THE CHILD by Mrs. Mary Wood-Allen, M.D.

Pacific Press Publishing Company · Oakland, California · Jul 23, 1902

FromSigns of the Times, Vol. 28, No. 30.

THE CHILD

By Mrs. Mary Wood-Allen, M.D.

VII.—ORDERLINESS.

IN discussing the formation of habits, it might be well to consider somewhat the manner in which a brain grows. The brain at birth consists principally of nerve material, which is to be developed by the activities of life. This nerve material consists of embryo cells, the number of which is a fixed fact; but circumstances will determine how many will be developed. Prof. Elmer Gates declares that we do not develop more than ten per cent of our nerve cells. If that is true, there remains still vast possibilities for humanity in the discovering of new faculties through the development of unused brain cells.

The growth of the brain depends upon the development of existing cells and not upon the formation of new cells. All stimulation of cell function is followed by repose which secures recuperation. In children the functions are rapid, fatigue easily induced; and the periods for repose need to be frequent,—that is, attention must not be too long demanded in one direction. The same stimulus applied repeatedly calls the same cells into activity, and educates them into what we call a habit; that is, the quicker response to this particular stimulus until the activity becomes automatic.

By stimulus of course is meant something that calls into activity, as a sensation, a purpose, a command. If the stimuli are applied with regularity, and in a way that arouses only agreeable sensations, the cell development that results will be orderly and harmonious. If the stimuli are disagreeable, or applied in dissonance with the organization, the result will be disorder and inharmony.

"Order is heaven's first law," says Pope, and Jesus says, "The kingdom of heaven is within you." If we would have the heavenly mental and physical conditions, we should have orderly mental and physical conditions.

Regularity of life, then, even in the infant, is the beginning of that orderliness that shall make a harmonious maturity. The little immature brain learns to expect food and sleep at certain intervals, and these expectations being met, the brain is developed with according orderliness. It is not called upon to readjust itself constantly to new and therefore disturbing conditions. The child's outward orderly life creates an inward orderly state, and he begins to love order. Finding that things occupy certain places, he looks to find them there; and soon can learn that he has a responsibility in putting them there.

A little child of two years was given a bottom bureau drawer for his playthings, and was taught to keep them put away when not in use. He found it no trouble, and indeed took a pleasure in putting his various toys to bed when he was through with them. At the same age he always assisted in the process of undressing himself; and his was the special task of putting his shoes side by side, and hanging up his various garments. And as fast as he was able to care for his belongings, they were put in his hands, places prepared within his reach, and he was permitted as a favor to keep them in order. Thus order to him was not a punishment, but a reward; and to-day as a business man, his forte seems to be in systematizing and bringing order out of confusion. But was not this largely an inheritance? Perhaps he may have inherited a love for order; but this was not taken for granted in his training. He was carefully educated in orderliness both by precept and example.

In this as in other phases of education, it must not be supposed that precept is enough. If papa may throw his hat and gloves on the parlor table, or leave his shoes in the middle of the sitting-room floor, why may not Harry do the same thing? It will be difficult for him to understand why more leeway should be given to a grown man than to a little child.

When habits of disorder have been already formed, the conditions are more serious, even tho the years of life be few. Children who have grown to school age with no idea of caring for their own belongings, have already developed brain cells in the direction of disorderly habit; and to unlearn is a far more difficult process than to learn in the first place, as it involves the erasing of paths already made in the brain for one set of impulses, as well as the creation of new tracks for new sets of impulses.

"Mama, where is my hat? I can't find my books, and it is school time." These are samples of the anxious cries five days in the week, in many homes, as it nears nine o'clock. And mother and children begin the day in a state of nervous tension and irritation which would have been avoided had the children formed habits of good order. But these habits have not been formed, even tho mothers scold constantly and fathers occasionally punish. And from the standpoint of physiology, we have no reason to expect order to result from whipping or nagging. It can only arise from an orderly development of brain cells. How can we bring these cells out of disorder and irritation into order and repose? It can only come through a gentle but never failing persistence in requiring obedience to the law of order from hearts that are themselves in obedience to that law.

Do not begin in a too broad and general way. Take one thing at a time,—say, hats or other head gear. Have a place for them which the child can reach. Have a quiet talk when the child is in a receptive mental state. Present the case to him, and secure his co-operation; then he will have no cause to feel that he is unjustly treated. Make a rule with a penalty if not obeyed. Then set yourself to see that the penalty follows every failure to obey. Suppose the rule is that if he does not take care of his hat, you will; but that means that you will put it out of his way, and he must do without it a certain number of hours and forego any pleasure that its loss entails. Don't scold. Don't nag. Simply call to his mind the compact, and that, much as you regret his disappointment, you can not honorably fail in keeping your side of the agreement. Don't tantalize him because of failure; but encourage him when he succeeds and when he fails. Show him all the time that you have faith in his ultimate success, and then give him time to work out his problem.

When he has met with a measure of success, take up the next point, that of books perhaps, and follow the same plan. See that he has a convenient place for them, that no one else interferes with them, and be sure to make him feel that when you take possession of them it is not as punishment, but as an effort to aid him to remember.

Keep ever in mind the immaturity of his brain, and that he is naturally a creature of impulse. Be patient and gentle, but never let these qualities make you lenient in overlooking his failures. His success depends largely upon your uncompromising persistence.

One little word of warning may be needed. Order may be carried to an extreme, and become a cause of distress rather than of harmony. This is to be guarded against. The demands of life require that things should be subservient, not dominant. Things are to be used, and use sometimes requires a certain kind of disorder. I was once a guest in a home in which the mistress had a mania for order. If a book were laid on the table for a few minutes, it was to be found in the book-case. If a person rose from a chair leaving it out of line, the mistress went at once and replaced it. The whole family were slaves to order. As Emerson puts it, "Things were in the saddle and rode" the household, and no one was happy or comfortable.

Order should be a source of comfort; when things have served their purpose, they are to be put in their places in order that they may be found when again wanted; but while in actual use, they may subserve the need of the one using them in the place where he needs them.

The family sitting-room, orderly in the morning, lived in comfortably during the day, and put in order before retiring, creates the atmosphere that may be called "homey," and gives to the room the air of being an aid to living rather than an orderly prison.