* This unfinished and unrevised article was found among Col.
Ingersoll's papers, and is here reproduced without change.--
It is a reply to the Dean of St Paul's Contribution to the
North American Review for Dec., 1891, entitled: "Is Corporal
Punishment Degrading?"
THE Dean of St. Paul protests against the kindness of parents, guardians
and teachers toward children, wards and pupils. He believes in the
gospel of ferule and whips, and has perfect faith in the efficacy of
flogging in homes and schools. He longs for the return of the good old
days when fathers were severe, and children affectionate and obedient.
In America, for many years, even wife-beating has been somewhat
unpopular, and the flogging of children has been considered cruel
and unmanly. Wives with bruised and swollen faces, and children with
lacerated backs, have excited pity for themselves rather than admiration
for savage husbands and brutal fathers. It is also true that the church
has far less power here than in England, and it may be that those who
wander from the orthodox fold grow merciful and respect the rights even
of the weakest.
But whatever the cause may be, the fact is that we, citizens of the
Republic, feel that certain domestic brutalities are the children of
monarchies and despotisms; that they were produced by superstition,
ignorance, and savagery; and that they are not in accord with the free
and superb spirit that founded and preserves the Great Republic.
Of late years, confidence in the power of kindness has greatly
increased, and there is a wide-spread suspicion that cruelty and
violence are not the instrumentalities of civilization.
Physicians no longer regard corporal punishment as a sure cure even for
insanity--and it is generally admitted that the lash irritates rather
than soothes the victim of melancholia.
Civilized men now insist that criminals cannot always be reformed even
by the most ingenious instruments of torture. It is known that some
convicts repay the smallest acts of kindness with the sincerest
gratitude. Some of the best people go so far as to say that kindness
is the sunshine in which the virtues grow. We know that for many ages
governments tried to make men virtuous with dungeon and fagot and
scaffold; that they tried to cure even disease of the mind with
brandings and maimings and lashes on the naked flesh of men and
women--and that kings endeavored to sow the seeds of patriotism--to
plant and nurture them in the hearts of their subjects--with whip and
chain.
In England, only a few years ago, there were hundreds of brave
soldiers and daring sailors whose breasts were covered with honorable
scars--witnesses of wounds received at Trafalgar and Balaklava--while on
the backs of these same soldiers and sailors were the marks of
English whips. These shameless cruelties were committed in the name of
discipline, and were upheld by officers, statesmen and clergymen. The
same is true of nearly all civilized nations. These crimes have been
excused for the reason that our ancestors were, at that time, in fact,
barbarians--that they had no idea of justice, no comprehension of
liberty, no conception of the rights of men, women, and children.
At that time the church was, in most countries, equal to, or superior
to, the state, and was a firm believer in the civilizing influences of
cruelty and torture.
According to the creeds of that day, God intended to torture the wicked
forever, and the church, according to its power, did all that it could
in the same direction. Learning their rights and duties from priests,
fathers not only beat their children, but their wives. In those days
most homes were penitentiaries, in which wives and children were
the convicts and of which husbands and fathers were the wardens and
turnkeys. The king imitated his supposed God, and imprisoned, flogged,
branded, beheaded and burned his enemies, and the husbands and fathers
imitated the king, and guardians and teachers imitated them.
Yet in spite of all the beatings and burnings, the whippings and
hangings, the world was not reformed. Crimes increased, the cheeks
of wives were furrowed with tears, the faces of children white with
fear--fear of their own fathers; pity was almost driven from the heart
of man and found refuge, for the most part, in the breasts of women,
children, and dogs.
In those days, misfortunes were punished as crimes. Honest debtors were
locked in loathsome dungeons, and trivial offences were punished with
death. Worse than all that, thousands of men and women were destroyed,
not because they were vicious, but because they were virtuous, honest
and noble. Extremes beget obstructions. The victims at last became too
numerous, and the result did not seem to justify the means. The good,
the few, protested against the savagery of kings and fathers.
Nothing seems clearer to me than that the world has been gradually
growing better for many years. Men have a clearer conception of rights
and obligations--a higher philosophy--a far nobler ideal. Even kings
admit that they should have some regard for the well-being of their
subjects. Nations and individuals are slowly outgrowing the savagery of
revenge, the desire to kill, and it is generally admitted that criminals
should neither be imprisoned nor tortured for the gratification of the
public. At last we are beginning to know that revenge is a mistake--that
cruelty not only hardens the victim, but makes a criminal of him who
inflicts it, and that mercy guided by intelligence is the highest form
of justice.
The tendency of the world is toward kindness. The religious creeds
are being changed or questioned, because they shock the heart of the
present. All civilized churches, all humane Christians, have given up
the dogma of eternal pain. This infamous doctrine has for many centuries
polluted the imagination and hardened the heart. This coiled viper no
longer inhabits the breast of a civilized man.
In all civilized countries slavery has been abolished, the honest debtor
released, and all are allowed the liberty of speech.
Long ago flogging was abolished in our army and navy and all cruel and
unusual punishments prohibited by law. In many parts of the Republic the
whip has been banished from the public schools, the flogger of children
is held in abhorrence, and the wife-beater is regarded as a cowardly
criminal. The gospel of kindness is not only preached, but practiced.
Such has been the result of this advance of civilization--of this growth
of kindness--of this bursting into blossom of the flower called pity, in
the heart--that we treat our horses (thanks to Henry Bergh) better than
our ancestors did their slaves, their servants or their tenants. The
gentlemen of to-day show more affection for their dogs than most of the
kings of England exhibited toward their wives. The great tide is toward
mercy; the savage creeds are being changed; heartless laws have been
repealed; shackles have been broken; torture abolished, and the keepers
of prisons are no longer allowed to bruise and scar the flesh of
convicts. The insane are treated with kindness--asylums are in the
midst of beautiful grounds, the rooms are filled with flowers, and the
wandering mind is called back by the golden voice of music.
In the midst of these tendencies--of these accomplishments--in the
general harmony between the minds of men, acting together, to the end
that the world may be governed by kindness through education and the
blessed agencies of reformation and prevention, the Dean of St. Paul
raises his voice in favor of the methods and brutalities of the past.
The reverend gentleman takes the ground that the effect of flogging on
the flogged is not degrading; that the effect of corporal punishment is
ennobling; that it tends to make boys manly by ennobling and teaching
them to bear bodily pain with fortitude. To be flogged develops
character, self-reliance, courage, contempt of pain and the highest
heroism. The Dean therefore takes the ground that parents should flog
their children, guardians their wards, and teachers their pupils.
If the Dean is wrong he goes too far, and if he is right he does not go
far enough. He does not advocate the flogging of children who obey their
parents, or of pupils who violate no rule. It follows then that such
children are in great danger of growing up unmanly, without the courage
and fortitude to bear bodily pain. If flogging is really a blessing it
should not be withheld from the good and lavished on the unworthy. The
Dean should have the courage of his convictions. The teacher should not
make a pretext of the misconduct of the pupil to do him a great service.
He should not be guilty of calling a benefit a punishment He should not
deceive the children under his care and develop their better natures
under false pretences. But what is to become of the boys and girls who
"behave themselves," who attend to their studies, and comply with the
rules? They lose the benefits conferred on those who defy their parents
and teachers, reach maturity without character, and so remain withered
and worthless.
The Dean not only defends his position by an appeal to the Bible, the
history of nations, but to his personal experience. In order to show the
good effects of brutality and the bad consequences of kindness, he gives
two instances that came under his observation. The first is that of
an intelligent father who treated his sons with great kindness and
yet these sons neglected their affectionate father in his old age. The
second instance is that of a mother who beat her daughter. The wretched
child, it seems, was sent out to gather sticks from the hedges, and
when she brought home a large stick, the mother suspected that she had
obtained it wrongfully and thereupon proceeded to beat the child. And
yet the Dean tells us that this abused daughter treated the hyena mother
with the greatest kindness, and loved her as no other daughter ever
loved a mother. In order to make this case strong and convincing the
Dean states that this mother was a most excellent Christian.
From these two instances the Dean infers, and by these two instances
proves, that kindness breeds bad sons, and that flogging makes
affectionate daughters. The Dean says to the Christian mother: "If
you wish to be loved by your daughter, you must beat her." And to the
Christian father he says: "If you want to be neglected in your old age
by your sons, you will treat them with kindness." The Dean does not
follow his logic to the end. Let me give him two instances that support
his theory.
A good man married a handsome woman. He was old, rich, kind and
indulgent. He allowed his wife to have her own way. He never uttered a
cross or cruel word. He never thought of beating her. And yet, as the
Dean would say, in consequence of his kindness, she poisoned him, got
his money and married another man.
In this city, not long ago, a man, a foreigner, beat his wife according
to his habit. On this particular occasion the punishment was excessive.
He beat her until she became unconscious; she was taken to a hospital
and the physician said that she could not live. The husband was brought
to the hospital and preparations were made to take her dying statement.
After being told that she was dying, she was asked if her husband had
beaten her. Her face was so bruised and swollen that the lids of her
eyes had to be lifted in order that she might see the wretch who had
killed her. She beckoned him to her side--threw her arms about his
neck--drew his face to hers--kissed him, and said: "He is not the man.
He did not do it"--then--died.
According to the philosophy of the Dean, these instances show that
kindness causes crime, and that wife-beating cultivates in the highest
degree the affectional nature of woman.
The Dean, if consistent, is a believer in slavery, because the lash
judiciously applied brings out the finer feelings of the heart.
Slaves have been known to die for their masters, while under similar
circumstances hired men have sought safety in flight.
We all know of many instances where the abused, the maligned, and the
tortured have returned good for evil--and many instances where
the loved, the honored, and the trusted have turned against their
benefactors, and yet we know that cruelty and torture are not superior
to love and kindness. Yet, the Dean tries to show that severity is the
real mother of affection, and that kindness breeds monsters. If kindness
and affection on the part of parents demoralize children, will not
kindness and affection on the part of children demoralize the parents?
When the children are young and weak, the parents who are strong beat
the children in order that they may be affectionate. Now, when the
children get strong and the parents are old and weak, ought not the
children to beat them, so that they too may become kind and loving?
If you want an affectionate son, beat him. If you desire a loving wife,
beat her.
This is really the advice of the Dean of St Paul. To me it is one of the
most pathetic facts in nature that wives and children love husbands and
fathers who are utterly unworthy. It is enough to sadden a life to
think of the affection that has been lavished upon the brutal, of the
countless pearls that Love has thrown to swine.
The Dean, quoting from Hooker, insists that "the voice of man is as
the sentence of God himself,"--in other words, that the general voice,
practice and opinion of the human race are true.
And yet, cannibalism, slavery, polygamy, the worship of snakes and
stones, the sacrifice of babes, have during vast periods of time been
practiced and upheld by an overwhelming majority of mankind. Whether the
"general voice" can be depended on depends much on the time, the epoch,
during which the "general voice" was uttered. There was a time when the
"general voice" was in accord with the appetite of man; when all nations
were cannibals and lived on each other, and yet it can hardly be said
that this voice and appetite were in exact accord with divine goodness.
It is hardly safe to depend on the "general voice" of savages, no matter
how numerous they may have been. Like most people who defend the cruel
and absurd, the Dean appeals to the Bible as the supreme authority in
the moral world,--and yet if the English Parliament should re-enact the
Mosaic Code every member voting in the affirmative would be subjected
to personal violence, and an effort to enforce that code would produce a
revolution that could end only in the destruction of the government.
The morality of the Old Testament is not always of the purest; when
Jehovah tried to induce Pharaoh to let the Hebrews go, he never took the
ground that slavery was wrong. He did not seek to convince by argument,
to soften by pity, or to persuade by kindness. He depended on miracles
and plagues. He killed helpless babes and the innocent beasts of the
fields. No wonder the Dean appeals to the Bible to justify the beating
of children. So, too, we are told that "all sensible persons, Christian
and otherwise, will admit that there are in every child born into the
world tendencies to evil that need rooting out."
The Dean undoubtedly believes in the creed of the established church,
and yet he does not hesitate to say that a God of infinite goodness and
intelligence never created a child--never allowed one to be born into
the world without planting in its little heart "tendencies to evil that
need rooting out."
So, Solomon is quoted to the effect "that he that spareth his rod hateth
his son." To me it has always been a matter of amazement why civilized
people, living in the century of Darwin and Humboldt, should quote as
authority the words of Solomon, a murderer, an ingrate, an idolater, and
a polygamist--a man so steeped and sodden in ignorance that he really
believed he could be happy with seven hundred wives and three hundred
concubines. The Dean seems to regret that flogging is no longer
practiced in the British navy, and quotes with great cheerfulness a
passage from Deuteronomy to prove that forty lashes on the naked back
will meet with the approval of God. He insists that St. Paul endured
corporal punishment without the feeling of degradation not only, but
that he remembered his sufferings with a sense of satisfaction. Does the
Dean think that the satisfaction of St. Paul justified the wretches who
beat and stoned him? Leaving the Hebrews, the Dean calls the Greeks as
witnesses to establish the beneficence of flogging. They resorted to
corporal punishment in their schools, says the Dean and then naively
remarks "that Plutarch was opposed to this."
The Dean admits that in Rome it was found necessary to limit by law the
punishment that a father might inflict upon his children, and yet he
seems to regret that the legislature interfered. The Dean observes that
"Quintillian severely censured corporal punishment" and then accounts
for the weakness and folly of the censure, by saying that "Quintillian
wrote in the days when the glories of Rome were departed." And then adds
these curiously savage words: "It is worthy of remark that no children
treated their parents with greater tenderness and reverence than did
those of Rome in the days when the father possessed the unlimited power
of punishment."
Not quite satisfied with the strength of his case although sustained by
Moses and Solomon, St. Paul and several schoolmasters, he proceeds
to show that God is thoroughly on his side, not only in theory, but in
practice; "whom the Lord loveth lie chasteneth, and scourgeth every sou
whom he receiveth.".
The Dean asks this question: "Which custom, kindness or severity, does
experience show to be the less dangerous?" And he answers from a new
heart: "I fear that I must unhesitatingly give the palm to severity."
"I have found that there have been more reverence and affection,
more willingness to make sacrifices for parents, more pleasure in
contributing to their pleasure or happiness in that life where the
tendency has been to a severe method of treatment."
Is it possible that any good mail exists who is willing to gain the
affection of his children in that way? How could such a man beat and
bruise the flesh of his babes, knowing that they would give him in
return obedience and love; that they would fill the evening of his
days--the leafless winter of his life--with perfect peace?
Think of being fed and clothed by children you had whipped--whose
flesh you had scarred! Think of feeling in the hour of death upon your
withered lips, your withered cheeks, the kisses and the tears of one
whom, you had beaten--upon whose flesh were still the marks of your
lash!
The whip degrades; a severe father teaches his children to dissemble;
their love is pretence, and their obedience a species of self-defence.
Fear is the father of lies.