Heart and Soul by Maveric Post Part 18

Let us a.s.sume, therefore, that a mother of the present day, is deeply concerned in the moral and spiritual feelings of her children--that she wants them to have fine sentiments and fine characters--and that she is anxious to do anything within her power to bring this result about. What is she to do? What method is she to follow? In this age of enlightenment, with all sorts of theories in the air, how is she to know the proper way of forming a fine character? As a matter of fact, in many cases, it is just because her ideas on this subject have become so confused, that many a modern mother has been led to side-step the responsibility and let things drift along in the easiest way, after the example of those about her.

One of the first questions that is sure to confront her is the question of discipline and obedience. On the one hand, is the traditional idea of the past--"Spare the rod and spoil the child." She is familiar with this and there is nearly always someone near her who advocates it firmly--very possibly her own husband. On the other hand, she has read and heard and seen a lot which is directly opposed to that. Children should not be controlled by fear, like animals. There is something mean and ugly and revolting in the very idea. It is better to be loved than feared--better for the mother and better for the child.

Between these two contradictory principles, even if she has the best intentions in the world, what is she to do? Is it to be wondered at, if many a modern mother, in this predicament, vacillates between the two?

She doesn't like to punish the child and most of the time she avoids doing it; but now and then, when things have gone too far, or she is tired and irritable, she makes up for it by losing her temper and going to extremes. And the effect of this kind of treatment on the forming of a child's character is about as bad as could be. It doesn't produce discipline and it doesn't produce obedience; and it doesn't lead the way to any moral conception or principle. What it does inculcate in the child spirit very quickly is a feeling that the att.i.tude of mother is largely a matter of mood, a very uncertain and variable quant.i.ty, which for the time being has to be put up with. And as the child cares more for mother, presumably, than anybody else in the world, it is no more than natural for it to apply this same point-of-view to other people with whom it comes into contact. There may be a certain amount of precocious wisdom in this, but it does not help the growth of moral feeling. And so it happens, in many cases, that at the very start, the twig is given a bend in the wrong direction.

No mother really wants to spoil her child. She may say, with a loving and enigmatical smile, that she prefers to "spoil" it; but that is only her way of saying that she knows better than some stern and misguided people what is best for its tender wants. If she thought for a moment she was really spoiling the child's character, she would stop smiling at once and become very much exercised.

As we have started with this question of discipline, let us not leave it until we have followed it out to the full limit of our reflections.

If the choice necessarily resolved itself into one or the other of these two principles--strict obedience, rigidly enforced by punishment; or a vacillating policy of petting and scolding, leading to moral confusion--there could be little hesitation in deciding which would be apt to give better results in the formation of character. The old way, if somewhat crude and summary, has proved itself capable of producing discipline and respect for authority, a womanly woman and a manly man.

The other way has not given much evidence of producing anything nearly so worthy or admirable.

But, as a matter of fact, the choice need not be, and should not be, limited to these two principles at all. There is another method of arriving at the formation of character which is essentially different from either.

The chief fault of the old method of giving the child a whipping, if it disobeys, is by no means confined to a lessening of a child's love for the mother, who whips it. This is one consideration which is given great weight by many women, at present. It would in itself be a real hurt to the mother and a real hurt to the child. But there are other considerations. Sometimes the whipping may not be deserved--it may be occasioned by a loss of temper, or a misunderstanding--and in such cases it is apt to leave a feeling of resentment and injustice. This is in addition to the feeling of fear, which corporal punishment is apt to produce. Quite irrespective of the harm to love, it introduces a false motive into the formation of character. The little sprouts of conscience may be overshadowed by this weed of fear. The fear of a whip, in a hand which may be strong but not necessarily just, very naturally brings into play the instinct of self-defence, to prompt and justify all manner of concealment, deception, cunning, lying. Those are a lot more weeds which may in time crowd out the more delicate soul feelings.

Discipline, bought at such a price, is paid for very dearly. In my own personal experience as boy and man, the most hypocritical, mean-spirited treacherous characters I have come into contact with, were among those who had been most disciplined by unsympathetic and unrelenting parents.

This is not to say, or imply, that corporal punishment, or stern treatment, necessarily leads to such unfortunate results. It is merely to indicate some of the possible dangers and drawbacks. With st.u.r.dy, primitive natures, an occasional beating is a matter of little moment; while for unthinking, commonplace minds, and undeveloped, unsensitive souls, the habit of obedience and docile respect for authority, in any and all forms, may be an excellent thing. A wolf cannot be trained in the same way as a setter dog, or a canary bird; and even among horses, the kind of treatment that a cart-horse thrives under, would ruin a thoroughbred completely.

The traditional methods of handling children date back to a time when there were many wolves and cart-horses and no method would have generally survived which did not include them.

But in our advanced civilization, as mothers frequently have more sensitive stock to deal with, there is reason for them to feel that, somehow, they should go about it differently. This appears to be a partial explanation of what we see going throughout the length and breadth of our land. It is for their benefit that a more sympathetic principle has been gradually emerging from the confusion.

And let us note in pa.s.sing that the altered sentiment on the part of mothers, and the principle which responds to it, cannot be credited in any way to the achievements of modern science, because a similar tendency showed itself sooner and became more p.r.o.nounced and wide-spread in communities of China and j.a.pan, where no modern science had penetrated. It would seem rather an intuitive growth of delicate understanding on the part of parents, as they become relieved from the strenuous needs of material existence.

This third principle does not tend to "spoil" the child, or repress its affection, or distort any of the finer impulses of its spiritual nature.

It does not destroy obedience or discipline; but instead of obedience and discipline inspired by a whip, it seeks to erect self-obedience, self-discipline and self-control.

How does it work? First, through love, because in nature that comes first; then, little by little, through the unfolding of conscience and faith.

We have talked about the heart feelings of a child, so it is only necessary to refer to them again, not for the joy they may bring to mothers, but because loyalty, fidelity, consideration for others, growing out of affection, may merge imperceptibly with feelings which are essentially moral and spiritual, to the immense advantage of both.

Let a mother love her child, then, and cherish its love, with all the lavishness, tenderness, constancy of which she is capable. There can never be too much of it--there can never be enough of it--either for the child's good, or the mother's. And before the child is really old enough to think, let it have a radiant, deep-rooted feeling that mother's love is a mainstay of life, which will never waver or desert it, under any possible contingency, and which it, in turn, will never, never desert.

And let a mother never trifle with that feeling, or prove fickle to it, at any stage, but treasure it as the holiest of holies, the very essence of the character she hopes to see formed.

In the early stages of development, when a child's mind is unable to reason or understand, little habits of second nature are formed. The moral questions do not come to the fore until the age of reason and the first awakening of the spiritual feelings. And they bring with them unavoidably, the problem of obedience and discipline.

Suppose your son disobeys you, what then? Or suppose he has disobeyed the nurse, and she comes and tells you? Something has to be done about that, surely. What must you do?

Well, first of all, there is one thing you must be very careful _not_ to do. Don't scold--don't speak harshly--don't look cross--don't get angry.

Look at your child with sympathy and understanding, and when he meets your eye, with a cunning little look of shame and defiance, smile back at him rea.s.suringly, and hold out your hand to him. Then, after the nurse has had her say, thank her for telling you about it and ask her to leave you, because in the tender confidences between mother and son it is not proper that an outside and possibly antagonistic influence should intrude.

When she has gone, take him on your knee, put your arms about him and hug him tight. Don't let him forget for an instant that he is your very own and you are his very own mother. Whatever may be going to come of it, keep that point clear--that you are his partner and help-mate and he is never going to be left out in the cold. Nothing will help more toward a fair-minded understanding of the situation. Ask him to tell you all about it, just how and why it all happened and help him with your sympathy and patience to express himself fully.

Let us imagine that this is what has occurred:

When he was out walking, he saw a dead bird lying under the bushes on the other side of a ditch. The nurse, Delia, told him not to, but he did climb across the ditch and picked it up. It was an awfully pretty bird and he just wanted to look at it. When she told him to throw it away, he wouldn't come back. Then she caught him and shook his arm and he couldn't help it--he just got angry. He threw the bird at her and called her "an ugly old crow."

When mother has heard it all, she can start in very gently to answer and explain. And it won't hurt a bit to begin by letting him see that she understands perfectly just how he felt. She remembers a dead bird she found once, when she was little. But, on the other hand, Delia was only doing what she thought was best. There might have been nasty worms on the bird.

But that, after all, is not the main thing. The main thing is, that if he is to be trusted to go out walking with his nurse, he must be willing to do as she says, no matter how unreasonable it may seem. Otherwise mother would be worrying all the time--and something dreadful might happen--he might get lost, or run over. He doesn't have to go out walking with Delia, if he doesn't want to; that is for him to decide.

But if he does decide to go, it must be on the distinct understanding that he agrees not to disobey her.

The boy is rightly ent.i.tled to his say about this and if he has any objections, it is for mother to meet them and dissipate them with her love and reasons. Nothing should be demanded between mother and son which does not seem just and fair to both.

One final point remains to be considered. He threw the bird in Delia's face and called her a name which must have hurt her feelings.

_Boy:_ "I couldn't help it. I was angry."

_Mother:_ "I understand that perfectly. But all the same, it was rather hard on Delia, especially when she was only trying to do what she thought was right."

_Boy:_ "Sometimes, I've got an awful temper."

_Mother:_ "I don't mind that a bit. I'm glad of it. It's only because you have such strong feelings."

_Boy:_ "Have you got a temper, too?"

_Mother (smiling and nodding):_ "Of course I have--as bad as yours--or worse."

_Boy (delighted):_ "Really?"

_Mother:_ "But it's something we all have to learn to control. Because if we can't control it, it's sure to make us do things that we're ashamed of afterwards--things that are unkind and unfair to others.

Aren't you just a little bit ashamed of what you did to Delia?"

_Boy (meeting her eye with smile of enquiry--then looking away and thinking, with feeling):_ "No--I'm not!"

_Mother (petting his hand):_ "Well--I suppose you're still thinking about the bird--and there's still a little of that old temper left. But wait awhile and think it over. And--I'm going to tell you something that _I_ think would be awfully nice. Sometime, if you did happen to feel like it and went to Delia of your own accord and explained to her how you lost your temper and were sorry for calling her that awful name----?"

_Boy (looking away, thinking, then turning to her, hesitating and shaking his head):_ "I couldn't mummy, please,--I couldn't--not now----"

_Mother:_ "I'm sure she'd appreciate it, a lot. Poor Delia--she tries so hard and she's so sensitive and she's really so fond of you. Of course, I wouldn't want you to say you were sorry, unless it was really true.

It's only a sham and a humbug to make people say things they don't mean.

It's entirely a question of how you feel about it, in your own heart.

And n.o.body can decide that for you but yourself."

After an incident of this sort, how would a mother feel if Delia told her, the next afternoon, that Master Bob had come to her and apologized like a little gentleman--and he'd been so sweet and dear--and he'd kissed her--and it touched her so, it broke her all up and she couldn't help crying?

If we take the pains to examine a little every-day example of this sort, it is not difficult to see that it involves some fairly important feelings. First of all, it encourages a feeling of faith--faith in mother, in her sympathy and understanding and justice. Then consideration for others--self-control--and finally conscience, what the inner nature, of its own accord, feels to be right. All these may be of vital account in the formation of a fine character, and they may be brought into play by this sort of treatment just as effectually as by a beating.

Of course it cannot be a.s.sumed, or expected, that the immediate result in any given case will prove so satisfactory. Sooner or later, with nearly all children, there are sure to come times when gentle explanations will not suffice. Something more impressive has to be resorted to.

This final resort was, in fact, faintly indicated in our example--but so faintly, that it might be overlooked.

It was carefully explained to the boy that if he would not agree to obey Delia, when he went out walking with her, then he could not enjoy the privilege of going out walking with Delia. This is a principle of punishment, which may be applied to any and all cases, to almost any desired degree.

And it has at least one great advantage over other kinds of punishment.

It can be made to avoid all danger of seeming unjust and arousing resentment.