value' belongs to mere things, Value' is appraised by and in relation to persons. Indeed, while things may be said to have instrumental value, only persons may be said to have intrinsic values predicated of them. Of course, we mean here not simply isolated individuals, but persons related in community and influenced by social institutions which are "inspiring and organizing the purposes and efforts of individuals."

Third, ‘value' always makes a universal demand as opposed to moral relativism, and assumes impersonality as opposed to subjectivism. Moral relativism is untenable because it contains a self-contradiction, e.g., the same thing cannot be wrong or right, good or bad, at the same time. The logic of ‘values' demands an objectivity which Hare calls universalizability (ought for me implies ought for any or all similar persons in the same situation). Sorley describes this criterion as the presence of an objective value in the situation. Fortunately, there are very few who hold to moral relativism or subjectivism. According to Harry S. Broudy, in Building a Philosophy of Education, men "behave as if the relativity theory were true in unimportant matters, and as if it were false in matters that count." Broudy calls this interesting paradox a "constant spur to the search for an objective basis for value."

A fourth criterion is sometimes added which indicates the logical necessity of harmony or coherence of one value or a system of values with the whole of human moral experience. The test of harmony is important mostly in determining value conflicts, e.g., personal welfare as opposed to the common welfare of man, or the wider question of Nazi ethics as opposed to religious ethics, when the solution involves comparing a value or a system of values with the history of the moral experience of man. On the basis of this criterion the value judgment against genocide (the mass extinction of any people) can be made.

The word Value' then can be said to be correctly used when it: (1) refers to an existent subject; (2) is used in relation to persons; (3) is universalizable; and (4) harmonizes with the whole of man's moral experience. Even so, as William Frankena has pointed out, in Humanistic Scholarship in

America, Value' should be our "careful word," especially when used to refer to "all sorts of principles, virtues, and beliefs." Frankena registers concern, "When ... the emotive theory [is described] as holding that there are no values or that values are attitudes or emotions—then matters have come

to a sorry pass." The objectivist need not be concerned if the above criteria are consulted prior to a use of the word.

'Values,' therefore, may be defined as standards of worth and meaning which are used in relation to persons, assume an existent subject, are universalizable, are in harmony with man's ethical experience, and are intended to guide human thoughts, choices, and actions.

CAN COMMON VALUES BE DETERMINED?

"Moral-spiritual values," when subjected to the analysis above, are seen to contain several common criteria of definition. The concept of 'morality' and its presuppositions is an important criterion of both 'religion' and ‘values.' Actually, whatever 'religion' and ‘values' are, 'morality' is very close to both concepts. The second criterion common to all three terms is the concept of guidance or direction in human choices and behavior. The third common criterion is universalizability contained in the prescriptive and responsive criteria of 'moral' and thus in the moral criterion of 'religion.' Because of these common criteria, a definition can be posed. "Moral-spiritual values" are standards developed from the facts and the appreciations of man's religious beliefs and commitments and from his free moral choices; which standards, when they possess universalizability and a certain harmony with man's total ethical experience, are thus available to guide human behavior.

What are the implications of this definition? First, it reveals the relational nature of the term itself. Surely the "moral-spiritual values" of the New England Colony, dominated as they were by the authority structure of a theocracy built upon the strictly protestant New England theology, could hardly be expected to serve a modern American community dominated by no religious sect, and at best, described as a religious pluralism. Those who would have us return to a politically supported society where closed, authoritarian values are imposed from a highly partial and privileged position, are obviously unaware of the changed nature of American society. Such a return is impossible. The Supreme Court rulings on a preferred religious position for any one group should prompt an exploration of the broad possibilities of "common moral-religious values" in a society noted for its numerous religious (and non-religious) groups and a growing impartiality on the part of political authority. It is enough for this study to set the philosophical framework by clearing away the verbal debris and providing a workable definition.

Second, the definition given above implies the need for a frank assessment of education, especially with reference to "moral-spiritual values" in the United States. The shrivelling and decay of the traditional and patriarchal influences have laid bare what has been diagnosed as our lagging morality in the face of our great scientific advancements. Home, church and synagogue, and school, must cooperate in a broad study of the empirical situation from which the necessary value decisions can be made to accomplish the type of education implied in the definition. Such education cannot

be moral "preaching," but must include wise guidance and example in the use of simple rules in making moral decisions. Aristotle's concern for rational instruction based on "knowing the reason why" speaks to the concept of moral education in a pluralistic society which holds the most promise. Indeed, if everything we have said above is valid, it would be reasonable to state that it is certainly possible for common values to be determined, articulated, and taught, since the principle of universalizability implies that with the same information, the same motivation, and the same time provided for reflection in a given situation, every man would come to the same moral decisions.

The term "moral-spiritual values," therefore, is both meaningful and highly significant. It awaits only practical implementation and intelligent application in contemporary American society.

FOR THE RECORD

TWO AND TWO MAKE FOUR

When the bell rings and the classroom door is shut, the teacher confronts his class as a "single one," peculiarly responsible and alone. He may not have developed the curriculum he is teaching, nor invented the strategies he proposes to use. He may not have originated the language he speaks as he tries to make learning take place nor devised the criteria by which he evaluates what is learned. Nevertheless, when he stands at his desk and calls his pupils to order, he is dependent, finally, on his own resources. What he achieves will be to a large degree a function of what he is as well as what he knows.

In this day of resounding public controversy, we tend sometimes to forget the frail, fallible, ambivalent human being upon which so

much depends. We certainly speak of the "teacher," of "staffing," and the rest; but—at least in public debate—we deal mainly in abstractions. The more inclusive, the more resonant those abstractions become, the more the concrete person tends to recede from view.

This is particularly difficult for the teacher who works in a city slum today, especially a slum which nurtures anger at what the people consider the schools' inadequacies. The teacher, being the most visible member of a suspect "establishment," is frequently the one who is scapegoated and personally blamed. We are not saying that ghetto parents are not justified in the demands they are making. We are not even denying that some teachers are guilty as charged. (In our February issue, it will be recalled, we printed an expose of "failure strategies" actually used by teachers in certain urban schools.)

Nonetheless, we think the plight of the individual who teaches—or is about to teach—in the ghetto school merits some contemplation at a moment like this. What stance ought he to take with respect to community unrest and the huge stirring of social change? What response can he make to the demands made by the excluded, the pronouncements uttered by men in public office, the reports of the behavioral scientists? How can he—as an individual classroom teacher—relate himself to history?

Playing a variation on Peter Schrag's theme (in Voices in the Classroom) we would evoke some of the sounds of the voices outside the classroom, most particularly the voices that penetrate the ghetto schools.

Then, become aware of the "noise" and the dissonance created, we would ask again: What is the teacher to feel? What is he to do?

"I know," said President Johnson, when he signed the Elementary and Secondary Education Act, "that education is the only valid passport from poverty." The leaders of the American Federation of Teachers said in a position paper written last summer: "The nation has not been confronted with the fact that meaningful education in any lasting terms can take place only in a hopeful social setting. That is, the disadvantaged must have confidence in society and in education as a means of social advancement. Yet the anti-poverty program which is specifically designed to restore faith and hope to the disadvantaged, will be reduced next

year "

Preston R. Wilcox (one of whose statements appeared in our February issue) says that only a "redistribution of power" can insure quality education in the slums; he proposes, therefore, that a School-Community Committee be elected by the parents in each ghetto school, and that this Committee exercise effective control of the school. This would mean, Professor Wilcox believes, an improvement in human relations; moreover, it would mean that the school, finally accountable to the community, would be in a position to reflect community values rather than to impose alien norms upon distrustful children. Joe L. Rempson, whose work we

publish this month, disagrees. He believes that the school's success depends on improvement of the community—and that the school should play a part (under an elected local school board) in bringing about desirable change. He writes in The Urban Review (Vol. I, No. 4):

It can, for example, teach parents and other citizens basic education, child development, cultural history, and job and leadership skills; and through this teaching, it can at once stimulate more socially productive interests by these parents and other citizens in themselves, their children, and their neighborhood, and help enable them to translate this Interest Into positive action.

James S. Coleman has written (in The Public Interest):

Two points, then, are clear: (1) These minority children have a serious educational deficiency at the start of school, which is obviously not a result of school; and (2) they have an even more serious deficiency at the end of school, which is obviously in part a result of school. Altogether, the sources of inequality of educational opportunity appear to lie first in the home Itself and the cultural Influences Immediately surrounding the home', then they lie In the schools' ineffectiveness to free achievement from the impact of the home, and in the schools' cultural homogeneity, which perpetuates the social influences of the home and its environs.

In the Coleman Report on "Equality of Educational Opportunity," one of the most far-ranging undertakings in the history of social science, the point is made that the teacher influences achievement in the case of children from minority groups but relatively slightly, when his influence is compared with that of "the peer environment." By far the most important determinant is to be found in the class-influenced interests and abilities brought into any given school by the other children.

Daniel P. Moynihan, offering his version of the controversy aroused by the report on the Negro family associated with his name ("The President and the Negro: The Moment

Lost," Commentary, February, 1967), sees little hope:

The urgency of a serious national commitment in the area of income support and guaranteed employment (which would be the central goals of a national family policy) increases as other options close. At the moment, Negroes are placing enormous confidence in the idea that quality education can transform their situation. But it is not at all clear that education has this potential... . Coleman’s study is probably the best statistical case for integration ever made: pouring conscience money into slum schools is simply not likely to do the job....

Again, what is the teacher—as teacher—to do? It is scarcely his responsibility to seek out the middle class children who would create the proper "peer environment" for optimum learning. The problem of the family is beyond his control, as is the environment out of which his pupils with all their deficiencies emerge. It is certainly the case that the teacher, qua citizen, can work for pre-school centers, housing renewal, recreational opportunities, and even the "radical redistribution of power" Wilcox prescribes. But we are now concerned with the teacher in the classroom and his relationship to the ambiguities and tragedies of history.

And indeed his predicament is in many ways a classic one. Western literature is filled with imagings of fallible human beings striving, often in vain, to live up to the demands imposed by a tradition, a culture—a social role. It is filled with imagings of men trying to come to terms with forces beyond their control, trying to make their own authentic way through the tumult and the shouting of the world. We think, for example, of

Tolstoy's Pierre Besukhov in War and Peace, discovering (after confronting death and "almost the extreme limits of privation") that he has attained the peace and sense of meaningfulness he had so desperately sought in philanthropy, social life, self-sacrifice, politics, war. What had once seemed so overwhelming now appeared "no business of his" since "he was not called on to judge concerning them and therefore could not do so." He realizes that a

moderate satisfaction of his needs and the

freedom to choose "his way of life" would be happiness enough.

Clearly, we would not recommend the Tolstoyan model of mystical withdrawal to the 20th century teacher; but, for all that, there does break through the story of Pierre the idea that a free man must commit himself to the way of life he chooses, that he can find meaning and even a kind of heroism in doing well the work that is his to do. Perhaps Joseph Conrad puts it more clearly in Heart of Darkness: "I don't like work—no man does—but I like what is in the work—the chance to find yourself. Your own reality—for yourself, not for others—what no other man can ever know. They can only see the mere show, and never can tell what it really means." Or Albert Camus in The Plague, when Dr. Rieux and his friends explain why they fight the plague (which may represent "the inevitable," injustice, exile—all the blank, uncontrollable forces confronted by men): "The essential thing was to save the greatest possible number of persons from dying and being doomed to unending separation. And to do this there was only one resource: to fight the plague. There was nothing admirable about this attitude; it was merely logical." They fight the plague, as the teacher must fight apathy and ignorance, because it is their job. "So far, so good," writes Camus. "But we do not congratulate a schoolmaster on teaching that two and two make four, though we may, perhaps, congratulate him on having chosen his laudable vocation."

The person may relate himself to the impersonal, therefore, by deciding it is only "logical" to do what he can to initiate and awaken young people, to enable them to conceptualize, to come alive to the world. The social scientists may keep telling him that the "peer environment" is the important thing; the activists may keep reminding him that, without a guaranteed income or a negative income tax or, at the very least, a greatly expanded war against poverty, the best education will be futile. But the teacher can respond: "On the whole, men are more good than bad. " It is only logical to do

what he can do: to be a teacher; to teach.

We are told that one of every two school children are going to be "disadvantaged" by

1970; and this in itself is a species of "plague." There are going to be numerous euphemisms for the special programs geared to the needs of these children— Operation Able, Bootstrap, Springboard, Help, and others—but there is no point in being euphemistic about the children themselves. To be educationally disadvantaged is to be deficient in certain of the academic strengths required for making sense of the world in this culture at this time, and to be deficient in them because of a lack in certain cultural strengths in the home environment. The deficiency and the lack are not due to sinfulness or to inborn inferiority; they are primarily due to poverty. They are due to the pain and degradation of being poor in a society where the signs and images of affluence are omnipresent. They are due to the feeling that there is scarcely any hope of improvement, that it is nearly impossible to effect control over the environment and make the future better than the past. And they are exacerbated by the inevitable responses to feelings like these: the resigned decisions to settle down, stay loose, keep hold of one's cool.

What, again, is the teacher to do? He cannot solve the problem of poverty directly, nor allay the suffering it breeds. If he is wise enough, if he is flexible and firm enough, if he has had the opportunity to commit himself, as Robert J. Schaefer puts it,2 "to inquiry" into the learning process and his subject matter, he can enable a great many children to learn. It is unreasonable to expect him to devote himself to building the Great Society in the classroom, to overcoming "human blight," or even to equalizing economic opportunity. He may, as Preston Wilcox says he should, occasionally become an "advocate" for one of the children in his classes. He may participate when his school qua social institution undertakes constructive work in the community. But, in his capacity as teacher, he cannot concern himself with changing the social order anymore than he can concern himself with "life adjustment." (What slum teacher, in good conscience, would work for "adjustment" to life in the slums?)

His job, it seems to us, is to attempt to enable each particular child for whom he is

responsible to learn how to conceptualize, how to organize his experience by means of language, how to communicate with others, how to become interested in and develop insights into some of the facets of the complicated, impinging world. His obligation is to expect and challenge his pupils (each with his own patterning of intellectual and cognitive capacities) to exert themselves to learn.

He cannot, of course, be blind to the social order that has had so much to do with creating the deficits with which he has to deal. One of the skills he must develop, however, is the skill of putting his knowledge of the behavioral sciences (and his awareness of the voices outside his classroom) to work for the sake of understanding the plight of the individual child. He must develop sensitivity to and, yes, appreciation of the life styles and traditions of the local community. He must begin to understand the distinctive function of language in the lives of people who may be different from himself, to see how it works for them, to learn what Virginia Allen calls their "dialect." He will eventually discover, even as he begins teaching standard English as a second language (or dialect), even as he begins working indirectly to transmit the modes of behavior characterizing the majority way of life, that he is not required to weigh the minority culture against absolute norms—that he does not have to judge it at all. Rather, he will find himself asked to comprehend to the end of assessing the potential of his students and treating them decently, as persons, each "more good than bad."

And perhaps he will be able to learn what Ralph Ellison communicates in Invisible Man and in his essays. In Shadow and Act, Ellison writes:

For even as his life toughens the Negro, even as it brutalizes him, sensitizes him, dulls him, goads him to anger, moves him to irony, sometimes fracturing and sometimes affirming his hopes; even as it shapes his attitudes toward family, sex, love, religion; even as it modulates his humor, tempers his joy—it CONDITIONS him to deal with his life and with himself. Because it is HIS life and no mere abstraction in someone's head. He

must live it and try consciously to grasp its complexity until he can change it; must live it AS he changes it. He is no mere product of his socio-political predicament. He is a product of the interaction between his racial predicament, his individual will and the broader American cultural freedom in which he finds his ambiguous existence. Thus he, too, in a limited way, is his own creation.

If the teacher can encounter a child directly enough, if he can see what Ellison describes, he may begin to appreciate the vitality it sometimes takes simply to survive. He may become able to draw upon that vitality as he tries to move each child to overcome his resistance, as he—hopefully—begins to expect of each a little more than he thinks

he can do, although not more than the tests he has been given indicate he can. Then the teacher can free each child (or most of the children) to move step by little step towards a gradual expansion of experience, the expansion which accompanies the growth of linguistic skill and the ability to use some of

the principles associated with the disciplines. And he will almost certainly see many of his pupils move from the closed box of subjectivity or sensuality or truncated

declarative sentences into the open places where they can be part of the web of life.

He may begin to rely upon the challenges implicit in the subject matter, and upon the rewards which come so often when children move step by little step. He may begin to make rules, quiet, impersonal rules requiring attentiveness and regard. He may begin to insist upon the mastery of at least the essential tasks, as he permits each child to move at the speed appropriate for him.

This is the only way in which the teacher— as teacher—can cope with history: by, like Camus' Dr. Rieux, doing his job. It is a specific, concrete job, demanding enormous skills, enormous delicacy; and it is a job for which success is never guaranteed.

Nevertheless, this is how a teacher takes his stand, if he has chosen himself to be a teacher. "So far, so good. But we do not congratulate a school-master on teaching that two and two make four And the

question is not one of knowing what punishment or reward attends the making of this calculation. The question is that of knowing whether two and two do make four."

MG

A group process device to permit small groups to discuss questions which put to a larger group would probably not involve as many in the discussion.

The School as a Center of Inquiry. Harper and Row, 1967.