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ters being permitted or accepted by the tribe. However gross the license allowed, to our modern way of thinking, it was allowed by action of the communal authority, and not otherwise. Social control of sex, marriage, the family relation is so integral a part of savage society that the modern abrogation of control in that respect would seem very like chaos to them. The second important fact is perhaps a corollary of the first: that savage societies do not leave the education of the young for sex and family life, as we do, to chance, to each other, or to the wisdom or unwisdom of parents. There are, on the contrary, definitely appointed teachers of both sexes told off for this important duty, and through them the tribal law and custom on this and other subjects are imparted to the adolescent members of the tribe, over a longer or shorter period of preparation, culminating in a solemn and, to our minds (though not to theirs), repugnant initiation ceremony which raises the young people to the status of adults. There is none of us but would shrink with horror from the thought of having the subject matter of these training courses presented to our young people; but has not the method something in it worthy of our attention? See what they did. First, they accepted social control of the private family life of the individual, assuming that the tribe had every right to direct the conditions under which its next generation might be recruited, and narrowing the limits of individual choice to that end. Much of their wisdom may have been superstition or fortuitous experiment, but the principle never varied. Second, they recognized that the sex life of the members of the tribe was important, and they dignified it in the eyes of the novices by weaving ceremonial observances about it of almost equal importance with their religious ceremonies. Third, they placed the instruction in the hands of people who, in their eyes, possessed definite qualifications for the task. Fourth, they made the status of adulthood something that had to be earned, the right to which had to be demonstrated. True, their pedagogy included terror, shame, and suffering unspeakable, things we would like to forget as part of our ancestral heritage.

In the long trek upward from savagery, however, the human race has brought with it many of its most valuable possessions. Who would recognize in our wheat fields of today the lineal descendant of the sparse grasses on which our nomad ancestors used to graze their flock? But many other things have been cast aside as worthless, which now we have the opportunity and the knowledge to go back to examine, finding, sometimes, that they might have been of use to us had we preserved and developed them in pace with our own progress, as we did the wheat!

I do not see why marriage and parenthood in their relation to the communal life cannot be taught as citizenship is taught. That ideals are seldom realized is surely no reason why they should not be presented to the young, in all reverence and truthfulness, as something to be striven for by all and realized by many. The forms of marriage and of family life must and will change, and such teaching should keep abreast of new conditions and not dwell in an unreal world of the

past which no longer exists. But love and fidelity, mutual reliance and willing sacrifice, still exist and must exist, and be taught by precept and example, if the upward progress of our race is to continue. It is upon these things, and not upon changing economic and social conditions, that a stable family life has always been, and will always be, founded.

THE BACKGROUND OF A FAMILY'S RELIGIOUS LIFE
AS SOCIAL DATA

Mary Willcox Glenn, President, American Association for
Organizing Family Social Work, New York

In Porgy, Du Bose Heyward's vivid portrayal of Negro life in a dilapidated quarter of an old southern city, there is an incident which shows how knowledge of the religious experience of a particular woman could be counted on as a clue to her conduct. Crown, the killer, who had been hiding in the swamps after murdering a fellow-Negro, Serena's husband, in a brawl, comes stealthily back to the quarter. When the somber Maria, the guardian of the quarter's peace, threatens him with betrayal to the authorities, his rejoinder is:

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"Dat de Gawd' trut'," is Maria's answer, "only dey is odder way ob settlin' up er debt." "Serena?" he retorts, "Dot sister gots de fear ob Gawd in her heart. I ain't 'fraid none ob

Crown knew she had been converted. He understood his people. He did not have to hear Serena say, "Dat nigger bes' t'ank he Gawd dat I gots My Jesus now fuh hol' back my han"," to be confident that he was safe in her vicinity.

But in most instances the case worker is not prepared readily to get insight into a family's religious life so that social data may thereby become available for treatment: first, because the case worker ordinarily deals with people whose racial and religious antecedents are other than her own; second, because she herself is reticent and hesitates to try to disclose religious inclinations or motives; and third, because no technique of approach has been developed for use in revealing the sources of conduct which spring from a client's past or present religious experience.

We may agree, I take it, that the purpose of including a family's religious background in a social record is broader than that of furnishing clues as to previous manner of living or providing additional forms of relief. May we not also agree that to perceive what influence religion has had on a family's life, and consciously to adapt our findings to treatment, are processes essential to a full development of personality? Essential, I should assert, by the way, to a reciprocal development of client and case worker, to that mutual creative reaction which makes a mature social case worker thank God that she herself has been

enabled to see more clearly what lies at the heart of life's mystery because she has had the privilege of taking dynamic part in helping people who are bearing trouble.

As the chairman, some years ago, of a case conference of men, most of whom were active members of the St. Vincent de Paul Society and came of the same racial and religious background as the clients whose problems we discussed in fortnightly sessions, I learned the value of reliance on the men's interpretation of a client's behavior and on their cooperative effort to influence his future conduct through drawing him back into relation with his church.

The Church Mission of Help, a society of the Episcopal church for wayward young people, irrespective of their religious affiliations, whose work is based on a belief in the significance of the spiritual approach in social case work, is finding that its service is most fruitful when a girl under care has the background of connection with the Episcopal church itself. The reason is that the visitor and the girl have at the start a foundation on which to begin to build an understanding.

A young show girl came into the office of a Church Mission of Help in a large city. In spite of her audacious attire (a black, spangled hat, loose black and white coat, high-heeled, black satin pumps) it was apparent that she was shortly to be confined. She picked up a church paper, the monthly publication of the Girls' Friendly Society, while she waited to be interviewed. "See," she said, when the visitor met her, "this is the first thing that has made me feel at home for some time." It was learned that she had been baptized and confirmed in an Episcopal church in another city; that her mother, a widow, was, as the family's rector wrote later, "a very respectable woman," and her brother a member of the parish choir. She had come some time before to the large city for work and adventure, had found a job in a show, and, as a result of an infatuation with a member of the company, had become pregnant. As the time for her confinement drew near, she found herself without resources. The day following the initial visit, when she was again in the office, she heard the bells for vespers ring in an adjoining church. "Is that our church?" she said. Voluntarily she went into the church with the visitor, followed the service with appreciation, and spoke of her wish-if she were permitted-to make her communion. The natural next step was to introduce her to the rector, a clergyman active in the work of the society. The relationship then begun deepened during the two weeks before the baby's birth and in the eight weeks that followed. It lead to the baby's baptism, to the girl's communions renewed, and to her being the one to acquaint her family with her situation, and to return with her baby to take up her life again in her mother's home. Before she told her family about her baby she had secured work by which she could be self-supporting. A deeper need than for financial security led her home.

The religious background voluntarily revealed gave in this case the clue for a start in treatment. The assumption does not follow that in another society, under a visitor of a religious or ethical persuasion other than the girl's own, a like result would not have been attained. But the fact is that the atmosphere in which she found herself induced an immediate disclosure of religious antecedents and inclinations. Henry James, in the preface to Princess Casamassima, says, "Without intensity where is vividness, and without vividness where is presentability?" The clergyman and the visitor were, from the standpoint of presentability, at a distinct advantage in their treatment of their young client, because

the intensity of her need was matched by their own intense and vivid sense of the way in which she might most surely find strength to meet the claims of social readjustment.

In a recent case conference on the future of another unmarried mother and child, decision as to whether the weight of influence should fall on marriage between the Jewish father of the baby and the mother, of Presbyterian stock, was deferred until a Jewish rabbi, whose helpfulness had been proved in another case, could come into personal contact with the young man and his orthodox mother and could subsequently advise as to the probability of a stable union. Through invoking the service of the clergyman and rabbi in these two instances there was brought into the sphere of treatment a method belonging to another field. You may recall the quotation from an address of Professor MacIver's used in the October issue of The Family: "To get the facts is only the beginning. The real and arduous task is to interpret these things, and the point is that this interpretation requires a method of its own. We cannot use the methods of other sciences belonging to other fields. It would be incongruous."

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A student in the New York School of Social Work has given me a brief summary of a case record used in class, which was selected because of the many contacts made between visitor and church.

An American family of a tubercular man-his wife, three small children, and a niece-was referred by a church to a family society. Close and helpful cooperation is depicted. Responsibility is shared for effective treatment during the periods of the man's illness and death and the 'widow's subsequent adjustment. The latter "was peculiarly difficult," the student writes, for "the family had high standards of living and the widow had been used to referring decisions to her husband." Income was supplemented, health was supervised, the widow was encouraged to become more self-reliant, the niece was given vocational guidance; but, the student adds, "This case is a good illustration of cooperation between the society and the church; also the influence of the church is mentioned as being very strong, but is not in any way brought out except that the church did certain things for the niece. She was in the Sunday school class, helped with the communion class, and the parish worker talked over reading with her each Saturday morning and tried to find recreational opportunities for her. The parish worker was also interested in finding a higher paid position for Mrs. Blank. In short, while this record illustrates good cooperation between the church and the social agency, it does not bring out in any tangible way how Mrs. Blank's spiritual needs, for instance, at the time of her husband's death, were met."

This summary might be taken to typify many of the histories of helpful cooperation between a family society and the church whereby thoroughgoing use has been made of a wide variety of services. What is missed in a reading of the records is a revelation of the church at work as a spiritual force. They do not show what the church meant to the inner life of the people portrayed, how far it was, or had been, a source of spiritual strength, nor how it had determined a given family's reaction to the circumstances of its life.

The Committee on Relations with Case Work Organizations Operating under Religious Auspices' has in a recent report enumerated some of the reasons for • A committee of the American Association for Organizing Family Social Work.

failure on the part of the social worker to draw from the church data comparable, as one might say, in value to that given by members of professions, such as the medical, the legal, the psychiatric. Through realizing what are the grounds of our past failures to use the church effectively in the diagnosis and treatment of clients; through being freed from preoccupation with our clients primarily as economic beings, or as health seekers, or as psychic phenomena; through persistent endeavor to weigh their total worth as human beings, compact of forces physical and mental, psychical and spiritual, we should enter on a new stage of development in social case work. We should be in the mood to make creative use of the church. We should inevitably see our own efforts enhanced, accelerated, and as a result the personality of our clients would then more surely develop in harmony with the hidden sources of buoyant life. There must be, however, to assure such result as well considered, a rapprochement between the social worker and the clergyman as there has been between the social worker and the practitioners of other professions. Such rapprochement has been in each instance the forerunner of notable advance in social case work itself. It has brought breadth and depth to content.

In the report of the Committee on Relations with Case Work Organizations under Religious Auspices the statement is made that "the leadership giving character and direction to the social work endeavor of the church naturally is found in the clergy." It is important, therefore, the report concludes, to know what social information is given in theological schools. The introduction of training in social work as an addition to what is offered through courses on pastoral theology is urged, not in order, as the report asserts, that the theological student should (or could, through such an opportunity given in the seminary) become a social worker, but that he might be prepared to be a better pastor.

I recall how, twenty years ago, the medical students of the Johns Hopkins University became in their third and fourth years members of a Charity Organization Society case conference and did field work under the joint direction of a member of the medical faculty and the district secretary. That experiment, as well as cognate experiments made elsewhere, have so proved the worth of training relations established between social worker and doctor that it seems trite to make mention of it here.

If one had time one could trace over a period of years the case work efforts made within the charity organization movement to reach the theological seminaries and groups of clergy. Such efforts have, however, been sporadic. They have not, until the present time, had a momentum which may presage a new era reached in the orderly progression of social case work. An instance of the value to case work itself of contact achieved between district and seminary is furnished by the district secretary of a family society to which several students of a theological seminary have been assigned for training by their professor of pastoral theology. The evidence is embodied in the history of a family under care since November, 1924, but only recently assigned to one of the students.

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