Part 12 (1/2)

XV.

FREEDOM AND DISCIPLINE

Is it not strange that ”school,” which we provide for our beloved children for their own good, at so great a cost of thought and money, should be so little appreciated by them? Is it not strange that ”school,” which is intended to give power and freedom, should be looked upon by the children as no better than a prison--a good place from which to escape?

We grown folks know how valuable school and training and discipline are. Do we not sometimes sigh that we had not more of these blessings in our own childhood? Or that we did not take advantage of the little we had? If the children only knew--perhaps they would not so eagerly seek to escape into what they vainly imagine to be ”freedom.” Perhaps.

Grown folks who have thought about the matter know, of course, that ”freedom” is something different from merely being left alone. They know that freedom is a state to be attained only through effort.

They know that freedom results from a discipline which makes a person the master of his impulses, instead of leaving him their slave. They know that the freedom worth striving for is freedom from our own caprices and moods, from our blindness and ignorance and pa.s.sions. It is for this reason that we value discipline, quite apart from anything that it may contribute to our ability to live harmoniously with others, quite apart from anything it may do to increase our power in an economic sense.

But if discipline is the means for attaining freedom, how does it come about that in the past (and for most people to-day) discipline has appeared as a method of _compelling_ children to do the right thing--”until they have the habit”? How does it come about that discipline, in the minds of most people, consists so largely of _restraining_ children from doing undesirable acts--until they are well started into the safe age of discretion? The reason seems to be that the need for discipline or training makes itself most quickly felt where children--or older people--infringe upon the rights of others, or upon the proprieties. We miss discipline where a child fails of self-restraint, acts impulsively, or loses his temper. In short, failure of early training is indicated wherever there is lack of self-control, or a lack of proper application to the business in hand. It is therefore natural that discipline should early take the form of commanding and prohibiting.

It is but a short step from this view of discipline to the philosophy that what children do spontaneously, what they like to do, must be wrong. And the complement to this is the feeling that virtue and character can arise only from doing what is disagreeable or difficult.

But the newer studies in the psychology of childhood lead to a totally different theory of character formation. And many experiments made in schools and inst.i.tutions confirm these new theories at every point. Moreover, if we look about, perhaps even in our own homes, I am sure we can all find abundant support for the modern view.

The new studies have to do with the relation that our emotions bear to our activities and especially to the formation of habits. To learn to do a thing, we have known for ages, we must practise continuously and uniformly. But we did not know that the state of feelings connected with the performance of the act had anything to do with the result. Richard must master the scales in his music study. These scales can be mastered in only one way--he must play them over and over and over again, until he just has them. But suppose Richard does not care to practise the scales over and over and over again? Suppose that he does not care whether he ever masters the scales or not. Well, he can be _made_ to practise, at any rate; and perhaps some day he will thank his elders for having thus forced upon him the extremely valuable but unappreciated command of the scales.

But what happens in the course of this forced practise? There is resentment, and antagonism and a growing hatred of scales, of the man who first vented scales, of sloping rows of notes on the page of music. And this resentment is more likely to prevent a real mastery of the task than the enforced practise is to ensure it. The antagonism will, at any rate, counteract the value of the practise to a large degree. The third element in the fixation of habits that we have heretofore too generally disregarded is that of _satisfaction_; this is no less important than regularity and frequency of action.

The absence of satisfaction, to say nothing of the presence of opposite feelings, is of itself sufficient to prevent effective learning, whether of knowledge or of skill. And when the opposite feelings are present, the acquired act or idea tends to be pushed out of the system at the earliest opportunity. It is in some such way as this that many specialists in the workings of the human mind would explain so much of our ”forgetting.” They say that we forget either because we really wish to forget--the facts are unpleasant-- or because we do not sufficiently care to remember--the facts are not sufficiently interesting, they do not sufficiently concern us.

Out of the psychological facts pertaining to the relation of the feeling state to the learning process and to the habit-forming process, is developed the doctrine of ”interest” in education. The very name ”interest” suggests to many that this must be some plan for sugar-coating education, or perhaps for giving children only what they like. And this is quite the opposite of the traditional view which is expressed by the humorist who said, ”It does not matter much what you teach a boy, so long as he doesn't like it.”

But the idea of interest in modern psychology does not mean letting the child have his own way, any more than discipline means doing only what is unpleasant or difficult.

We can see the basic truth at the foundation of this view in the age-long usage of the race, which awards prizes and penalties for ”good” actions and ”evil” actions, respectively. If you should be asked ”_Why_ did you reward Maryann,” ”_Why_ did you punish Henry;”

you would no doubt say something like this: If we reward a child for doing what we approve, he is more likely to do that sort of thing again; if we punish, or impose unpleasant consequences, upon acts that we disapprove, such acts are less likely to be repeated. In other words, we have known right along that _satisfaction_ somehow leads the child to repeat the conditions that brought about the satisfaction; and that suffering somehow leads the child to avoid the conditions that brought about the suffering.

What the new psychology does here is to unify what we have known. We say not the performance of an act alone will establish a habit; not the repet.i.tion alone will establish it; not the subsequent satisfaction alone. All of these factors must take part, and they must take part in a.s.sociation. The feeling must accompany the act.

It is not sufficient that Richard be a.s.sured that some time in the vague future he will derive deep satisfaction from being master of the scales; he must somehow be made to feel a present concern either in what he is doing, or a real interest in the outcome. The time that is to elapse between the beginning of his ”practice” and the satisfaction he is to receive must not be beyond the child's power to appreciate.

In our actual dealing with children our experience leads us to make use of these principles, often without realizing all that is implied. For example, when the young child by your side shows signs of weariness, and you still have some distance to go, you try to stimulate his interest by telling him of the good things to come at journey's end. If this does not serve your purpose, you draw his attention to the bird on the tree only a hundred feet away, or you challenge him to race with you to the next telegraph post. And if you challenge him to such a race, you are sensible enough to let him win it, for you know very well that nothing will discourage him so much as defeat--that is, the unpleasant feeling of failure; and you know that nothing will stimulate him quite as much as the satisfaction of defeating you. In other words, you set before him one goal after another, each but a small fraction of the main journey, and each within the appreciation of the child, and each offering a satisfactory conclusion that is readily and eagerly seized as _worth striving for_, here and now.

Now it may be asked, what discipline is there in doing always what brings satisfaction? How can the children ever learn to do the disagreeable but necessary tasks that make up so large a part of every-day living? Where will they ever learn that some things must be done, not because we like to do them, but because it is our duty to do them? And these are indeed serious questions. There are two sets of answers. One of them consists of the results actually achieved in dealing with children from the new point of view. The other is a challenge to make clear just what we mean by discipline and task and duty.

To take the latter first, is it not true that one part of our object is in the form of acquired knowledge and acquired skill? Practising the scales, or studying the multiplication table is not an end in itself. We require study and practice because we believe that the knowledge or the skill is worth having. Now it has been shown over and over again that what is learned with satisfaction sticks; and what is learned with pain is thrown overboard the first minute the watchman is off his guard. Are the names of writers with the t.i.tles of their books less well remembered by children who learn them through the game of ”Authors” than they are by children who might be required to memorize them from a catalog? Are the sums and products of numbers acquired in keeping scores of games less accurate and less permanent in the mind of the child than the same sums and products learned as school exercises? Is the skill acquired in handling tools--sewing costumes, or making scenery for an amateur play--any less effective or less lasting than the skill acquired in sewing yards of st.i.tches or sawing yards of board just for ”exercise” in a cla.s.s? On the contrary, other things being equal, arithmetic and authors and sewing and tinkering can be made both more effective and more lasting when a.s.sociated with pleasurable feelings than when performed under strain, compulsion and resentment. If it is only a question of ”learning” this or that, there is no doubt that the pleasant way is in every respect the better way.

But, of course, it is not merely a question of learning the specific skill or knowledge. There is also the need for learning application, persistence through difficulties, endurance, and the other hardy virtues that distinguish a disciplined character. And here the contrast between the old att.i.tude and the new is most marked. We can certainly force children to do what is disagreeable; we can hold them to their tasks when they are tempted to abandon the monotonous and wearisome round of uninteresting drudgery. But is this the only way to get for the children experience with such necessary, though unpleasant, work? We are a.s.suming of course that such experience is necessary, since uninteresting work cannot be separated from most important undertakings. A typical experience in a school that has for several years conducted a cla.s.s along the lines of the newer psychology can answer our question.

One of the difficulties that had to be overcome was the mastery of simple addition. Another was the art of writing; and of course reading is a necessary art of modern life. Instead of the usual drill and practice and exercises, this cla.s.s pa.s.sed through the drudgery stage without realizing that school was a prison. This was during the autumn of the Armistice. Food conservation and thrift were in the air. These children were presented with a quant.i.ty of garden vegetables, but there was more than they could use themselves, so the suggestion was made that they could have the surplus for future use. The children, under guidance, did all the work connected with cold-pack canning of the tomatoes. This work was not at every point ”interesting,” in the superficial sense; but the purpose of the entire project was one that appealed to the children, so that they were quite satisfied to do the many essential details.

Did they not here learn to clean their dishes and jars as well as they would have done had the cleaning been a ”duty” imposed arbitrarily from above? Must drudgery be dreaded to be well done?

Let the teacher who had charge of this cla.s.s describe what happened, in her own words.

”The success of the first small group in carrying through the various steps ... led to further work of the same sort, as various vegetables were given us. The children also dried apples and lima beans which they gathered themselves at the school farm.