Let us suppose, however, that our teacher is one of
unusual courage, and is willing and anxious to give
copious indirect moral instruction in connection with other
subjects. How much time is given to history in a primary
school ? One hour a week. How much to literature ? So
little that the very name is hardly used ; there is " reading,"
no doubt (one to three hours in an upper class), and there
is " recitation " (thirty to sixty minutes — two or three poems
a year are to be learnt by heart). How much to hygiene ?
Probably none in a boys' school. How much to nature-
study — an admirable vehicle for teaching "kindness to
animals," "reverence," and other excellent qualities?
None at all in most senior schools. Thus our cj.c^c'j.V.Nvn^,



9a MORAL INSTRUCTION

being based more on the dog:ma of " format training- " than
on faith in "apperceptive interest" and moral insight, is

far less adapted to the purpose of " indirect moral instruc-
tion " than it should be.
Some writers tell us that "children love directness, and
it is a mistake to go beating about the bush. Next to

insincere moralising they resent being tricked into

listening to ethical instruction in the guise of something
else."' But this reduces us to an impasse. If we are to
reject both direct and indirect methods, we may as well
close our schools and bring the educational farce to an end.
