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Social Attitudes

Family Tradition and Personality


Ernest W. Burgess
Professor of Sociology, University of Chicago

THE personality is formed in its earliest and perhaps in its basic traits
in the family group. Whatever its biological inheritance from its parents
and other ancestors, the child receives also from them a heritage of
attitudes, sentiments, and ideals which may be termed the family
tradition, or the family culture.

Professor Freeman and his associates of the University of Chicago


recently completed an interesting and significant study of the effect
upon intelligence of children of rearing them in foster homes. They find
that the intelligence of the adopted child is very markedly higher than
if it had been reared by its natural parents, far higher than most
psychologists and other students of mental life had previously been
prepared to admit. They also report that brothers and sisters when
brought up in the same foster family showed closer resemblance in
intelligence than when brought up in separate homes.

While the findings of this study throw new light on the old question
of the relation of heredity and environment, its major significance may
well lie in causing us to reconsider the r�le of family life in personal
development in all its aspects, emotional, mental, and social. The part
played by the family in the emotional growth of children, particularly
with reference to maladjustments, has been stressed repeatedly by
psychoanalysts and psychiatrists. At the Conference on Family Life,
held in Buffalo in October, 1927, Professor W. F. Ogburn, as a
sociologist, emphasized the unique place of the family in providing for
the emotional development of its members. In fact, he asserted that
the essential function of the family at the present time inhered in
relationships of affection about which it is organized and through which
it endures.

(189)

The study of the changes in the intelligence of adopted children


suggests that in addition to the expression of affection, the family has
an equally significant function as the primary medium for the
transmission of the cultural heritage. For certainly it is not so much in
the nature of affection as in differences in cultural level that foster
homes are superior to those of the natural parents.

By family tradition is meant the handing down from generation


to generation of culture within the home. The word "culture"
has a well-defined use in the literature of anthropology. It
includes not only customs, but material objects as well, like
tools, ornaments, and utensils. But from the standpoint of
personality development the so-called "non-material" objects
of culture are the more significant as gestures, manners,
languages, folklore, literature, social standards, art, and
religion.

It is at once evident that within any modern society the differences


in cultural level between families is far greater than the differences in
cultural levels between societies. For example, it is doubtless true that
in the United States certain individuals have lived out their allotted
three-score years and ten without having used one thousand different
words; while there are many persons who within a year have spoken
or read ten or twenty times that number. The child who is born or
adopted into a one-thousand-word family is certainly at a disadvantage
on an intelligence test, all other factors being equal, when compared
with a child who has been brought up in a family with a 10,000 word
vocabulary. More important than the number of words are the
meanings of words and their construction into idioms that express
attitudes and customary behavior. Language is thus a measure of
social-cultural participation.

It is through case studies of personality development that the r�le


of family tradition may be concretely portrayed. The first case is taken
from fiction because it presents the interesting situation where a
boy drew up in a cultureless, or practically cultureless, home; if the
shack in which he was reared may be properly characterized as a
home. The boyhood life of Hugh McVey is realistically described in the
book Poor White, by Sherwood Anderson:

(190)

Hugh McVey was born in a little hole of a town stuck on a mud bank
on the western shore of the Mississippi River in the State of Missouri.
With the exception of a narrow strip of black mid along the river, the
land for ten miles back from the town-called in derision by river men
"Mudcap Landing"-was almost entirely worthless and unproductive,
and was tilled, in Hugh's time, by a race of long, gaunt men who
seemed as exhausted and no-account as the land on which they lived.
They were chronically discouraged, and the merchants and artisans of
the town were in the same state. Only the town's two saloons
prospered.

Hugh McVey's father, John McVey, had been a farmhand in his youth,
but before Hugh was born had moved into town to find employment in
a tannery. The tannery ran for a year or two and then failed, but John
McVey stayed in town. He also became a drunkard. During the time of
his employment in the tannery he had been married and his son had
been born. Then his wife died and the idle workman took his child and
went to live in a tiny fishing shack by the river. How the boy lived
through the next few years no one ever knew. John McVey loitered in
the streets and on the river bank and awakened out of his habitual
stupor only when, driven by hunger or the craving for drink, he went
for a day's work in some farmer's field at harvest time or joined a
number of other idlers for an adventurous trip down river on a lumber
raft. The baby was left shut up in the shack by the river or carried
about wrapped in a soiled blanket. Soon after he was old enough to
walk he was compelled to find work in order that he might eat. The boy
of ten went listlessly about town at the heels of his father. The two
found work, which the boy did while the man lay sleeping in the sun.
At fourteen Hugh was as tall as his father and almost without
education. He could read a little and could write his own name; had
picked up these accomplishments from other boys who came to fish
with him in the river, but he had never been to school. For days
sometimes he did nothing but lie half asleep in the shade of the bush
on the river bank. The fish he caught on his more industrious days he
sold for a few cents to some housewife, and thus got money to buy
food for his big growing indolent body.

In his fourteenth year and when the boy was on the point of sinking
into the sort of animal-like stupor in which his father lived, something
happened to him. A railroad pushed its way down along the river to his
town and he' got a job as man of all work for the station master. Hugh
began a little to awaken. He lived with his employer, Henry Shepard,
and his wife, Sarah, and

(191) for the first time in his life he sat down regularly at table. His life
lying on the river bank through long summer afternoons or sitting
perfectly still for endless hours in a boat, had bred in him a dreamy,
detached outlook on life. He found it hard to be definite and to do
definite things. In his new place, the station master's wife, a sharp-
tongued, good-natured woman, who hated the town and the people
among whom fate had thrown her, scolded at him all day long. She
treated him like a child of six, told him how to sit at table, how to hold
his fork when he ate, how to address people who came to the house or
to the station. The mother in her was aroused by Hugh's helplessness
and, having no children of her own, she began to take the tall, awkward
boy to her heart.

Hugh got little money for his work at the railroad station, but
for the first time in his life he began to fare well. Henry Shepard
bought the boy clothes, and his wife, who was a master of the
art of cooking, loaded the table with good things to eat. Hugh
ate until both the man and the woman declared he would burst
if he did not stop. Then when they were not looking he went
into the station yard and crawled under a bush and went to
sleep. The station master came to look for him. He was
annoyed at what he thought the boy's indolence and found a
hundred little tasks for him to do. "We must keep the big lazy
fellow on the jump. That's the secret of things," he said to his
wife.

The boy learned to keep his naturally indolent body moving and his
clouded sleepy mind fixed on definite things. For hours he plodded
straight ahead, doing over and over some appointed task. One morning
he was told to sweep the station platform, and as his employer had
gone away without giving him additional tasks he continued to sweep
for two or three hours. The station platform was built of rough boards,
and Hugh's arms were very powerful. The broom he was using began
to go to pieces. Bits of it flew about and after an hour's work the
platform looked more unclean than when he began. Sarah Shepard
came to the door of the house and stood watching. She was about to
call to him and to scold him again for his stupidity when a new impulse
came to her. Tears came into her eyes and her arms ached to take the
great boy and hold him tightly against her breast. With all her mother's
soul she wanted to protect Hugh from a world she was sure would treat
him always 3S 3 beast of harden. Her morning's work was done, and
without saying anything to Hugh she went out at the front door of the
house and to one of the town stores. There she bought a half dozen
books. She had made up her mind to become Hugh McVey's school
teacher. When she got back to her house
(192) and saw the bay still going doggedly up and down the platform,
she spoke to him with a new gentleness in her manner. "Well, my boy,
you may put the broom away now and come to the house. I've made
up my mind to take you for my own boy, and I don't want to be
ashamed of you. If you're going to live with me, I can't have you
growing up to be a lazy good-for-nothing like your father and the other
men in this hole of a place. You'll have to learn things and I suppose
I'll have to be your teacher. It's going to be hard work to make an
educated man out of you, but it has to be done. We might as well begin
on your lessons at once."

Professor Ellsworth Faris has defined personality as "the subjective


aspect of culture."[1] In the language of this conception, Sarah
Shepard proposed to remold Hugh according to the New England
cultural pattern. It was, however, one thing to drill habits of industry
into him and to fill his ears with tales of the superiority of her people,
and quite another to win his inner allegiance. There arose the inevitable
conflict within him between the two modes of life

Sarah Shepard had come from a people and a country quite different
in its aspect from that in which she now lived. Her own people, frugal
New Englanders, had come west in the year after the Civil War to take
up cut-over timber land in the southern end of the State of Michigan.

The ambitious, energetic little woman, who had taken the son of the
indolent farmhand to her heart, constantly talked to him of her own
people. She worked upon the problem of rooting the stupidity and
dullness out of his mind as her father had worked at the problem of
rooting the stumps out of the Michigan land. After the lesson for the
day had been gone over and over until Hugh was in a stupor of mental
weariness, she put the books aside and talked to him. With glowing
fervor she made a picture of her own youth and the people and places
where she had lived. In the picture she represented the New
Englanders of the Michigan farming community as a strong and godlike
race, always honest, always frugal, and always pushing ahead. His own
people she utterly condemned.

Sarah Shepard looked upon what she called Hugh's laziness as a


thing of the spirit. "You have got to get over it," she declared. "Look at
your own people-poor white trash-how lazy and shift-
(193) -less they are. You can't be like them. It's a sin to be so dreamy
and worthless." Swept along by the energetic spirit of the woman,
Hugh fought to overcome his inclination to give himself up to vaporous
dreams. He became convinced that his own people were really of
inferior stock, and that they were to be kept away from. During the
first year after he came to live with the Shepards he sometimes gave
way to a desire to return to his old lazy life with his father in the shack
by the river. When neither the station master nor his wife was about
he slipped away and went with his father to sit for a half day with his
back against the wall of the fishing shack, his soul at peace. For the
moment he thought of himself as completely happy and made up his
mind that he did not want to return again to the railroad station and to
the woman who was so determined to arouse him and make of him a
man of her own people. Hugh looked at his father asleep and snoring
in the long grass on the river bank. An odd feeling of disloyalty crept
over him and he became uncomfortable. The man's mouth was open
and he snored lustily. From his greasy and threadbare clothing arose
the smell of fish. Flies gathered in swarms and alighted on his face.
Disgust took possession of Hugh. With all the strength of his awakening
soul he struggled against the desire to give way to the inclination to
stretch himself out beside the man and sleep. The words of the New
England woman who was, he knew, striving to lift him out of
slothfulness and ugliness and into some brighter and better way of life,
echoed dimly in his mind. When he arose and went back along the
street to the station master's house, Sarah Shepard looked at him
reproachfully and muttered words about the poor white trash of the
town.

Hugh began to hate his own father and his own people. He
connected the man who had bred him with the dreaded
inclination toward sloth in himself. "Well," he said to Sarah
Shepard, speaking slowly and with the hesitating drawl
characteristic of his people, "if you give me time I'll learn. I
want to be what you want me to be. If you stick to me I'll try
to make a man of myself." [2]

This conversion of Hugh to the New England culture exemplifies a


process that takes place more gradually and often without struggle in
the life of the child in the family. As Professor Robert E. Park has
pointed out, "man is not born human." Personality, in so far as it means
one's role in society, is an
(194) achievement. The next case, that of Frank Radcliffe, clearly
shows how the father shaped his son in his own cultural image

After eleven years of married life, my mother introduced me


into the Radcliffe family, as member number three. My parents
had waited a long time, and I was more than welcome.
Although my mother was only thirty-one, my father was then
fifty-one, and this was just about the greatest thing that could
have happened to him. He worshiped me from the start and,
like other long wanted first born, I was king and ruler of the
house.

My memories of these early days are very few, but with one big
exception, and those are memories of my father. My play life, my
school, and even my mother fall back into the shadows. I loved my
mother, it is true, but my father stands out most clearly, and it was he
who shaped my life.

My earliest memories are of sitting in my father's arms in front of the


stove of an evening, and of his singing me to sleep. He used to sing
"Way Down Upon the Swanee River," "Darling Nellie Gray," and other
lullaby songs, many with a Negro dialect added. I would lie in his arms
for a long time listening, and trying to play with the ends of his long
mustache. Several years later he began to tell me stories and to read
to me. Most of the stories were of Indian fights, and of pioneer
adventures, and I would ask for the same stories over and over again.
In these early years a regular ceremony was developed. First my father
had to sit and read to me, generally for a good share of the evening.
Then he would undress me and get me ready for bed. His next step
was to go into the kitchen and prepare me a glassful of weak grape
juice. After having my drink he would take me to my bed, and, standing
beside the bed, swing me a specified number of times in his arms, and
finally let me fly head over heels into bed. If he did not swing me the
required number of times, he had to go through the procedure all over
again. Once in bed he would lie down beside me in the dark, put his
arms around me, and tell me another good Indian story. Following this
I cuddled close to him and repeated the Lord's prayer. I then gradually
drifted away into slumberland, but he never left me until I was asleep.
This kept up until I was nine or ten years old.

How I did loge my father! Even yet, he is one of my fondest


memories. Sometimes thoughts of how I would feel if I lost one of my
parents would come into my mind. I always thought I would rather lose
my mother than my father, if it should be a case of losing either of
them. I loved my mother, but somehow she

(195) was different. She never read to me nor told me stories.


Sometimes she would become cross, and once or twice she slapped
me. Most of all, she would sometimes insist on my doing things I didn't
want to do. Father always did as I wished, and I became angry when
opposed. It was mother who called me in at night, when I wanted to
play outside for a while longer. It was mother who imposed any
discipline. Father seemed more like a comrade and playmate.

Another way in which my father greatly influenced me was in the


matter of family pride and of race prejudice. Despite the fact that he
had lived in America all his life, father was English to the backbone. He
always referred contemptuously to "dutchmen," "wops," "hunks," and
"dagoes." He was proud of the Radcliffe family, and I soon became
proud of it, too. While the family claimed to be entirely democratic, it
was only democratic in thinking of itself as being on the same level as
noble or rich men. There was much family pride, and a close family
organization. The grandfather and grandmother, their nine children
with their husbands and wives and children, formed a group of between
thirty and forty people. Every Christmas the entire group gathered at
the old homestead for a big reunion, and thus family organization
remained intact. Quite a bit of control was assumed over the various
members, but when it came to a quarrel with outsiders, a Radcliffe was
always upheld, whether he be right or wrong.

As I look back upon these early years I see more and more the way
my family environment shaped my life. From my father I acquired a
taste for literature and a hungering for knowledge. Along with it came
family pride, racial prejudice, and a sarcastic tongue. It was not until I
went away to college that I really became "Americanized," and stopped
being pro-British. According to my wife, I am still English in all my
characteristics and actions.

Both of my parents were church-going Methodists, and my mother


was very devout. I grew up in the church, and that was the only place
I was ever taken except to visit friends. I liked to go to church, for
there I met other children; I was given recognition in little church plays,
and I had every opportunity in the world to torment other people and
make myself a nuisance. This close contact with the church turned my
thoughts to religion, and I was early told of Heaven and Hell and who
went to each place. I thought it over, and decided I would not be very
bad nor very good. I would just have a good time, and, therefore,
would not

(196) go to either place after I died. This viewpoint toward religion


lasted till I was thirteen.

Three weeks before my twelfth birthday, and a few days before


Christmas, my father was taken sick with pneumonia. I thought there
was no cause for worry, and neither did anyone else. My only thought
was that probably I would not get so many Christmas presents this
time. A week later my father died.

My mother, to support us, bought a small rooming house. For two


years we struggled along, trying to make both ends meet. When all our
rooms were filled we had an income large enough to pay our payment
on the house, to pay taxes, and to live. When part of our rooms were
vacant we had long periods of worry, and oftentimes we wondered
where the next dollar was coming from.

Just before my father died I had begun to run with a gang; and to
enjoy the company of other boys. Here in the rooming house district I
found myself a stranger in a strange land. The street on which we lived
was very cosmopolitan, and many nationalities were represented.
Rooming houses stretched from one end of the street to another. There
was no community spirit, and practically no neighborly visitation.
People did not buy homes on L Street to really live-they bought there
to make money in the rooming house game. And people on the nicer
streets a little farther south disdained to mix very intimately with the
cosmopolitan group on L Street. I finally found one boy chum, and we
were together quite a little for three or four years.

The high school that I attended was a very large school, and a
student could very easily slip in and be forgotten. I was one of those
who was forgotten. Many of the boys came from well-to-do families,
were well dressed, and drove their own cars. I had none of these
advantages. Being forgotten in school did not bother me during the
first two years. My main interest was still in books, and I became a
regular bookworm and day dreamer. After a year I got a job "hustling
sheets" on a corner, and this took up my time on afternoons. I did not
associate with other newsboys, but I did hear my share of dirty stories
from men who bought papers.
It was impossible to live in a house with a number of men of all
nationalities very long without coming face to face with sex. One
roomer taught the masturbation, and I practiced it quits extensively
for about a year. Some of the men would tell dirty stories of their own
experiences when I was around, and these stories made such an
impression that I can still remember them. I never told my mother,
and she never found out my bad habits.

(197)

I would ask her for information on sex matters, but she would turn
the questions aside. She did not seem to know just how to inform me.
But I was not to be denied. I got hold of the old family doctor book,
and read it on the sly every opportunity I got. Much of it was not
understandable, but I picked up quite a little. My information was
added to by stories told by men, out of which I would try to dig scraps
of real information. Another help was in the custom of small foreign
children of both sexes to appear on the streets without much clothing.

We continued to go to church every Sunday, and my religious


consciousness began to reawaken. I heard preachers preach about
"hell fire," and exhort people to get saved. My old plan to go to neither
place became untenable, as I realized that I must go either way. I
became frightened. I would listen to an evangelistic appeal and then
come home and pray and try to get "saved." The question of religion
was uppermost in my mind. Billy Sunday came to town and held a
series of revival meetings, and mother and I went to a number of them.
One Sunday afternoon I was sitting with an adult friend from our
church when the appeal was made. He asked me if I would like to go
forward and give myself to Jesus. I replied that I would, and up I went.
This was a serious step to me, even if I was only thirteen years old. I
began to read a chapter in the Bible every day, and to pray more. In
looking through the doctor book I found a description of something
which was just like what I was doing (masturbating) and it was called
a secret "sin." If it was a sin, and I had never thought of it that way
before, I must stop it if I was to be a Christian. I prayed about it, and
quit. I also tried to stop thinking about sex matters, and I was fairly
successful. I also tried to be more kind and Christlike in every way, but
it did not seem to me that I was very successful. In recent years a
number of my father's folks told me that at about this time I changed
from a very bad boy into quite a good boy. They never knew about my
"conversion." In the face of this evidence, I believe that my emotional
religious experience did have rather marked effect on my conduct.
During this period I did not go out with girls. I used to look with
longing eyes at one or twos and have idealistic love affairs with them
in my day dreams. I would do the same with heroines in books I read.
It was a very idealistic type of love; and in these day dreams about
girls, sex never entered in. Most of my day dreams were about
adventure, especially in soldier life. G. A.

(198) Henty's war stories were still my favorite, and I would imagine
myself as a soldier leading in some dangerous adventure.

My mother and I were drawn closer together after my father's death,


and I got really to know her. I found that she was not nearly so
intellectual as my father, but that she was utterly unselfish, a true
friend, and one that I could trust. I took great delight in earning money
selling papers and in turning it over to her, though she never asked it
of me. We became almost like pals during these days.

This case brings out into sharp relief the way in which the subjective
life of the person, his desires and his attitudes become culturally
conditioned. It also raises the question of what is the relation between
the culture of the family and the culture of the environing society. In
moving into the rooming house district Frank is thrown into contact
with influences in conflict with his family tradition and his former
neighborhood surroundings. It is the church and to a lesser extent the
school, in this instance, that crystallize the trends of personality
development into a philosophy of life and into certain governing
principles which Thomas and Znaniecki term "life organization."

In general, it may be said, although there are, of course, exceptions


that the force of the family tradition in moulding the personality varies
directly with the degree of community support. In immigrant
communities, for example, family tradition may fail to be transmitted
because of its inadaptability to the modern urban situation.
Accordingly, members of the older generation are at a loss how to act,
because a pattern of behavior that worked in the old world utterly fails
in the new. The success of parental rule by the rod in Greece, even by
the father over his married sons, in contrast with its breakdown here
is feelingly told by the grown-up brother-in-law in Mr. Shaw's case of
Angelus

My father was strict with me in Greece. He knowed how t'lick. There


the kid has t'mind or be killed by beatin'. My father's word was the law
there.
There the married sons usually live at home with the father. It is like
one big family, but the father rules everything. Believe me, he rules,
too! Mine did! All the money that is earned

( 199) is turned over to the father. The father is very strict and whips
his kids lots if they don't mind. If I had done like this kid [pointing to
Angelus] my father would beat me t'death! That's the reason they obey
over there and don't steal and get into trouble. They're afraid of their
father. I was terribly afraid of mine. When the old man dies, the oldest
son runs things. If he is good and the brothers like him, they stay, but
if he is too mean, or their wives don't like to obey him, they all leave.

There the boy has t'work. Why should this kid [Angelus] play ball all
day and not work and help his father? If we don't beat him he won't
mind, and will grow up to be a thief or kill somebody. He already is a
bum! I've tried to help the parents out by whipping him. I've given him
several good beatings for quarreling and fighting. He needs more of it,
and harder.[3]

This case indicates how in the patriarchal family in Greece, traditional


control was effective because the life of its members was entirely
confined within it. In the United States, wherever the child comes into
contact with conflicting standards outside the home, conflict tends to
arise, as in this case. In a period of social change, the standards of the
parents, particularly with reference to love and marriage, tend to be
widely at variance with the situation confronted by modern youth. The
following case presents the social backgrounds of the parents, which
explains their insistence upon roles of behavior which seem
impracticable to the daughter, now that she is in contact with the social
life of young people in the large American city

My parents are both Russian Jews. During the first twenty-six years
of her life my mother had little or no schooling, very hard labor, and
extremely limited contacts in the ghetto of one of the smaller cities of
Russia, passively accepted and later tenaciously clung to all the
traditions, customs, and attitudes of her people. My father, parentless
at an early age, tossed about as an apprentice, finally found some sort
of solidity and joy in the life of a soldier. The two met without the help
of a shatchen, the man decidedly the aggressor; the courtship
prospered and was finally brought to an untimely culmination by news
of approaching front service. My mother gave him funds to flee to a
sister in America,
(200) and about six months later joined him there, where they were
married. They set up housekeeping in this country about twentyfour
years ago.

My father, although self-taught, has been a wide reader and always


a wide mixer, and so has rubbed off completely the religious attitudes
of his group, and has gradually, later with the help of the children,
persuaded my mother to do so too. By virtue of his position as a man
of the world and also, I suspect, merely as a man, it is an uncontested
fact that my father is the head of the household, the lord and master;
that the woman's place is to listen and sympathize, not to comment;
that woman's work is the house and the children only. All these facts
my mother accepts unrebelliously. The double standard before
marriage was unthinkingly accepted by both as a natural thing. My
mother is also a club widow, and although I am told that the first few
years of marriage she rebelled, she now accepts her position with quite
good grace.

It is very interesting, surprising, with reference to my father, and


often very disconcerting to observe how they try to foist their attitudes
upon me. Neither of them-and here my father turns tail on all his
emancipated ideas; something which I don't believe I can ever
completely reconcile-can see no reason why a woman should have any
sort of higher education. It is all right in the case of a rich man's
daughter who is beating time until marriage, but for no others. A
woman-always thought of in terms of wife and mother-has no need for
more than at the most a high-school education. It plays no part in
cleaning a home, cooking a meal, or raising children, they reason.
Furthermore, they reason, it has many bad effects; it results, first, in
a general discontentment of the girl with the men who ordinarily fall to
her lot as husbands, she becomes too fussy; there is danger of
postponement of the marriage age; she is likely to think herself equal
or superior to the husband and disrupt family harmony; she will
consider it beneath her dignity and interest to perform the menial tasks
which must be done to preserve the family and home. For these
reasons, higher education is indeed dangerous to the familial welfare
of any girl but a true daughter of the rich. These arguments have been
hammered at me again and again, both with subtle taps and
bludgeoning blows.

Their attitude toward the proper method of conduct of a maid among


men is also very interesting. One should not go out with a boy one
does not know much about-his family, his attitude of possible marriage,
and so on. It has taken me years to convince

(201) them that in this city life today it is impossible for me to know
their parents or them in any other way except through going out with
them first. Furthermore, it gets a girl a very bad reputation to go out
often or with many fellows; it is much better to go out with only one or
two alone for long periods. There is no sense, no use, and no reason
in establishing friendships with men with whom for some reason there
is definitely no possibility of ultimate marriage. The double standard
applies again. The boy is forgiven-as long as he is not with good girls-
for men will do such things-it's natural-but for a woman to adopt such
standards immediately places her with the ranks of the prostitutes, or
for her to object to the man's attitude is indulging fussiness too far.

Their strong antipathy to intermarriage [Jew and Gentile] I realized


only when I was in a situation where there was a possibility of it. Their
arguments to me first-on the ground that a Gentile boy went out with
a Jewish girl only for a "hot time" and then that the two could never be
happy, they were too different, I discounted largely. But because I felt
that my parents could never outlive the shame and disappointment of
an only daughter's marriage to a Gentile, could never reconcile and
perhaps never forgive me for it, could never overcome a strong
antipathy to a halfGentile grandchild of theirs, and also perhaps
because they frightened and almost convinced me by their positiveness
of the incompatibility of Jew and Gentile, I resolved never to marry a
non-Jew. Perhaps that is the strongest, most direct, and most tangible
expression of the force and influence of my family's attitudes, actions,
and ideals upon mine.

Ever since my childhood, in my bitterly unhappy moments in the dark


closet, rebelling against my mother's lack of understanding, aching for
encouragement and appreciation, wearied with perpetual conflict, I
would formulate my revenge and strengthen myself-"Well, my child
won't suffer like this; my child is going to be loved and understood and
appreciated; there is going to be an educational fund before she is born
so she won't have to struggle as I am for my education. She's going to
have a pal and a comrade." And even today I find myself when in the
homes of friends of mine who have a beautiful relationship with their
parents, where the children are warmed in an atmosphere of books.

MUSIC, intellectual discussions, stimulating suggestions,


comradeship between man and wife as well as children, even today I
find an almost unconscious inner self murmuring, "That's the kind of
home my children are going to have." When asked seriously by friends
who could understand why I was going to college, one of

(202) the two fundamental reasons I gave immediately was, "So that
I can be a better mother to my children." So deeply ingrained has this
attitude now become that it is today a fundamental part and the basis
of many of my unwitting reactions to situations.

In the patriarchal family, as in ancient Israel and modern China,


powerful factors make for the continuity of the family. The married
sons and their wives and children grow up within the large family
group. The common business enterprise and the joint ownership of
property tends to family solidarity. The head of the large family group
and the family council exert a unifying control. The members of the
family are considered more as representatives of the kinship group
than as independent individuals. Even with the modern family, much
of this cultural continuity is maintained. In the professions especially
there is the succession from father to son, as in the law, the ministry
and in medicine.

For England, Bishop Welldon long ago pointed out The


continuous renown of such families as the Yorkes and
Coleridges in the law, of Wordsworths and the Summers in the
Church, of the Darwins in science, of the Arnolds in literature,
is familiar to students of modern English life. As literary men
have in large proportion been of literary men, politicians of
politicians, lawyers of lawyers, and actors of actors, so have
clergymen habitually been born and bred in clerical homes. I
find that 350 more or less well-known men have not only been
sons of clergymen but have themselves been clergymen.

In our modern society, the family pattern is no longer the sole factor,
and not always the chief one, in determining the vocational choices and
standards of conduct of young people. In a neighborhood of second
immigrant settlement in Chicago only six out of over four hundred boys
planned to follow in the occupational footsteps of their fathers. In a
residential community of well-to-do Americans of native ancestry a
considerably higher proportion but still a small fraction of sons were
planning to follow the same pursuits as their fathers:
Certain brief excerpts from cases may be presented to indicate the
different ways in which tradition is transmitted and modified in the
modern American family. The telling of sto-

(203) -ries of the family history, of the exploits of ancestors, of


romantic adventures, of acts of bravery, makes for the identification of
the child with the values of the family traditions

When I was a little boy my father's father used to take me on his


knee and tell me stories of the battles he had been in, or some one of
his brothers or uncles. He told how from the wars of the Seminole
Indians straight down to the Spanish-American War our family has
always acquitted itself with honor on the battlefield. My grandfather's
sword which he carried in the Civil War for four years is my choicest
possession. I can see him now proudly showing me the wounds he
received in the first battle of Bull Run and marks from a terrible hand-
to-hand sword duel at the Battle of Gettysburg. It has always been an
honor in our family that we have always answered the call of our
country upon first notice. When we declared war against the Central
Powers in 1917, I enlisted within four days, and the telegram that I
received in reply to my announcement from my father is one of the few
things I have had from him since a boy of ten that has ever shown me
the depth of his feeling toward me.

It would be interesting to know how far the potential strength of


militarism in this country rests upon family tradition.

Often the cultural attitude implanted in the child is a frustrated


ambition of a parent, as the mother who brought her daughter up to
go to college and become a teacher as she herself had planned but
circumstances prevented. Or the parent may have aspirations of a
great career or noble service for the child

Before I was born my mother dedicated me to God in case I should


turn out to be a man, and she interpreted this to mean that I should
enter the ministry. Going to a university widely known for its
unorthodox teaching was a severe shock to this faith and promise, yet
it remains unshaken. My mother is fairly well satisfied now that she
knows that I shall enter some kind of educational work, though I still
think she feels that her debt to the Lord will not be fully paid unless I
enter the ministry 1 am firmly convinced that this attitude of hers,
linked as it is with my earliest childhood memories and teachings, has
had a controlling effect upon my life. On several occasions I have nearly
entered business, for example, and have always at the last moment
given it

(204) up, my decision in each case being determined by some


unconscious feeling, and not by rational considerations.

In this last case it seems plausible to infer that influences outside the
family came into conflict with the tradition implanted in his thought of
himself by his mother. Often the family, or the father and mother as
the guardians of the family tradition, have to meet these conflicts with
outside influences. How the imputed superiority of the family and
indeed the family tradition may be used, though not always
successfully, to control the behavior of the members of the family is
evident in the next case.

In the general atmosphere of our home was the feeling that


we, the Kimballs, had a history and status superior to the
Johnsons and Martins and others who lived near-by. We had
both English and Welsh blood in our veins. This fact was
appealed to when Scott, the oldest son, desired to marry the
Martin girl. There were certain things which the neighbors
might do but which a Kimball would never stoop to do, as the
drinking of alcoholic liquors and smoking.

But when Scott was fourteen he began to use tobacco "on the side."
It was the custom in this community to chew as well as smoke, and he
took up both of these habits. Father talked with him. One argument
was that he was spoiling the family record, since neither father nor his
father nor any of father's brothers had ever used tobacco. Scott argued
in justification that it was no worse for him to use tobacco than for
father to raise it. He also called attention to his maternal grandfather,
after whom he was named, who used tobacco.

The family as an institution exists not only to transmit, but also to


interpret, modify, and re-create the cultural heritage. This function and
its relation to the personality development of its members is well stated
by Helen Bosanquet�

The mind of the child is . . . deeply rooted in the family as its center;
his earliest words, ideas, modes of thought, are those he gathers from
parents and brothers; and each day he takes back to them the new
words and ideas which he gathers in the outside world, and they again
are molded and interpreted by the family. He recounts his exploits,
tells of his companions and teachers, is subjected to praise or criticism,
and listens to similar narratives from other members; and next day he
returns to the outside

(205) world to collect fresh material to be thrown into the family mold.
Even in families where there is less than the normal share of affection,
the habits formed in this way are so strong that they do not break
without some special stress being put upon them.[5]

But what is the practical bearing of our consideration of these cases


of the r�le of family tradition in personality development?

First of all, these cases show that the life organization and the
character of the person take their first and often permanent form under
the impress of the family cultural heritage.

Secondly, these cases reveal that conflicts between parents


and children, as well as mental and moral conflicts within the
person, are almost always the result of the clash between
family and community standards.

Accordingly, these cases disclose the close relation between


personality problems and problems of community organization. In
dealing with the person and the family, it is always important to find
out what are the cultural values cherished by the family and its
members; what efforts they are making to realize them and what
frustrations prevent their achievement. Those engaged in
neighborhood and community work have a special interest in the study
of the interrelations and the conflicts between family traditions and
community standards. For the work of all institutions with a cultural
motivation like the school, the church, the settlement, and the
playground deal essentially with the character formation of their
members and at the same time with the social standards and traditions
of the community. The fuller recognition of this cultural function may
provide the basis needed for a more vital approach to group work with
persons and families.

The preceding discussion of the process of family tradition in the


conditioning of the basic attitudes of the child suggests the following
hypotheses for further exploration, and ultimately, it may be, for the
formulation of research projects.
Family tradition and community standards. It would be of interest to
make studies of family tradition in its control over the conduct of
children and youth in the following different social situations: (a) where
the family tradition and the coma munity standards are practically the
same; (b) where the fam-

(206) -ily tradition and community standards are widely different; (c)
where the culture of the family is well defined but the community is
disorganized; ( d ) where the family is without welldefined traditions
but in a community with well-developed standards. The hypothesis is
that the homogeneity of family and community traditions and
standards makes for family integration, while the disparity between the
culture of the family and that of the community tends to result in the
disruption of family control and in personal disorganization.

Conflicting patterns of family tradition. The fund of tradition of


the small family has two origins in the paternal and maternal
ancestry. To what extent and under what circumstances is one
dominant and the other suppressed, or does a blend in cultural
patterns take place. To what extent are the children affected
differently by the family tradition from the different sides of the
house? What are the conflicts and the accommodations
between these cultural patterns? To what extent do the conflict
of personalities within the family take form within or outside
the field of the family tradition?

Family tradition and occupational choices. Under what conditions


does the son follow in the occupational career of the father? When filial
occupational choices are divergent from the paternal, what are the
controlling factors?

Factors in the transmission of family traditions. What are the


interrelations between affectional responses and the cultural
conditioning of the child? What is the r�le played by ceremonies, ritual,
story telling, celebrations? What are the subtler factors of familial
control upon the behavior of the members of the family? What is the
effect of the radio and the motion picture in the early introduction into
the experience of small children of non-family culture?

Cultural levels of family life in the United States. The enormous


differences in the culture of different families in this country has not,
perhaps, been fully appreciated. It is not merely the difference between
the family life of our numerous immigrant groups nor the wide variation
between urban end rural families. The observable differences in culture
seem to be correlated with regions within both rural and urban areas;
with differences in occupations, with variations in urbanization, and
with divergences in philosophies of life.

(207)

Comparative studies of family culture. In what ways does the r�le of


family tradition differ in various cultures? Among contemporary
peoples it would be feasible to describe and analyze comparatively the
cultural conditioning of the large patriarchal family, as in China, India,
and Japan; the semi-patriarchal family, as in Germany, France, and
Italy; the changing family, as in England, Russia, and the United
States.

The family in social change. The city offers a laboratory in


which there is taking place an increasing differentiation in
forms of familial and sexual relationships. Young people are
conducting experiments with varying results, but no adequate
study is being made to analyze this experience for the light it
might throw upon the problem of familial relations under
conditions of social change. In China and in Russia, the family
appears to be undergoing profound changes, which offer
unusual opportunity for the study of the interrelations of
human nature and institutional forms.
SELECTED BIBLIOGRAPHY

Bosanquet Helen, The Family, London, 1906.

Burgess, E. W., "The Family as a Unity of Interacting


Personalities," The Family,1926, Vol. VII, pp. 3-9.

Burgess, E. W., Personality and the Social Group, Chicago, 1929,


Chap. X, "The Family and the Person," pp. 121-33.

Faris, Ellsworth, "The Nature of Human Nature," Publications of the


American Sociological Society, 1926, Vol. XX, pp. 15-29. (Printed
as American Journal of Sociology, July, 1926, Vol. XXXII, No. 1, Part
2.)

Freeman, Frank N., "The Effect of Environment on the Intelligence;


School Achievement and Conduct of Foster Children." Twenty-seventh
Yearbook o f the National Society for the Study of Education 1928, Vol.
I, pp. 102-217.

Mowrer, E. R., Family Disorganization, Chicago, 1926, Chap. VI.

Ogburn, W. F., "Social Heritage and the Family," in Rich, Margaret E.


(editor) Family Life To-day, New York, 1928, pp. 24-42.

Park, R. E., and Miller, H. A., Old World Traits Transplanted, New
York, 1921.

Shaw, Clifford R., "Case Study Method," Publications o f the American


Sociological Society, 1927, Vol. XXI, PP. I49-57.

Sumner, W. G., The Folkways, Boston, 1906.

Thomas, W. L, and Znanieeki, F., The Polish Peasant in Europe and


America (2nd edition), 2 vols., New York, 1927.

Thrasher, F. M., The Gang, Chicago, 1926.

Wissler, Clark, Man and Culture, New York, 1923.

Wirth, Louis, The Ghetto, Chicago, 1928.

Notes

1. Previously, W. I. Thomas had defined the field of social


psychology as "the subjective aspect of culture."
2. Quoted by permission of the publishers, The Viking Press,
New York, 1920.
3. Clifford Shaw, "Case Study Method," Publications of
American Sociological Society, 1927, Vol. XXI, pp. 155-
56.
4. Quoted by Bosanquet, The Family, 1906, p. 208.
5. The Family, 1906, pp. 204-05.