Is he? Then in the name of common sense why do we always treat children
on the assumption that the man is father to the child? Oh, these
fathers! And we are not content with fathers: we must have godfathers,
forgetting that the child is godfather to the man. Has it ever struck
you as curious that in a country where the first article of belief is
that every child is born with a godfather whom we all call "our father
which art in heaven," two very limited individual mortals should
be allowed to appear at its baptism and explain that they are its
godparents, and that they will look after its salvation until it is no
longer a child. I had a godmother who made herself responsible in this
way for me. She presented me with a Bible with a gilt clasp and edges,
larger than the Bibles similarly presented to my sisters, because my sex
entitled me to a heavier article. I must have seen that lady at least
four times in the twenty years following. She never alluded to my
salvation in any way. People occasionally ask me to act as godfather to
their children with a levity which convinces me that they have not the
faintest notion that it involves anything more than calling the helpless
child George Bernard without regard to the possibility that it may grow
up in the liveliest abhorrence of my notions.
A person with a turn for logic might argue that if God is the Father of
all men, and if the child is father to the man, it follows that the true
representative of God at the christening is the child itself. But such
posers are unpopular, because they imply that our little customs, or,
as we often call them, our religion, mean something, or must originally
have meant something, and that we understand and believe that something.
However, my business is not to make confusion worse confounded, but to
clear it up. Only, it is as well to begin by a sample of current thought
and practice which shews that on the subject of children we are very
deeply confused. On the whole, whatever our theory or no theory may
be, our practice is to treat the child as the property of its immediate
physical parents, and to allow them to do what they like with it as far
as it will let them. It has no rights and no liberties: in short, its
condition is that which adults recognize as the most miserable and
dangerous politically possible for themselves: namely, the condition of
slavery. For its alleviation we trust to the natural affection of the
parties, and to public opinion. A father cannot for his own credit let
his son go in rags. Also, in a very large section of the population,
parents finally become dependent on their children. Thus there are
checks on child slavery which do not exist, or are less powerful, in the
case of manual and industrial slavery. Sensationally bad cases fall into
two classes, which are really the same class: namely, the children
whose parents are excessively addicted to the sensual luxury of petting
children, and the children whose parents are excessively addicted to the
sensual luxury of physically torturing them. There is a Society for the
Prevention of Cruelty to Children which has effectually made an end of
our belief that mothers are any more to be trusted than stepmothers, or
fathers than slave-drivers. And there is a growing body of law designed
to prevent parents from using their children ruthlessly to make money
for the household. Such legislation has always been furiously resisted
by the parents, even when the horrors of factory slavery were at
their worst; and the extension of such legislation at present would be
impossible if it were not that the parents affected by it cannot control
a majority of votes in Parliament. In domestic life a great deal of
service is done by children, the girls acting as nursemaids and general
servants, and the lads as errand boys. In the country both boys and
girls do a substantial share of farm labor. This is why it is necessary
to coerce poor parents to send their children to school, though in the
relatively small class which keeps plenty of servants it is impossible
to induce parents to keep their children at home instead of paying
schoolmasters to take them off their hands.
It appears then that the bond of affection between parents and children
does not save children from the slavery that denial of rights involves
in adult political relations. It sometimes intensifies it, sometimes
mitigates it; but on the whole children and parents confront one another
as two classes in which all the political power is on one side; and
the results are not at all unlike what they would be if there were no
immediate consanguinity between them, and one were white and the other
black, or one enfranchised and the other disenfranchised, or one ranked
as gentle and the other simple. Not that Nature counts for nothing in
the case and political rights for everything. But a denial of political
rights, and the resultant delivery of one class into the mastery of
another, affects their relations so extensively and profoundly that it
is impossible to ascertain what the real natural relations of the two
classes are until this political relation is abolished.
What is a Child?
An experiment. A fresh attempt to produce the just man made perfect:
that is, to make humanity divine. And you will vitiate the experiment
if you make the slightest attempt to abort it into some fancy figure of
your own: for example, your notion of a good man or a womanly woman.
If you treat it as a little wild beast to be tamed, or as a pet to be
played with, or even as a means to save you trouble and to make money
for you (and these are our commonest ways), it may fight its way through
in spite of you and save its soul alive; for all its instincts will
resist you, and possibly be strengthened in the resistance; but if you
begin with its own holiest aspirations, and suborn them for your own
purposes, then there is hardly any limit to the mischief you may do.
Swear at a child, throw your boots at it, send it flying from the room
with a cuff or a kick; and the experience will be as instructive to the
child as a difficulty with a short-tempered dog or a bull. Francis Place
tells us that his father always struck his children when he found one
within his reach. The effect on the young Places seems to have been
simply to make them keep out of their father's way, which was no doubt
what he desired, as far as he desired anything at all. Francis records
the habit without bitterness, having reason to thank his stars that his
father respected the inside of his head whilst cuffing the outside of
it; and this made it easy for Francis to do yeoman's service to his
country as that rare and admirable thing, a Freethinker: the only
sort of thinker, I may remark, whose thoughts, and consequently whose
religious convictions, command any respect.
Now Mr Place, senior, would be described by many as a bad father; and
I do not contend that he was a conspicuously good one. But as compared
with the conventional good father who deliberately imposes himself on
his son as a god; who takes advantage of childish credulity and parent
worship to persuade his son that what he approves of is right and what
he disapproves of is wrong; who imposes a corresponding conduct on the
child by a system of prohibitions and penalties, rewards and eulogies,
for which he claims divine sanction: compared to this sort of
abortionist and monster maker, I say, Place appears almost as a
Providence. Not that it is possible to live with children any more than
with grown-up people without imposing rules of conduct on them. There
is a point at which every person with human nerves has to say to a child
"Stop that noise." But suppose the child asks why! There are various
answers in use. The simplest: "Because it irritates me," may fail; for
it may strike the child as being rather amusing to irritate you; also
the child, having comparatively no nerves, may be unable to conceive
your meaning vividly enough. In any case it may want to make a noise
more than to spare your feelings. You may therefore have to explain
that the effect of the irritation will be that you will do something
unpleasant if the noise continues. The something unpleasant may be only
a look of suffering to rouse the child's affectionate sympathy (if it
has any), or it may run to forcible expulsion from the room with plenty
of unnecessary violence; but the principle is the same: there are no
false pretences involved: the child learns in a straightforward way that
it does not pay to be inconsiderate. Also, perhaps, that Mamma, who made
the child learn the Sermon on the Mount, is not really a Christian.