I have thus far endeavored to combat the notion that physical pleasure should be offered as a reward for virtue, and physical pain inflicted as a punishment for moral faults. Now we are in a position to apply this conclusion to some special questions which it is proposed to take up for consideration. The first of these relates to corporal punishment.

1. Corporal Punishment

It was in that period of history which is so justly called the Dark Ages that the lurid doctrine of hell as a place for the eternal bodily torture of the wicked haunted men's minds, and the same mediÆval period witnessed the most horrible examples of corporal punishment in the schools and in the homes.

This was no mere coincidence. As the manners of the people are so will their religion be. Savage parents who treat their children in a cruel, passionate way naturally entertain the idea of a god who treats his human children in the same way. If we wish to purify the religious beliefs of men, we must first ameliorate their daily life.

There was once a schoolmaster who boasted that during his long and interesting career he had inflicted corporal punishment more than a million times. In modern days the tide of public opinion has set strongly against corporal punishment. It is being abolished in many of our public institutions, and the majority of cultivated parents have a decided feeling against availing themselves of this method of discipline.

But the mere sentiment against it is not sufficient. Is the opposition to it the result possibly of that increased sensitiveness to pain which we observe in the modern man, of the indisposition to inflict or to witness suffering? Then some stern teacher might tell us that to inflict suffering is sometimes necessary, that it is a sign of weakness to shrink from it, that as the surgeon must sometimes apply the knife in order to effect a radical cure, so the conscientious parent should sometimes inflict physical pain in order to eradicate grievous faults. The stern teacher might warn us against "sparing the rod and spoiling the child."

We must not, therefore, base our opposition to corporal punishment merely on sentimental grounds. And there is no need for doing so, for there are sound principles on which the argument may be made to rest. Corporal punishment does not merely conflict with our tenderer sympathies, it thwarts and defeats the purpose of moral reformation. In the first place it brutalizes the child; secondly, in many cases it breaks the child's spirit, making it a moral coward; and, thirdly, it tends to weaken the sense of shame, on which the hope of moral improvement depends.

Corporal punishment brutalizes the child. We may be justified in beating a brute, though, of course, never in a cruel, merciless way. A lazy beast of burden may be stirred up to work; an obstinate mule must feel the touch of the whip. Corporal punishment implies that a rational human being is on the level of an animal.[1] Its underlying thought is: you can be controlled only through your animal instincts; you can be moved only by an appeal to your bodily feelings. It is a practical denial of that higher nature which exists in every human being, and this is a degrading view of human character. A child which is accustomed to be treated like an animal is apt to behave like an animal. Thus corporal punishment instead of moralizing serves to demoralize the character.

In the next place corporal punishment often breaks the spirit of a child. Have you ever observed how some children that have been often whipped will whine and beg off when the angry parent is about to take out the rattan: "O, I will never do it again; O, let me off this time." What an abject sight it is—a child fawning and entreating and groveling like a dog! And must not the parent too feel humiliated in such a situation! Courage is one of the noblest of the manly virtues. We should train our children to bear unavoidable pain without flinching, but sensitive natures can only be slowly accustomed to endure suffering; and chastisement, when it is frequent and severe, results in making a sensitive child more and more cowardly, more and more afraid of the blows. In such cases it is the parents themselves, by their barbarous discipline, who stamp the ugly vice of cowardice upon their children.

Even more disastrous is the third effect of corporal punishment, that of blunting the sense of shame. Some children quail before a blow, but others, of a more obstinate disposition, assume an attitude of dogged indifference. They hold out the hand, they take the stinging blows, they utter no cry, they never wince; they will not let the teacher or father triumph over them to that extent; they walk off in stolid indifference.

Now, a blow is an invasion of personal liberty. Every one who receives a blow feels a natural impulse to resent it. But boys who are compelled by those in authority over them to submit often to such humiliation are liable to lose the finer feeling for what is humiliating. They become, as the popular phrase puts it, "hardened." Their sense of shame is deadened.

But sensitiveness to shame is that quality of our nature on which, above all others, moral progress depends. The stigma of public disgrace is one of the most potent safeguards of virtue. The world cries "Shame" upon the thief, and the dread of the disgrace which is implied in being called a thief acts as one of the strongest preventives upon those whom hunger and poverty might tempt to steal. The world cries "Shame" upon the lawbreaker in general, but those who in their youth are accustomed to be put to shame by corporal punishment are likely to become obtuse to other forms of disgrace as well. The same criticism applies to those means of publicly disgracing children which have been in vogue so long—the fool's cap, the awkward squad, the bad boy's bench, and the like. When a child finds itself frequently exposed to ignominy it becomes indifferent to ignominy, and thus the door is opened for the entrance of the worst vices.

There is one excellence, indeed, which I perceive in corporal punishment; it is an excellent means of breeding criminals. Parents who inflict frequent corporal punishment, I make bold to say, are helping to prepare their children for a life of crime; they put them on a level with the brute, break their spirit and weaken their sense of shame.

2. The Evil of the Mark System

The second special question which we have to consider relates to the mark system. As this system is applied to hundreds of thousands of school children, the question whether that influence is good or evil concerns us closely. I am of the opinion that it is evil. The true aim of every school should be to lead the pupils to pursue knowledge for the sake of knowledge, and to preserve a correct deportment in order to gain the approbation of conscience and of the teacher whose judgment represents the verdict of conscience.

I object to the mark system because it introduces a kind of outward payment for progress in study and good conduct. The marks which the pupil receives stand for the dollars and cents which the man will receive later on for his work. So much school work performed, so many marks in return. But a child should be taught to study for the pleasure which study gives, and for the improvement of the mind which is its happy result.

I know of a school where the forfeiture of twelve marks was made the penalty for a certain misdemeanor. One day a pupil, being detected in a forbidden act, turned to the teacher and said, "I agree to the forfeit, you can strike off my twelve marks," and then went on openly transgressing the rule, as if he had paid out so many shillings for an enjoyment which he was determined to have; as if the outward forfeit could atone for the antimoral spirit by which the act was inspired. But how is it possible by any external system of marks to change the antimoral spirit of an offender?

I object, furthermore, to the marking system because the discrimination to which it leads can never be really just. One boy receives an average of ninety-seven and one half per cent, and another of ninety-five. The one who receives ninety-seven and one half thinks himself superior to, and is ranked as the superior of the one who has received only ninety-five. But is it possible to rate mental and moral differences between children in this arithmetical fashion?

Above all, I object to this system because it appeals to a low spirit of competition among the young in order to incite them to study. "Ambition is avarice on stilts," as Landor puts it. Of course it is better to try to outshine others in what is excellent than in what is vicious; but if the object be that of outshining others at all, of gaining superiority over others, no matter how high the faculties may be which are called into exercise, the motive is impure and ought to be condemned. There is a general impression abroad that men are not yet good enough to make it practicable to appeal to their better nature. But it is forgotten that by constantly appealing to the baser impulses we give these undue prominence, and starve out and weaken the nobler instincts. Whatever the truth may be in regard to later life, it seems to me culpable to foster this sort of competition in young children.

Now, the mark spirit does foster such a spirit in our schools. It teaches the pupils to work for distinction rather than for the solid satisfaction of growth in intelligence and mental power. Doubtless, where the method of instruction is mechanical, where the atmosphere of the classroom is dull and lifeless, and the tasks are uninteresting, it is necessary to use artificial means in order to keep the pupils to their work; it is necessary to give them the sweet waters of flattered self-esteem in order to induce them to swallow the dry-as-dust contents of a barren school learning.

But is it not possible to have schools in which every subject taught shall be made interesting to the scholars, in which the ways of knowledge shall become the ways of pleasantness, in which there shall be sufficient variety in the program of lessons to keep the minds of the pupils constantly fresh and vigorous, in which the pupils shall not be rewarded by being dismissed at an earlier hour than usual from the school, but in which possibly they shall consider it reward to be allowed to remain longer than usual? And, indeed, requests of this sort are often made in schools of the better kind, and in such schools there is no need of an artificial mark system, no need to stimulate the unwholesome ambition of the pupils, no need to bribe them to perform their tasks. Rather do such pupils look with affection upon their school; and the daily task itself is a delight and a sufficient reward.

I do not, of course, oppose the giving of reports to children. Such expressions as "good," "fair" and "poor," which formulate the teacher's opinion of the pupil from time to time, are indispensable, inasmuch as they acquaint the parents and the pupil himself with the instructor's general approval or disapprobation. I only oppose the numerical calculation of merit and demerit, and the vulgar method of determining the pupil's rank in the class according to percentages. Under that method the pupils, having pursued knowledge only as a means to the end of satisfying their pride and vanity, relax their efforts when they have gained this ambitious aim. They cease to take any deeper interest in the pursuit of knowledge the moment they have achieved their purpose. The notorious failure of the system, despite all its artificial stimulants, to create lasting attachment and devotion to intellectual pursuits condemns the whole idea of marks, to my mind, beyond appeal.

3. "Natural Penalties"

We pass next to the method for correcting the faults of children which has been proposed by Herbert Spencer in his collected essays on education. These essays have attracted great attention, as anything would be sure to do which comes from so distinguished a source. I have heard people who are ardent admirers of Spencer say, "We base the education of our children entirely on Mr. Spencer's book." All the more necessary is it to examine whether the recommendations of his book will wholly bear criticism.

I cannot help feeling that if Mr. Spencer had been more thoroughly at home in the best educational literature he would not have presented to us an old method as if it were new, and would not have described that which is at best but a second- or third-rate help in moral education as the central principle of it all, the keynote of the whole theory of the moral training of the young.

The method which he advises us to adopt is that of visiting upon the child the natural penalties of its transgression, of causing it to experience the inevitable consequences of evil acts in order that it may avoid evil, of building up the moral nature of the child, by leading it to observe the outward results of its acts. Mr. Spencer points out that when a child puts its finger into the flame, or when it incautiously touches a hot stove, it is burned; "a burnt child shuns the fire." When a child carelessly handles a sharp knife it is apt to cut its fingers. This is a salutary lesson; it will be more careful thereafter; this is the method of nature, namely, of teaching by experience. And this is a kind of cure-all which he offers for general application. He does, indeed, admit at the close of his essay, that, in certain cases, where the evil consequences are out of all proportion to the fault, some other method than that of experience must be adopted. But, in general, he recommends this method of nature, as he calls it.

For instance, a child in the nursery has littered the floor with its toys, and after finishing its play refuses to put them away. When next the child asks for its toy box the reply of its mother should be: "The last time you had your toys you left them lying on the floor and Jane had to pick them up. Jane is too busy to pick up every time the things you leave about, and I cannot do it myself, so that, as you will not put away your toys when you have done with them, I cannot let you have them." This is obviously a natural consequence and must be so recognized by the child.

Or a little girl, Constance by name, is scarcely ever ready in time for the daily walk. The governess and the other children are almost invariably compelled to wait. In the world the penalty of being behind time is the loss of some advantage that one would otherwise have gained. The train is gone, or the steamboat is just leaving its moorings, or the good seats in the concert room are filled; and every one may see that it is the prospective deprivation entailed by being late which prevents people from being unpunctual. Should not this prospective deprivation control the child's conduct also? If Constance is not ready at the appointed time the natural result should be that she is left behind and loses her walk.

Or, again, a boy is in the habit of recklessly soiling and tearing his clothes. He should be compelled to clean them and to mend the tear as well as he can. And if having no decent clothes to wear, the boy is ever prevented from joining the rest of the family on a holiday excursion and the like, it is manifest that he will keenly feel the punishment and perceive that his own carelessness is the cause of it.

But I think it can easily be made clear that this method of moral discipline should be an exceptional and not a general one, and that there are not a few but many occasions when it becomes simply impossible to visit upon children the natural penalties of their transgressions. In these cases the evil consequences are too great or too remote for us to allow the child to learn from experience.

A boy is leaning too far out of the window; shall we let him take the natural penalty of his folly? The natural penalty would be to fall and break his neck. Or a child is about to rush from a heated room into the cold street with insufficient covering; shall we let the child take the natural penalty of its heedlessness? The natural penalty might be an attack of pneumonia. Or, again, in certain parts of the country it is imprudent to be out on the water after nightfall owing to the danger of malaria. A boy who is fond of rowing insists upon going out in his boat after dark; shall we allow him to learn by experience the evil consequences of his act and gain wisdom by suffering the natural penalty? The natural penalty might be that he would come home in a violent fever.

To show how much mischief the application of the Spencerian method might work, let me mention a case which came under my observation. A certain teacher had been studying Herbert Spencer and was much impressed with his ideas. One wet, rainy day a number of children came to school without overshoes. The teacher had often told them that they must wear their overshoes when it rained; having neglected to do so, their feet were wet. Now came the application of the natural penalty theory. Instead of keeping the children near the fire while their shoes were being dried in the kitchen, they were allowed to run about in their stocking feet in the large school hall in order to fix in their minds the idea that, as they had made their shoes unfit to wear, they must now go without them. This was in truth moral discipline with a vengeance.

It is, in many instances, impossible to let the natural penalties of their transgressions fall upon children; it would be dangerous to health, to life and limb, and also to character, to do so.

Let me be perfectly understood just here: I do not deny that the method of natural penalties is capable of being applied to advantage in the moral training of children. It is a philosophic conclusion that it can be used as a means of building up the confidence of children in the authority of their parents and educators.

The father says to his child: "You must not touch the stove or you will be burned." The child disobeys his command and is burned. "Did I not warn you?" says the father. "Do you not see that I was right? Hereafter believe my words and do not wait to test them in your experience." The comparatively few cases in which the child may without injury be made to experience the consequences of his acts should be utilized to strengthen its belief in the wisdom and goodness of its parents, so that in an infinitely greater number of cases their authority will act upon the mind of the child almost as powerfully as the actual experience of the evil consequences would act.

Mr. Spencer himself admits, as I have said, that there are what he calls extreme cases to which the system he recommends does not apply. In these he falls back upon parental displeasure as the proper penalty. But parental displeasure, according to his view, is an indirect and not a direct penalty, and to use his own words, "the error which we have been combating is that of substituting parental displeasure for the penalties which nature has established." Yet he himself in regard to the graver offenses does substitute parental displeasure, and thus abandons his own position.

There is, moreover, a second ground on which I would rest my criticism. The art of the educator sometimes consists in deliberately warding off the natural penalties, though the child knows what they are and perhaps expects to pay them. So far is the method of Spencer from bearing the test of application that the very opposite of what he recommends is right in some of the most important instances.

Take the case of lying, for instance. The natural penalty for telling a falsehood is not to be believed the next time, but the real secret of moral redemption consists in not inflicting this penalty. We emphasize our belief in the offender despite the fact that he has told a falsehood, we show that we expect him never to tell a falsehood again, we seek to drive the spirit of untruthfulness out of him—by believing in him we strengthen him to overcome temptation. And so in many other instances we rescue, we redeem, by not inflicting the natural penalty.

The task of moral education is laid upon us. It is not a task that can be learned by reading a few scattered essays; it is often a heavy burden and involves a constant responsibility. I know it is not right always to make parents responsible for the faults which appear in their children. I am well aware that the worst fruit sometimes comes from the best stock, and that black sheep are sometimes to be found in the best families. But I cannot help thinking that if these black sheep were taken charge of in the right way in early childhood, the results might turn out differently from what they often do. The picture of Jesus on which the early church loved to dwell is the picture of the good shepherd who follows after the lamb that has strayed from the fold, and, carrying it tenderly in his arms, brings it back. I think if parents were more faithful shepherds, and cared for their wayward children with deeper solicitude and tenderness, they might often succeed in winning them back.

But even apart from these exceptional cases the task of training children morally is one of immense gravity and difficulty. And how are most parents prepared for the discharge of this task? Why, they are not at all prepared. They rely merely upon impulse, and upon traditions which often are altogether wrong and harmful. They do as they have seen other fathers and mothers do, and thus the same mistakes are perpetuated from generation to generation. Such parents, if they were asked to repair a clock, would say, "No, we must first learn about the mechanism of a clock before we undertake to repair it." But the delicate and complex mechanism of a child's soul they undertake to repair without any adequate knowledge of the springs by which it is moved, or of the system of adjustments by which it is enabled to perform its highest work. They thrust their crude hands into the mechanism and often damage or break it altogether.

I do not pretend for a moment that education is as yet a perfect science; I know it is not. I do not pretend that it can give us a great deal of light; but such light as it can give we ought to be all the more anxious to obtain on account of the prevailing darkness. The time will doubtless come when the science of education will be acknowledged to be, in some sense, the greatest of all the sciences; when, among the benefactors of the race, the great statesmen, the great inventors, and even the great reformers will not be ranked as high as the great educators.

[1] It is an open question whether light corporal punishment should not occasionally be permitted in the case of very young children who have not yet arrived at the age of reason. In this case, at all events, there is no danger that the permission will be abused. No one would think of seriously hurting a very young child.