Thoughts on Man | Page 9

altogether from the purpose.
One in a hundred perhaps, perhaps in a still less proportion, will reply
in a laudable manner, and convey his ideas in perspicuous and spirited
language.
It does not certainly go altogether so ill, with men grown up to years of
maturity. They do not for the most part answer a plain question in a
manner to make you wonder at their fatuity.
A main cause of the disadvantageous appearance exhibited by the

ordinary schoolboy, lies in what we denominate sheepishness. He is at
a loss, and in the first place stares at you, instead of giving an answer.
He does not make by many degrees so poor a figure among his equals,
as when he is addressed by his seniors.
One of the reasons of the latter phenomenon consists in the torpedo
effect of what we may call, under the circumstances, the difference of
ranks. The schoolmaster is a despot to his scholar; for every man is a
despot, who delivers his judgment from the single impulse of his own
will. The boy answers his questioner, as Dolon answers Ulysses in the
Iliad, at the point of the sword. It is to a certain degree the same thing,
when the boy is questioned merely by his senior. He fears he knows not
what,--a reprimand, a look of lofty contempt, a gesture of summary
disdain. He does not think it worth his while under these circumstances,
to "gird up the loins of his mind." He cannot return a free and intrepid
answer but to the person whom he regards as his equal. There is
nothing that has so disqualifying an effect upon him who is to answer,
as the consideration that he who questions is universally acknowledged
to be a being of a higher sphere, or, as between the boy and the man,
that he is the superior in conventional and corporal strength.
Nor is it simple terror that restrains the boy from answering his senior
with the same freedom and spirit, as he would answer his equal. He
does not think it worth his while to enter the lists. He despairs of doing
the thing in the way that shall gain approbation, and therefore will not
try. He is like a boxer, who, though skilful, will not fight with one hand
tied behind him. He would return you the answer, if it occurred without
his giving himself trouble; but he will not rouse his soul, and task his
strength to give it. He is careless; and prefers trusting to whatever
construction you may put upon him, and whatever treatment you may
think proper to bestow upon him. It is the most difficult thing in the
world, for the schoolmaster to inspire into his pupil the desire to do his
best.
Among full-grown men the case is different. The schoolboy, whether
under his domestic roof, or in the gymnasium, is in a situation similar
to that of the Christian slaves in Algiers, as described by Cervantes in
his History of the Captive. "They were shut up together in a species of
bagnio, from whence they were brought out from time to time to
perform certain tasks in common:

they might also engage in pranks, and get into scrapes, as they pleased;
but the master would hang up one, impale another, and cut off the ears
of a third, for little occasion, or even wholly without it." Such indeed is
the condition of the child almost from the hour of birth. The severities
practised upon him are not so great as those resorted to by the
proprietor of slaves in Algiers; but they are equally arbitrary and
without appeal. He is free to a certain extent, even as the captives
described by Cervantes; but his freedom is upon sufferance, and is
brought to an end at any time at the pleasure of his seniors. The child
therefore feels his way, and ascertains by repeated experiments how far
he may proceed with impunity. He is like the slaves of the Romans on
the days of the Saturnalia. He may do what he pleases, and command
tasks to his masters, but with this difference--the Roman slave knew
when the days of his licence would be over, and comported himself
accordingly; but the child cannot foresee at any moment when the bell
will be struck, and the scene reversed. It is commonly enough incident
to this situation, that the being who is at the mercy of another, will
practise, what Tacitus calls, a "vernacular urbanity," make his bold jests,
and give utterance to his saucy innuendoes, with as much freedom as
the best; but he will do it with a wary eye, not knowing how soon he
may feel his chain plucked! and himself compulsorily reduced into the
established order. His more