COMMENDATION AND ENCOURAGEMENT.
We are very apt to imagine that the disposition to do right is, or ought to
be, the natural and normal condition of childhood, and that doing wrong is
something unnatural and exceptional with children. As a consequence, when
they do right we think there is nothing to be said. That is, or ought to
be, a matter of course. It is only when they do wrong that we notice
their conduct, and then, of course, with censure and reproaches. Thus our
discipline consists mainly, not in gently leading and encouraging them in
the right way, but in deterring them, by fault-finding and punishment, from
going wrong.
Now we ought not to forget that in respect to moral conduct as well as to
mental attainments children know nothing when they come into the world, but
have every thing to learn, either from the instructions or from the
example of those around them. We do not propose to enter at all into the
consideration of the various theological and metaphysical theories held by
different classes of philosophers in respect to the native constitution
and original tendencies of the human soul, but to look at the phenomena
of mental and moral action in a plain and practical way, as they present
themselves to the observation of mothers in the every-day walks of life.
And in order the better to avoid any complication with these theories, we
will take first an extremely simple case, namely, the fault of making too
much noise in opening and shutting the door in going in and out of a room.
Georgie and Charlie are two boys, both about five years old, and both prone
to the same fault. We will suppose that their mothers take opposite
methods to correct them; Georgie's mother depending upon the influence of
commendation and encouragement when he does right, and Charlie's, upon the
efficacy of reproaches and punishments when he does wrong.
_One Method_.
Georgie, eager to ask his mother some question, or to obtain some
permission in respect to his play, bursts into her room some morning with
great noise, opening and shutting the door violently, and making much
disturbance. In a certain sense he is not to blame for this, for he is
wholly unconscious of the disturbance he makes. The entire cognizant
capacity of his mind is occupied with the object of his request. He not
only had no intention of doing any harm, but has no idea of his having done
any.
His mother takes no notice of the noise he made, but answers his question,
and he goes away making almost as much noise in going out as he did in
coming in.
The next time he comes in it happens--entirely by accident, we will
suppose--that he makes a little less noise than before. This furnishes his
mother with her opportunity.
"Georgie," she says, "I see you are improving."
"Improving?" repeats Georgie, not knowing to what his mother refers.
"Yes," said his mother; "you are improving, in coming into the room without
making a noise by opening and shutting the door. You did not make nearly
as much noise this time as you did before when you came in. Some boys,
whenever they come into a room, make so much noise in opening and shutting
the door that it is very disagreeable. If you go on improving as you have
begun, you will soon come in as still as any gentleman."
The next time that Georgie comes in, he takes the utmost pains to open and
shut the door as silently as possible.
He makes his request. His mother shows herself unusually ready to grant it.
"You opened and shut the door like a gentleman," she says. "I ought to do
every thing for you that I can, when you take so much pains not to disturb
or trouble me."
_Another Method_.
Charlie's mother, on the other hand, acts on a different principle. Charlie
comes in sometimes, we will suppose, in a quiet and proper manner. His
mother takes no notice of this. She considers it a matter of course.
By-and-by, however, under the influence of some special eagerness, he makes
a great noise. Then his mother interposes. She breaks out upon him with,
"Charlie, what a noise you make! Don't you know better than to slam the
doer in that way when you come in? If you can't learn to make less noise in
going in and out, I shall not let you go in and out at all."
Charlie knows very well that this is an empty threat. Still, the utterance
of it, and the scolding that accompanies it, irritate him a little, and the
only possible good effect that can be expected to result from it is to make
him try, the next time he comes in, to see how small an abatement of the
noise he usually makes will do, as a kind of make-believe obedience to his
mother's command. He might, indeed, honestly answer his mother's angry
question by saying that he does _not_ know better than to make such a
noise. He does not know why the noise of the door should be disagreeable
to his mother. It is not disagreeable to _him_. On the contrary, it
is agreeable. Children always like noise, especially if they make it
themselves. And although Charlie has often been told that he must not make
any noise, the reason for this--namely, that though noise is a source of
pleasure, generally, to children, especially when they make it themselves,
it is almost always a source of annoyance and pain to grown persons--has
never really entered his mind so as to be actually comprehended us
a practical reality. His ideas in respect to the philosophy of the
transaction are, of course, exceedingly vague; but so far as he forms any
idea, it is that his mother's words are the expression of some mysterious
but unreasonable sensitiveness on her part, which awakens in her a spirit
of fault-finding and ill-humor that vents itself upon him in blaming him
for nothing at all; or, as he would express it more tersely, if not so
elegantly, that she is "very cross." In other words, the impression made
by the transaction upon his moral sense is that of wrong-doing on his
_mother's part_, and not at all on his own.
It is evident, when we thus look into the secret workings of this method
of curing children of their faults, that even when it is successful in
restraining certain kinds of outward misconduct, and is thus the means
of effecting some small amount of good, the injury which it does by its
reaction on the spirit of the child may be vastly greater, through the
irritation and ill-humor which it occasions, and the impairing of his
confidence in the justice and goodness of his mother. Before leaving this
illustration, it must be carefully observed that in the first-mentioned
case--namely, that of Georgie--the work of curing the fault in question is
not to be at all considered as _effected_ by the step taken by his mother
which has been already described. That was only a beginning--a _right_
beginning, it is true, but still only a beginning. It produced in him a
cordial willingness to do right, in one instance. That is a great thing,
but it is, after all, only one single step. The work is not complete until
a _habit_ of doing right is formed, which is another thing altogether, and
requires special and continual measures directed to this particular end.
Children have to be _trained_ in the way they should go--not merely shown
the way, and induced to make a beginning of entering it. We will now try
to show how the influence of commendation and encouragement may be brought
into action in this more essential part of the process.
_Habit to be Formed_.
Having taken the first step already described, Georgie's mother finds
some proper opportunity, when she can have the undisturbed and undivided
attention of her boy--perhaps at night, after he has gone to his crib or
his trundle-bed, and just before she leaves him; or, perhaps, at some time
while she is at work, and he is sitting by her side, with his mind calm,
quiet, and unoccupied.
"Georgie," she says, "I have a plan to propose to you."
Georgie is eager to know what it is.
"You know how pleased I was when you came in so still to-day."
Georgie remembers it very well.
"It is very curious," continued his mother, "that there is a great
difference between grown people and children about noise. Children _like_
almost all kinds of noises very much, especially, if they make the noises
themselves; but grown people dislike them even more, I think, than children
like them. If there were a number of boys in the house, and I should tell
them that they might run back and forth through the rooms, and rattle and
slam all the doors as they went as loud as they could, they would like it
very much. They would think it excellent fun."
"Yes," says Georgie, "indeed, they would. I wish you would let us do it
some day."
"But grown people," continues his mother, "would not like such an amusement
at all. On the contrary, such a racket would be excessively disagreeable to
them, whether they made it themselves or whether somebody else made it. So,
when children come into a room where grown people are sitting, and make a
noise in opening and shutting the door, it is very disagreeable. Of course,
grown people always like those children the best that come into a room
quietly, and in a gentlemanly and lady-like manner."
As this explanation comes in connection with Georgia's having done right,
and with the commendation which he has received for it, his mind and heart
are open to receive it, instead of being disposed to resist and exclude it,
as he would have been if the same things exactly had been said to him in
connection with censure and reproaches for having acted in violation of the
principle.
"Yes, mother," says he, "and I mean always to open and shut the door as
still as I can."
"Yes, I know you _mean_ to do so," rejoined his mother, "but you will
forget, unless you have some plan to make you remember it until the _habit
is formed_. Now I have a plan to propose to help you form the habit. When
you get the habit once formed there will be no more difficulty.
"The plan is this: whenever you come into a room making a noise, I will
simply say, _Noise_. Then you will step back again softly and shut the
door, and then come in again in a quiet and proper way. You will not go
back for punishment, for you would not have made the noise on purpose, and
so would not deserve any punishment. It is only to help you remember, and
so to form the habit of coming into a room in a quiet and gentlemanly
manner."
Now Georgie, especially if all his mother's management of him is conducted
in this spirit, will enter into this plan with great cordiality.
"I should not propose this plan," continued his mother, "if I thought that
when I say _Noise_, and you have to go out and come in again, it would
put you out of humor, and make you cross or sullen. I am sure you will be
good-natured about it, and even if you consider it a kind of punishment,
that you will go out willingly, and take the punishment like a man; and
when you come in again you will come in still, and look pleased and happy
to find that you are carrying out the plan honorably."
Then if, on the first occasion when he is sent back, he _does_ take it
good-naturedly, this must be noticed and commended.
Now, unless we are entirely wrong in all our ideas of the nature and
tendencies of the infantile mind, it is as certain that a course of
procedure like this will be successful in curing the fault which is the
subject of treatment, as that water will extinguish fire. It cures it, too,
without occasioning any irritation, annoyance, or ill-humor in the mind
either of mother or child. On the contrary, it is a source of real
satisfaction and pleasure to them both, and increases and strengthens the
bond of sympathy by which their hearts are united to each other.
_The Principle involved_.
It must be understood distinctly that this case is given only as an
illustration of a principle which is applicable to all cases. The act
of opening and shutting a door in a noisy manner is altogether too
insignificant a fault to deserve this long discussion of the method of
curing it, were it not that methods founded on the same principles, and
conducted in the same spirit, are applicable universally in all that
pertains to the domestic management of children. And it is a method, too,
directly the opposite of that which is often--I will not say generally, but
certainly very often--pursued. The child tells the truth many times, and
in some cases, perhaps, when the inducement was very strong to tell an
untruth. We take no notice of these cases, considering it a matter of
course that he should tell the truth. We reserve our action altogether for
the first case when, overcome by a sudden temptation, he tells a lie, and
then interpose with reproaches and punishment. Nineteen times he gives up
what belongs to his little brother or sister of his own accord, perhaps
after a severe internal struggle. The twentieth time the result of the
struggle goes the wrong way, and he attempts to retain by violence what
does not belong to him. We take no notice of the nineteen cases when the
little fellow did right, but come and box his ears in the one case when he
does wrong.
_Origin of the Error_.
The idea on which this mode of treatment is founded--namely, that it is
a _matter of course_ that children should do right, so that when they do
right there is nothing to be said, and that doing wrong is the abnormal
condition and exceptional action which alone requires the parent to
interfere--is, to a great extent, a mistake. Indeed, the _matter of course_
is all the other way. A babe will seize the plaything of another babe
without the least compunction long after it is keenly alive to the
injustice and wrongfulness of having its own playthings taken by any other
child. So in regard to truth. The first impulse of all children, when they
have just acquired the use of language, is to use it in such a way as to
effect their object for the time being, without any sense of the sacred
obligation of making the words always correspond truly with the facts. The
principles of doing justice to the rights of others to one's own damage,
and of speaking the truth when falsehood would serve the present purpose
better, are principles that are developed or acquired by slow degrees, and
at a later period. I say developed _or_ acquired--for different classes of
metaphysicians and theologians entertain different theories in respect to
the way by which the ideas of right and of duty enter into the human mind.
But all will agree in this, that whatever may be the origin of the moral
sense in man, it does not appear as a _practical element of control for the
conduct_ till some time after the animal appetites and passions have begun
to exercise their power. Whether we regard this sense as arising from a
development within of a latent principle of the soul, or as an essential
element of the inherited and native constitution of man, though remaining
for a time embryonic and inert, or as a habit acquired under the influence
of instruction and example, all will admit that the period of its
appearance as a perceptible motive of action is so delayed, and the time
required for its attaining sufficient strength to exercise any real and
effectual control over the conduct extends over so many of the earlier
years of life, that no very material help in governing the appetites and
passions and impulses can be reasonably expected from it at a very early
period. Indeed, conscience, so far as its existence is manifested at all in
childhood, seems to show itself chiefly in the form of the simple _fear of
detection_ in what there is reason to suppose will lead, if discovered, to
reproaches or punishment.
At any rate, the moral sense in childhood, whatever may be our philosophy
in respect to the origin and the nature of it, can not be regarded as a
strong and settled principle on which we can throw the responsibility of
regulating the conduct, and holding it sternly to its obligations. It
is, on the contrary, a very tender plant, slowly coming forward to the
development of its beauty and its power, and requiring the most gentle
fostering and care on the part of those intrusted with the training of the
infant mind; and the influence of commendation and encouragement when the
embryo monitor succeeds in its incipient and feeble efforts, will be far
more effectual in promoting its development, than that of censure and
punishment when it fails.
_Important Caution_.
For every good thing there seems to be something in its form and semblance
that is spurious and bad. The principle brought to view in this chapter has
its counterfeit in the indiscriminate praise and flattery of children by
their parents, which only makes them self-conceited and vain, without at
all promoting any good end. The distinction between the two might be easily
pointed out, if time and space permitted; but the intelligent parent, who
has rightly comprehended the method of management here described, and the
spirit in which the process of applying it is to be made, will be in no
danger of confounding one with the other.
This principle of noticing and commending, within proper limits and
restrictions, what is right, rather than finding fault with what is wrong,
will be found to be as important in the work of instruction as in the
regulation of conduct. We have, in fact, a very good opportunity of
comparing the two systems, as it is a curious fact that in certain things
it is almost the universal custom to adopt one method, and in certain
others, the other.
_The two Methods exemplified_.
There are, for example, two arts which children have to learn, in the
process of their mental and physical development, in which their faults,
errors, and deficiencies are never pointed out, but in the dealings of
their parents with them all is commendation and encouragement. They are the
arts of walking and talking.
The first time that a child attempts to walk alone, what a feeble,
staggering, and awkward exhibition it makes. And yet its mother shows,
by the excitement of her countenance, and the delight expressed by her
exclamations, how pleased she is with the performance; and she, perhaps,
even calls in persons from the next room to see how well the baby can
walk! Not a word about imperfections and failings, not a word about the
tottering, the awkward reaching out of arms to preserve the balance, the
crookedness of the way, the anxious expression of the countenance, or
any other faults. These are left to correct themselves by the continued
practice which encouragement is sure to lead to.
It is true that words would not be available in such a case for
fault-finding; for a child when learning to walk would be too young to
understand them. But the parent's sense of the imperfections of the
performance might be expressed in looks and gestures which the child would
understand; but he sees, on the contrary, nothing but indications of
satisfaction and pleasure, and it is very manifest how much he is
encouraged by them. Seeing the pleasure which his efforts give to the
spectators, he is made proud and happy by his success, and goes on making
efforts to improve with alacrity and delight.
It is the same with learning to talk. The mistakes, deficiencies, and
errors of the first rude attempts are seldom noticed, and still more seldom
pointed out by the parent. On the contrary, the child takes the impression,
from the readiness with which its words are understood and the delight it
evidently gives its mother to hear them, that it is going on triumphantly
in its work of learning to talk, instead of feeling that its attempts are
only tolerated because they are made by such a little child, and that they
require a vast amount of correction, alteration, and improvement, before
they will be at all satisfactory. Indeed, so far from criticising and
pointing out the errors and faults, the mother very frequently meets the
child half way in its progress, by actually adopting the faults and errors
herself in her replies. So that when the little beginner in the use of
language, as he wakes up in his crib, and stretching out his hands to his
mother says, "I want _to get up_" she comes to take him, and replies, her
face beaming with delight, "My little darling! you shall _get up_;" thus
filling his mind with happiness at the idea that his mother is not only
pleased that he attempts to speak, but is fully satisfied, and more than
satisfied, with his success.
The result is, that in learning to walk and to talk, children always
go forward with alacrity and ardor. They practise continually and
spontaneously, requiring no promises of reward to allure them to effort,
and no threats of punishment to overcome repugnance or aversion. It might
be too much to say that the rapidity of their progress and the pleasure
which they experience in making it, are owing wholly to the commendation
and encouragement they receive--for other causes may co-operate with these.
But it is certain that these influences contribute very essentially to the
result. There can be no doubt at all that if it were possible for a mother
to stop her child in its efforts to learn to walk and to talk, and explain
to it, no matter how kindly, all its shortcomings, failures, and mistakes,
and were to make this her daily and habitual practice, the consequence
would be, not only a great diminution of the ardor and animation of the
little pupil, in pressing forward in its work, but also a great retardation
in its progress.
_Example of the other Method_.
Let us now, for the more full understanding of the subject, go to the other
extreme, and consider a case in which the management is as far as possible
removed from that above referred to. We can not have a better example
than the method often adopted in schools and seminaries for teaching
composition; in other words, the art of expressing one's thoughts in
written language--an art which one would suppose to be so analogous to
that of learning to talk--that is, to express one's thoughts in _oral_
language--that the method which was found so eminently successful in the
one would be naturally resorted to in the other. Instead of that, the
method often pursued is exactly the reverse. The pupil having with infinite
difficulty, and with many forebodings and anxious fears, made his first
attempt, brings it to his teacher. The teacher, if he is a kind-hearted and
considerate man, perhaps briefly commends the effort with some such dubious
and equivocal praise as it is "Very well for a beginner," or "As good a
composition as could be expected at the first attempt," and then proceeds
to go over the exercise in a cool and deliberate manner, with a view of
discovering and bringing out clearly and conspicuously to the view, not
only of the little author himself, but often of all his classmates and
friends, every imperfection, failure, mistake, omission, or other fault
which a rigid scrutiny can detect in the performance. However kindly he
may do this, and however gentle the tones of his voice, still the work is
criticism and fault-finding from beginning to end. The boy sits on thorns
and nettles while submitting to the operation, and when he takes his marked
and corrected manuscript to his seat, he feels mortified and ashamed, and
is often hopelessly discouraged.
_How Faults are to be Corrected_.
Some one may, perhaps, say that pointing out the errors and faults of
pupils is absolutely essential to their progress, inasmuch as, unless they
are made to see what their faults are, they can not be expected to correct
them. I admit that this is true to a certain extent, but by no means to
so great an extent as is often supposed. There are a great many ways of
teaching pupils to do better what they are going to do, besides showing
them the faults in what they have already done.
Thus, without pointing out the errors and faults which he observes, the
teacher may only refer to and commend what is right, while he at the same
time observes and remembers the prevailing faults, with a view of adapting
his future instructions to the removal of them. These instructions, when
given, will take the form, of course, of general information on the art of
expressing one's thoughts in writing, and on the faults and errors to be
avoided, perhaps without any, or, at least, very little allusion to those
which the pupils themselves had committed. Instruction thus given, while it
will have at least an equal tendency with the other mode to form the pupils
to habits of correctness and accuracy, will not have the effect upon their
mind of disparagement of what they have already done, but rather of aid and
encouragement for them in regard to what they are next to do. In following
the instructions thus given them, the pupils will, as it were, leave the
faults previously committed behind them, being even, in many instances,
unconscious, perhaps, of their having themselves ever committed them.
The ingenious mother will find various modes analogous to this, of leading
her children forward into what is right, without at all disturbing their
minds by censure of what is wrong--a course which it is perfectly safe to
pursue in the case of all errors and faults which result from inadvertence
or immaturity. There is, doubtless, another class of faults--those of
willful carelessness or neglect--which must be specially pointed out to the
attention of the delinquents, and a degree of discredit attached to the
commission of them, and perhaps, in special cases, some kind of punishment
imposed, as the most proper corrective of the evil. And yet, even in cases
of carelessness and neglect of duty, it will generally be found much
more easy to awaken ambition, and a desire to improve, in a child, by
discovering, if possible, something good in his work, and commending that,
as an encouragement to him to make greater exertion the next time, than
to attempt to cure him of his negligence by calling his attention to the
faults which he has committed, as subjects of censure, however obvious the
faults may be, and however deserving of blame.
The advice, however, made in this chapter, to employ commendation and
encouragement to a great extent, rather than criticism and fault-finding,
in the management and instruction of children, must, like all other general
counsels of the kind, be held subject to all proper limitations and
restrictions. Some mother may, perhaps, object to what is here advanced,
saying, "If I am always indiscriminately praising my child's doings, he
will become self-conceited and vain, and he will cease to make progress,
being satisfied with what he has already attained." Of course he will, and
therefore you must take care not to be always and indiscriminately praising
him. You must exercise tact and good judgment, or at any rate, common
sense, in properly proportioning your criticism and your praise. There
are no principles of management, however sound, which may not be
so exaggerated, or followed with so blind a disregard of attendant
circumstances, as to produce more harm than good.
It must be especially borne in mind that the counsels here given in
relation to curing the faults of children by dealing more with what is good
in them than what is bad, are intended to apply to faults of ignorance,
inadvertence, or habit only, and not to acts of known and willful wrong.
When we come to cases of deliberate and intentional disobedience to
a parent's commands, or open resistance to his authority, something
different, or at least something more, is required.
_The Principle of Universal Application._
In conclusion, it is proper to add that the principle of influencing human
character and action by noticing and commending what is right, rather than
finding fault with what is wrong, is of universal application, with the
mature as well as with the young. The susceptibility to this influence is
in full operation in the minds of all men everywhere, and acting upon it
will lead to the same results in all the relations of society. The way
to awaken a penurious man to the performance of generous deeds is not
by remonstrating with him, however kindly, on his penuriousness, but by
watching his conduct till we find some act that bears some semblance of
liberality, and commending him for that. If you have a neighbor who is
surly and troublesome--tell him that he is so, and you make him worse
than ever. But watch for some occasion in which he shows you some little
kindness, and thank him cordially for such a good neighborly act, and he
will feel a strong desire to repeat it. If mankind universally understood
this principle, and would generally act upon it in their dealings with
others--of course, with such limitations and restrictions as good sense
and sound judgment would impose--the world would not only go on much more
smoothly and harmoniously than it does now, but the progress of improvement
would, I think, in all respects be infinitely more rapid.