This book undertakes to deal in a concrete and practical way with the underlying principles of religious instruction.  The plan of the text is simple.  First comes the part the teacher must play in training the child in religion.  Then the spiritual changes and growth to be effected in the child are set forth as the chief objective of instruction.  Next is a statement of the great aims, or goals, to be striven for in the child’s expanding religious experience.  These goals are:  (1) fruitful religious knowledge; (2) right religious attitudes—­interests, ideals, feelings, loyalties; (3) the application of this knowledge and these attitudes to daily life and conduct.

Following the discussion of aims is the question of just what subject matter to choose in order to accomplish these ends, and how best to organize the chosen material for instruction.  And finally, how most effectively to present the subject matter selected to make it serve its purpose in stimulating and guiding the spiritual growth and development of children.

The volume is intended as a textbook for teacher-training classes, students of religious education, and for private study by church-school teachers.  It is also hoped that ministers may find some help in its pages toward meeting their educational problems.

Northwestern University,
Evanston, Illinois.

CHAPTER I

THE TEACHER HIMSELF

It is easy enough to secure buildings and classrooms for our schools.  The expenditure of so many dollars will bring us the equipment we require.  Books and materials may be had almost for the asking.  The great problem is to secure teachers—­real teachers, teachers of power and devotion who are able to leave their impress on young lives.  Without such teachers all the rest is but as sounding brass or a tinkling cymbal.  And to be a real teacher is a very high achievement.

Bishop Vincent was giving a lecture on “That Boy.”  He himself was “that boy,” and in the course of describing his school days he fell into meditation as follows:  “That old school master of mine!—­He is dead now—­and I have forgiven him!—­And I am afraid that was the chronology of the matter; for I never was able to forgive him while he lived.”  I, as one of the listeners, smiled at the bitter wit of the speaker, but was oppressed.

This somber view of the impression sometimes left by teachers on their pupils received an antidote the following day, however, when a venerable old man approached my desk bearing in his hands an ancient and dog-eared copy of a text in grammar.  He opened the book and proudly showed me written across the fly leaf “Grover Cleveland, President.”  Then he told me this story: