# An Introduction to Ethics, for Training Colleges/Chapter 13

CHAPTER XIII.
VOCATION.
§ 1. Pleasure, Duty, and Happiness. The young child sharply distinguishes between pleasure and duty. What gives it pleasure is the thing it wants to do; while duty always seems to be what it does not want to do. Duty is unpleasant, and pleasure is apt to be undutiful. But the child gradually comes to see that duty is not necessarily externally imposed by some alien power. It realises that it is free, and that it can impose its duties on itself. Similarly, the child begins to recognise that stolen pleasures are not always the sweetest. It comes to understand that it may derive pleasure, not from courses of action that are undutiful, but from the very performance of its duty. The man whose life is well and worthily organised finds that pleasure and duty are not in eternal conflict. His life as a whole is the carrying out of his duty; but his life as a whole is a pleasant one, precisely because it is a life which is loyally devoted to duty. And this is happiness. The happy life is that in which duty is pleasant, and pleasure does not conflict with duty.
Happiness is not mere pleasure. The man or woman whose life is a ceaseless round of pleasure ​finds that it soon begins to pall, and the happiness which he seeks is never attained, but vanishes like a will-o'-the-wisp as he goes forward to clutch it. Happiness is not a sum or aggregate of pleasures. It is the harmony of pleasure, as it is enjoyed by the man of stable character in a purposeful life. The difference between happiness and pleasure has been admirably stated by Prof. Dewey: "Pleasure is transitory and relative, enduring only while some special activity endures, and having reference only to that activity. Happiness is permanent and universal. It results only when the act is such a one as will satisfy all the interests of the self concerned, or will lead to no conflict, either present or remote. Happiness is the feeling of the whole self, as opposed to the feeling of some one aspect of the self." Happiness is never mere pleasure, just as unhappiness is never mere pain. Unhappiness may often be due to a discord of pleasures. Happiness is found in a consistent life, the pleasure of whose relaxation is harmonised with the pleasure of its work.
On the other hand, happiness is not the mere performance of duty. The mere doing of one's duty will not make one happy. Happiness depends very largely on the capacity to "make the best" of everything that comes. Happiness is largely bound up with a man's willingness to be happy. But if one does one's duty with a willingness to take pleasure in it, it gradually becomes more and more pleasant in itself." In early youth, we are accustomed to divide life broadly into work and play, regarding the first as duty or necessity and the second as pleasure. ​One of the great differences between childhood and manhood is that we come to like our work more than our play. It becomes to us, if not the chief pleasure, at least the chief interest of our lives, and even when it is not this, an essential condition of our happiness. … One of the first conditions of a happy life is that it should be a full and busy one. … An ideal life would be furnished with abundant work of a kind that is congenial both to our intellects and our characters, and that brings with it much interest and little anxiety. Few of us can command this. Most men's work is largely determined for them by circumstances, though in the guidance of life there are many alternatives and much room for skilful pilotage. But the first great rule is that we must do something, that life must have a purpose and an aim, that work should be not merely occasional and spasmodic, but steady and continuous. Pleasure is a jewel which will only retain its lustre when it is in a setting of work, and a vacant life is one of the worst of pains, though the islands of leisure that stand in a crowded, well-occupied life may be among the things to which we look back with the greatest delight."
Happiness, we conclude, is the union and harmony of duty and pleasure in a well-organised life. The perfectly duteous life will be the perfectly pleasant one. All its duties will be self-imposed and willingly performed, and its leisure and relaxation will be in harmony with its comprehensive aims and aspirations.
§ 2. The Choice of Vocation. It will, no doubt, ​be objected that this is an ideal which may perhaps be realised by the favoured few whose vocations are perfectly congenial, but is quite impossible of attainment to the great mass of the men and women of the world. But a little consideration will show that this objection carries very little weight. In particular, we may point out (1) that the so-called higher callings or professions differ very little, if at all, in the opportunities they afford for the union of duty and pleasure from the so-called lower callings or trades; and (2) that it is every year becoming more possible for a boy to choose his trade or profession, and thus a gradually increasing proportion of people ought to have congenial occupations.
(1) First, then, we have to show that the so-called higher callings have no monopoly of happiness. But we must begin by frankly recognising that to two great classes of workers the attainment of happiness, as the harmony of duty and pleasure, is, unless in very exceptional circumstances, impossible.
For the sweated worker happiness is hardly possible. But it is now widely recognised that sweated labour is immoral. It is a thing which ought not to be. The laws of many lands have acknowledged this by prohibiting some of its more glaring forms. Sweated labour is no vocation at all. The moralist says it ought not to exist, and the economist admits that it need not exist.
And it must also be recognised that the unskilled casual labourer has little chance of realising the good life, so long as he remains a casual. But, in general, it is his own fault if he remains a casual. Society does not want him to be a casual. It would have ​more use for him as a regular labourer, and it would have still more use for him if he were a skilled workman. With the evolution of modern industry, there is less and less need of the unskilled labourer. He has every encouragement to become a skilled man; and in most progressive countries the number of unskilled labourers is every year on the decrease. It may fairly be said that no one is forced by society to become an unskilled labourer.
But it ought to be noted that "unskilled" is a relative term. Much of the work done by unskilled labourers requires a considerable amount of care and promptitude and perseverance, qualities which involve demands not only on the physical, but also on the mental and moral powers of the workman. Even mere muscular work calls for more than mere muscular energy. "Although the power of sustaining great muscular exertion seems to rest on constitutional strength and other physical conditions, yet even it depends also on force of will and strength of character. Energy of this kind, which may perhaps be taken to be the strength of the man, as distinguished from that of his body, is moral rather than physical. … This strength of the man himself, this resolution, energy, and self-mastery, or, in short, this 'vigour,' is the source of all progress: it shows itself in great deeds, in great thoughts, and in the capacity for true religious feeling." Even the toil of the navvy may be a school of virtue.
In the various trades and professions, the opportunities of living the good life differ very little. Almost every one of them offers a vocation that is ​worth fulfilling. Almost every one of them provides a walk in life in which character may be developed and duty and pleasure harmonised. It has become traditional to regard certain vocations as "higher" than others. The service of art or music or education is vaguely felt to be higher than carpentry or engineering or cooking. But all socially valuable vocations have their part to play in advancing the good of humanity, and all offer worthy lives to those who engage in them. In every one of these trades or professions, the worker may take pleasure in doing his duty, and in the great majority of cases the worker does find his deepest satisfaction in the consciousness of work dutifully done. The professions do not have a monopoly of work that is pleasant. Anyone who has been taken through engineering works of any kind, and who has entered into conversation with the workers, must have been impressed with the interest the men take in their machines and their work, and the pride and pleasure they show in explaining the mechanism and processes. The machine with which they work seems to have become a part of themselves. The workers feel that their machines have grown to know them, and they take pleasure in collaborating with these mechanical partners.
Of course, there is monotony in such work. But in what walk in life is there not monotony? The doctor gives monotonous hours to the treatment of petty ailments, the minister finds that his parishioners are "a most monotonous lot of sinners," the lawyer's work is mostly routine of a not very exhilarating kind, and the business-man spends most ​of his time in the transaction of uninspiring details. And even those whose lives are considered to be the freest and most desirable, e.g. the artist and the musician, are not exempt from long stretches of monotonous drudgery. On the whole, such vocations are not intrinsically more pleasant than the artisan's. In the professions as well as the trades there is much drudgery and dullness. But on the whole, the activities that are called into being by the trades and professions are alike accompanied by pleasure in their exercise. The artisan takes pleasure in the skill of his hand, just as the poet takes pleasure in the skill of his mind. The activity of work and the consciousness of duty done are in both cases alike accompanied by pleasure. Pleasure and duty are harmonised in a happy life in which character is realised.
(2) But it is essential for this result that the individual should feel that the trade or profession is congenial. It must be really a vocation. He should feel the call of duty towards it, but he should also feel that his happiness consists in obeying the call. It should be a walk in life into which both duty and pleasure alike conspire to guide him. The boy has a right to choose the occupation to which he intends to devote himself.
It is every year becoming more possible for the average boy to select the career for which he is best fitted. However low his father's position, if the boy have capacity and ambition, he can raise himself to any level. The labourer's boy as well as the peer's carries the Prime Minister's despatch-box in his satchel. The improvement and popularisation of ​education, with the institution of suitable bursaries and scholarships, and the gradual breaking-down of class-distinctions, have done much to open a way for the energetic and capable boy. In quite recent times in our own country the boy naturally and almost necessarily followed the trade or profession in which his father or some other member of the family was engaged. Each occupation was chiefly recruited from the children of those already employed in it. It was almost impossible, at least in England and Ireland, for the son of the labourer to rise to any position better than his father's. But education is more and more making it possible for the boy who begins on the lowest rung of the ladder to attain the vocation for which he is best fitted.
But we should avoid thinking that there is any merit in the life of the climber as such. Many a man has fulfilled his vocation very indifferently as a minister or doctor, who might have done more for the world had he been content to be a good artisan. Every calling, however humble, offers the possibility of realising a good character and fulfilling a noble vocation; and when once a man has chosen an occupation, it is generally his duty to "make the best of it" in the truest sense. The possibility of forming a strong character depends, in general, on identifying oneself with some one worthy occupation.
The question immediately arises, How is the boy or young man to know what is his vocation, and in what particular occupation he will be best able to fulfil it? This is the most difficult practical problem that the youth is ever called upon to face. Of course, there are some boys who do not need to consider the ​question at all. If the boy is heir to an estate or great business, it is his duty to take the place which birth has assigned to him. And in other cases the father or mother decides for the boy what trade or profession he is to follow, and he is forced into this. But in the vast majority of cases the average boy has, within certain limits, a free choice between various possible occupations. The average boy, as we saw in Chapter VI., is fond of dallying with the thought of himself as realised in various trades and professions. He pictures himself at one time as a soldier, at another as a doctor, at another as a car-conductor, and so on. Sometimes two or three of these fancied selves, or (to put the same thing in other words) two or three of the callings that appeal to him, seem so equally desirable that a rational choice becomes almost impossible. The more similar the alternatives, the more difficult choice always is.
If the boy or young man is seriously troubled and anxious about this question, can ethics help him by suggesting any principles on which he may decide? There is no other moral matter on which advice and guidance is more frequently sought. The teacher finds that his boys are very ready to consult him on this question, and if he is conscientious he is often puzzled what advice to give, and what principles to suggest for the guidance of the boy. Does ethics have any assistance to give? There are three very general principles which ethics may lay down. They are all very obvious, but we are very apt to overlook them.
(1) The choice of vocation is a moral question. It is not a matter simply of expediency or profit. We ​are too apt to consider that a trade or profession is desirable in proportion precisely to the money it offers. But vocation means much more than money. The life of mere money-making is not a moral vocation. We should, of course, remember that many occupations which seem at first sight to be concerned simply with money-making have a significance which transcends this. The business of stockbroking, for instance, does not have money-making as its end-all and be-all. The stockbroker performs a useful social function. Without him the wheels of the commercial world would drag, or might even refuse to move at all. The real value of the stockbroker's occupation is not the money he makes out of it, but the service he renders the community. A particular vocation is not to be assessed simply at its money value.
(2) A man should choose the occupation which he believes it is his duty to enter. It is his duty to play a worthy part in life; it is his duty to make the most of the talents which have been committed to him; it is his duty to use them in the particular calling in which their exercise will be most socially valuable. Owing to the principle of the division of labour, the community offers a man a very large variety of possible callings. With the advance of civilisation, the number of different occupations has risen enormously, and shows a constant tendency still to increase. In a primitive society all men are hewers of wood and drawers of water; but gradually these functions become specialised and new ones are developed. The great increase of the division of labour depends on the fact that "practice makes ​perfect." The more frequently a man does a thing, the more expert he becomes in doing it. Corresponding to this, there is the psychological fact of the specialisation of function. Certain men are more fitted by nature than others to perform certain functions. It is a man's duty to perform that function for which he is best fitted, to occupy that station in the community to which he is naturally best adapted.
(3) But a man's inclinations are also of importance in the choice of vocation. If I choose my profession or trade merely because it is my duty to do so, quite apart from the question whether I have any liking for it, it is improbable that I shall make the most of life. It is usually fatal for a man to enter an occupation, simply because he is actuated by a strong sense of duty. Unless his inclinations be in accordance with his duty, a feeling of discontent is apt to remain with him all his life. Unless we like our work, we can do neither it nor ourselves justice. In a word, the calling must be congenial. Only if our vocations are congenial, only if duty and pleasure can be harmonised in them, can we adopt the attitude of loyalty towards them. And unless we are loyal to our vocations we cannot hope to fulfil them well. But, it may be asked, what does loyalty to vocation imply? In being loyal to my vocation, must I practise self-denial, or may I make my vocation the means to my own self-assertion? Does loyalty to my vocation require me to consult first the interests of others, or, since it is my vocation, may I regard it from the point of view of the satisfaction of my own interests? The attempt to ​answer this question leads us to consider a most important ethical problem, which has frequently in the course of this book appeared above our horizon, though its explicit examination has always been postponed.
§3. Self-assertion and Self-repression. Is the moral ideal self-denial or self-affirmation? Does duty consist in the assertion of myself or the negation of myself? Am I to seek my own interests or the interests of others? Ought I to be egoistic or altruistic? This problem has given rise to as much discussion among moralists as any other.
On the one hand, there is a persistent tendency to maintain that self-denial is the highest moral ideal. It is a man's duty, on this theory, to renounce the self with all its desires and interests and inclinations. This doctrine of self-abnegation has had wide currency as a religious and moral ideal. It is prominent in Buddhism, and in many varieties of Christianity. Puritanism and Roman Catholic monasticism alike breathe its spirit. In many ethical theories also its influence is marked. We find it in Stoicism and Cynicism, and we find it in Kant. And popular moral theory (whatever popular moral practice may be) is deeply tinctured with it. The life of "self-denial" or "self-sacrifice" is popularly held to be a peculiarly noble one.
On the other hand, the doctrine that the great aim of life consists in self-development and self-assertion has never lacked adherents. From the earliest times there have been extreme individualists, both in theory and practice, who have claimed the right to develop and cultivate themselves at ​whatever cost to others. In our own day, Nietzsche has strongly expressed this point of view. "Unlimited self-assertion" is Nietzsche's text, and "will to be mighty" is his slogan. The spirit of this extreme individualism has pervaded much of our life and literature. Recent plays, novels, and essays all embody its teaching. On every hand single men and women and groups of men and women are asserting themselves and clamouring for their rights.
Now, English ethical writers have usually tried to mediate between these two tendencies. They have endeavoured to compromise between the two extreme attitudes. They tell us that human nature consists partly of "self-regarding" or selfish tendencies, and partly of "other-regarding" or unselfish ones. Some of our actions show the influence of "self-love," others of "benevolence." English ethics tells us, in effect, that the man whose actions are all self-regarding is a knave, and the man whose actions are all other-regarding is a fool. The wise and good man is he who strikes the proper balance between them. Now probably, in practice, this is what most people actually do. The average worthy citizen, as he himself would say, indulges himself and asserts himself in certain respects, and restrains himself and denies himself in others.
But, from the ethical standpoint, compromise is not the true solution of the dispute between self-denial and self-assertion, between altruism and egoism. This will become clear if we bear in mind ​the meaning of the self. The self, we insist, is social; it is the whole man, considered not as an isolated unit, but as part of a family, an organ in a body-politic, and a member of a religious community. While retaining his own individuality he merges his interests, desires, aspirations, and duties in those of the family and community of which he is a part. He identifies himself with the ends which he seeks as a loyal servant of his vocation. Thus his real self becomes his family, or his profession, or his state, or his church. When we understand self in this sense, the conflict between the adherents of self-denial and the partisans of self-assertion very largely disappears. Or at least, while the practical conflict will remain till the end of time, it is possible to reach a theoretical conclusion, which, while compromising nothing, yet recognises that, as we might expect from the persistence with which they have been defended, there is some truth in each of the opposing views. They contain truths which contribute to the truth. The truth in this matter will only be recognised if we keep clearly before our minds the meaning which we have assigned to the self.
What, then, is our conclusion? It is this. Self-denial cannot be the ultimate moral ideal. For self-denial as the absolute moral end would involve the abnegation of the whole self; and that is impossible. It would imply not merely the sacrifice of a man's private self, but also the renunciation of the family and the state and the church. And no apostle of self-denial has ever advocated that. However extreme an ascetic may be, he never denies the ​whole self. Ascetics have commonly renounced the family and all social and political relations, but they have done so in order to develop and assert the religious self, which for them was the widest and truest of all. Absolute self-denial is a contradiction in terms. When a man gives up everything for the sake of the kingdom of God, he does so because his self is wholly identified with the kingdom of God. He denies certain aspects of the self for the sake of the highest and most comprehensive self.
The moral ideal is the complete development and assertion of the highest and most comprehensive self, through loyal devotion to some worthy vocation. The moral ideal is thus self-assertion in the best sense; for the good man is he who does all in his power to develop and assert the comprehensive self, whether that be family or state or church, with which he has identified his nature. His own private self is felt to be a fragment, whose interests are not worth considering when they come into conflict with the good of the comprehensive self as a whole. In a well and worthily organised community the individual finds that by consulting the interests of the comprehensive self which we call family or church or state, he is at the same time satisfying his own interests, for these have been identified with those of the more comprehensive selves.
§ 4. Loyalty to Vocation. In thus being loyal to his vocation, he will frequently have to deny particular desires and inclinations. Self-denial (in the popular sense of the term) plays a most important part in the process of morality. The man who has ​identified himself with a noble cause, so that this becomes his real self, often finds that his loyalty to his vocation conflicts with the interests of his private self or with the desires of that self. In such cases it is usually right for him to "practise self-denial," not in the sense that he denies his comprehensive self; but that, in order to assert it, it is necessary to sacrifice some of the lower aspects of the self.
The moral education of character depends very largely, as we have seen, on the success with which desires are organised and harmonised. Unworthy desires have to be repressed and unworthy interests sacrificed. This is what ordinary speech means by "self-denial." Self-denial in this sense is essential to the progress of the moral life. But it is important to notice that what is denied is not the true self, but some part of the self which is conceived to be at variance with the true self. And so, when a man denies himself for the sake of his family or country or the kingdom of God, what he does is to sacrifice those interests which are private to his individual self, for the sake of that more comprehensive self (family or church or state) which in his best moments he regards as his real self.
It is this real self that is to be asserted. It is mischievous to try to assert some one fragmentary aspect of the self. If that be done, it is always at the expense of the self as a whole. Those who speak most about their rights of self-assertion in the narrow individualist sense, do not realise that the reason why the matter occupies so much of their attention is precisely that they have no self to assert. As we say, they do not know what to do with themselves. They ​have chosen no vocation, they have entered on no walk of life in which to realise a character. When a man identifies himself with a worthy cause, he ceases to harp on his right of self-assertion. His energies have found a socially valuable outlet: they are devoted to the service of his vocation. It is thus, and thus alone, that the self is really asserted.
Loyalty to vocation—this unites the attitudes of self-denial and self-assertion; and this harmonises duty and inclination. In loyal devotion to vocation the self attains its highest development. But this self-assertion depends on the fact that at every stage in its moral progress the interests of the lower aspects of the self have been denied.
It is a man's duty to be loyal to his vocation. He can do no more than this; but he should never do less. To be loyal to his vocation is a man's highest duty; and it is a duty that every man may attempt to perform, whether he be scavenger or king. It is at once the supreme duty and the universal duty. And if the man has himself chosen his vocation, his inclinations will be consonant with his duty: it will be his truest pleasure and surest happiness to respond to the claims made upon him by the vocation which he has himself chosen.
But the completest loyalty to vocation can be rendered only by those who not only know that they have chosen their vocation, but feel that they have been chosen by it and for it. In all that we have said about vocation no reference has yet been made to this most important point. A man's vocation is not merely what he has chosen, it is also that to which he has been called. A man, then, should feel ​that he is called to discharge the obligations of his vocation. Now, by what is he called? In some cases, no doubt, he may be called by his birth or inclinations or natural capacities. The duke's heir is called by his birth to occupy his father's position. Many a boy is called irresistibly by his inclinations to a sea-faring life. And natural capacities, early developing a special bent, call one boy to be an engineer, another to be a joiner, another to be a minister, and so on.
But if we restrict the "call" to mean nothing more than this, much of the ethical flavour of "vocation" evaporates. For the word vocation has ethical and religious implications of a very important kind. "Man's vocation is to do his duty in that sphere of life to which it has pleased God to call him." In all the tale of history the most conspicuous examples of loyalty to vocation have been afforded by men who were deeply impressed by the conviction that they were called of God. They may have been mistaken in their belief, the causes to which they attached themselves may have been unworthy; but the driving power of their loyalty was derived from the conviction that they were called of God to just those tasks and no others. But it is not only in great and noble vocations that this consciousness of a divine call exerts a powerful influence. It is solidly established by the experience of generations of men and women that what would otherwise be the monotonous drudgery of a mean occupation may be ennobled and inspired by the belief that the task is being done in God's sight and is in accordance with his will.
"A servant with this clause Makes drudgery divine;
Who sweeps a room as for Thy laws
Makes that, and the action, fine."
There are, of course, people who feel that the God of religion means nothing to them, and has no appeal to make to them. To such people the last paragraph will be foolishness and its argument a stumbling-block. This is not the place to dispute the question with them. Rather, it may be pointed out that, if they cannot feel that they are called of God, they may at least be able to feel that they are called by "that mortal God" which we call the state. Their sense of vocation may connect itself with their loyalty to the state. They may believe that their duty consists in the faithful performance of the tasks of the sphere of life which has been assigned to them by society.
The value of a sense of vocation, whether inspired by God or society, may be put in very simple terms. The important thing in life is that we should be able to feel that the work we are doing and the life we are living are of some value and significance in the world.
Now, it is sometimes easy to be possessed by the conviction that we are necessary organs in the body-politic, integral elements in the life of society. During the War the shipyard worker and the engineer in the munition-factory can realise that they are necessary members of the community, and that in performing the tasks of their vocation faithfully they are contributing to the good of the state as a whole. But times come when the state seems ​to have no use for some of its citizens. They are "unemployed." The state has nothing for them to do. They are unwanted. They form for the time an unnecessary surplus, about which the state seems to care not at all. In such circumstances it is impossible for a man to believe that the state has a vocation for him to fulfil. For the time being, his work and his life are obviously worthless to the state.
But if his sense of vocation is based on religion, he may still believe that he is of value. He may still be upheld by the conviction that even though society seems to have no use for him, he is of infinite worth in the sight of God. Christianity has always insisted on the value of the individual soul. Every man, however humble, is called of God to some vocation which he, and he alone, can fulfil. And this is not a mere doctrine. It has been a support and encouragement to thousands whose lives would otherwise have been barren of interest and purpose, or oppressed by anxiety and failure. Their lives have been literally inspired by a sense of vocation.
§ 5. Training for Vocation. It is obvious that the child must be trained for his vocation. But it is ​far from obvious whether it is any part of the work of the school to train the child for his vocation. Is education to be "vocational" or "general"? Is it to be "technical" or "cultural"? This is one of the most hotly disputed questions in the educational world of to-day. Within recent years many educators have advocated the introduction of vocational studies into the ordinary school curriculum, on the ground that they render school work more real and living, secure a more intense interest on the part of the child, and make the school a more useful institution.
Into the general merits of the controversy it is impossible to enter in any detail; but attention must be drawn to one or two matters of fundamental importance.
First, we must point out that it is misleading to discuss whether education should be general or vocational. The child is destined to live his life in performing the duties and enjoying the rights of his vocation; and in a very real sense all education must be vocational. All education must be directed to help the child to fulfil his vocation with the most satisfaction to himself and the greatest advantage to the community. But it is a real question whether education should be general or occupational. "Occupational" and "vocational" are not synonymous. A man's real vocation in life may be very much wider than his occupation. Or he may have two or more occupations, though he can have only one real vocation. All women certainly have vocations to fulfil, but comparatively few of them fulfil these vocations in any particular trade or profession. It ​is the great aim of every life to perform its function well, and it is the great duty of every life to be loyal to its vocation. Hence all education must attempt to prepare the child for the realisation of the ideals of his vocation. In order that the vocation may be fulfilled, all his life, both duty and pleasure, both business and leisure, must be organised in its service. And in so far as all education is a preparation for such a life, all education is vocational. But within vocational education, which, as we have seen, is the whole of education, we may distinguish "general" education from "occupational" education; and the question we have to answer becomes, Ought education in the elementary school to be general or occupational?
In the elementary school occupational education should have no place. The elementary school system does not exist to turn out workmen; it exists to turn out men. It aims at laying the foundations of character, of mental ability, and of manual skill. It is no part of its task to specialise character or intelligence or skill in any one particular direction. It must try as far as it can, in the short years at its disposal, to raise to the highest possible level the general capacities of the child. This is not to say that the work of the child in school must be exclusively book-work. Far from it. Manual work of all kinds—cookery, sewing, gardening, and so on—ought all to have a place in the curriculum of the elementary school. Now these activities are valuable, not because they have a connection with some special occupation, but because of their general educative value in training the child in alertness of mind and ​manual dexterity. They are not occupational studies. The object of woodwork is not to produce cabinetmakers, any more than the object of Latin is to produce professors of Latin. Education in the elementary school ought to be general.
Yet it is coming to be realised that it is part of the duty of the school to discover the kind of occupation for which the child is best fitted. The child's teacher is often appealed to for advice regarding the line of work most suited to the child's abilities; and teachers of insight have often been able to give the most valuable guidance. But in the future, psychologists maintain, it will be possible to determine scientifically the nature and strength of the child's capacities, and thus to give definite help to the child in securing that he shall enter the occupation to which he is best adapted by his natural endowment. At present, in many schools the pupil is supplied with a "personal card," on which his physical qualities are recorded in quantitative terms. There seems little doubt that in the future, when the psychologist's experiments with fatigue-tests and the ergograph prove capable of general application in elementary schools, the personal card will record also the mental characteristics of the child. By a study of the child himself, combined with a knowledge of the objective results of his physical and mental measurements, the teacher of the future may hope to be able to give him most valuable advice regarding the choice of an occupation. The ​elementary school will not itself teach occupational subjects. It will be a School of Discovery, whose task it is to understand the child and find out the particular line of his propensities and capacities.
Most important of all, the school must try to instil into the child those ideals without which no true vocation is possible. Most children have ideals of some sort. "Even the dullest clod has his fairy vision. It may be a narrow, even a degrading one; yet it is to him the light which brightens his path, for it shows him a picture which to his mind is better than the reality of his life. He may limit his hopes to sensuous pleasure, to increase of wealth, to ignoble revenge; but the hope inspires him, whatever it may be. On the other hand, one's aspirations may soar to heaven and inspire the earnest struggle of the saint, or seek in highest art the realisation of supremest beauty, or in social service the noblest perfection of human life." The school should aim at securing that the child, with his capacity for cherishing ideals, should take the highest of all as his ideals. If the child forms low ideals, his work will be poor, and the occupation which he chooses will be regarded by him as merely monotonous drudgery, from which he is ever seeking escape. On ​the other hand, if his ideals are lofty, the toil of his trade or profession will be transformed by them. He will endeavour to produce the best work possible, for only so will he be realising his ideals. No man can truly be said to have a vocation at all, unless he is trying to realise a comprehensive ideal in life. A comprehensive ideal organises all the purposes of a man, so that they do not conflict, but work together harmoniously in the fulfilling of his vocation.
For further reading: J. Seth: Study of Ethical Principles, pt. i. ch. ill.; J. Royce: Philosophy of Loyalty, ch. iii. and vi.; J. Dewey and J. H. Tufts: Ethics, ch. xviii.; H. Rashdall: Theory of Good and Evil, vol. ii. ch. iv.
* ↑ Psychology, p. 293.
* ↑ Lecky: The Map of Life, pp. 19-21.
* ↑ Marshall: Principles of Economics, p. 194.
* ↑ This is, of course, a very sweeping characterisation of English ethics, and it would need development and qualification to make it absolutely true.
* ↑ To any reader who may chance to be familiar with philosophical discussion, it will be clear that a Metaphysic of Ethics is implied in the last two or three pages. The argument of these pages might equally well have been couched in metaphysical terms. A system of Ethics necessarily drives us on to ask ultimate questions which we cannot attempt to answer without some theory of the Whole. Such a metaphysical theory underlies these pages, and also, I hope, the general argument of the book. But for the purposes of this book I have thought it well to keep Metaphysics as much as possible in the background. It is impossible, in a book of this kind, to discuss ultimate metaphysical problems in any detail; and merely to raise them without trying to thrash them out has seemed undesirable.
* ↑ On this question see Adams: The Evolution of Educational Theory; Brown: The Essentials of Mental Measurement; and Münsterberg: Problems of To-day.
* ↑ These remarks have reference only to the elementary school. It seems fairly clear that secondary schools and evening continuation schools should offer courses both on the lines of general cultural education, and in special occupational studies. The great difficulty in the way of the introduction of such occupational instruction is, of course, the expense of providing the numerous specialised courses that would be required. For a valuable statement of experience in Munich, see Kerschensteiner: The Schools and the Nation.
* ↑ Welton: The Psychology of Education, p. 412.