17. Judgment and Reasoning
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It is a very unreasonable thing for parents to expect young children to be reasonable. Being reasonable in one's conduct or wishes implies the taking into account of those bearings and relations of an act which are more remote and less obvious, in contradistinction from being governed exclusively by those which are immediate and near. Now, it is not reasonable to expect children to be influenced by these remote considerations, simply because in them the faculties by which they are brought forward into the mind and invested with the attributes of reality, are not yet developed. These faculties are all in a nascent or formative state—and it is as idle to expect them, while thus immature, to fulfill their functions for any practical purpose, as it would be to expect a baby to expend the strength of its little arms in performing any useful labor.
'Progress of Mental Development'.
The mother sometimes, when she looks upon her infant lying in her arms—and observes the intentness with which he seems to gaze upon objects in the room—upon the bright light of the window or of the lamp, or upon the pictures on the wall—wonders what he is thinking of. The truth probably is that he is not thinking at all; he is simply 'seeing'—that is to say, the light from external objects is entering his eyes and producing images upon his sensorium—and that is all. He 'sees' only. There might have been a similar image of the light in his mind the day before—but the reproduction of the former image which constitutes memory, does not probably take place at all in his case if he is very young, so that there is not present to his mind, in connection with the present image, any reproduction of the former one. Still less does he make any mental comparison between the two. The mother, as she sees the light of today, may remember the one of yesterday—and mentally compare the two; may have many 'thoughts' awakened in her mind by the sensation and the recollection—such as, this is from a new kind of oil—and gives a brighter light than the other; that she will use this kind of oil in all her lamps—and will recommend it to her friends—and so on indefinitely. But the child has none of these thoughts and can have none; for neither have the faculties been developed within him by which they are conceived, nor has he had the experience of the previous sensations to form the materials for framing them. He is conscious of the present sensations—and that is all.
As he advances, however, in his experience of sensations—and as his mental powers gradually begin to be unfolded, what may be called 'thoughts' arise, consisting at first, probably, of recollections of past sensations entering into his consciousness in connection with the present ones. These combinations—and the mental acts of various kinds which are excited by them, multiply as he advances towards maturity; but the images produced by present realities are infinitely more vivid and have a very much greater power over him, than those which memory brings up from the past, or that his imagination can anticipate in the future.
This state of things, though there is, of course, a gradual advancement in the relative influence of what the mind can conceive, as compared with that which the senses make real, continues substantially the same through all the period of childhood and youth. In other words, the organs of sense and of those mental faculties which are directly occupied with the sensations, are the earliest to be developed, as we might naturally suppose would be the case; and, by consequence, the sensible properties of objects and the direct and immediate effects of any action, are those which have a controlling influence over the volitions of the mind during all the earlier periods of its development.
The 'reason', on the other hand, which, as applied to the practical affairs of life, has for its function the bringing in of the more remote bearings and relations of a fact, or the indirect and less obvious results of an action, is very slowly developed. It is precisely on this account, that the period of immaturity in the human species is so long protracted in comparison with that of the inferior animals. The lives of these animals are regulated by the cognizance simply of the sensible properties of objects—and by the immediate results of their acts—and they accordingly become mature as soon as their senses and their bodily organs are brought completely into action. But man, who is to be governed by his reason—that is, by much more far-reaching and comprehensive views of what concerns him—requires a much longer period to fit him for independent action, since he must wait for the development of those higher faculties which are necessary for the attainment of these extended views; and during this period he must depend upon the reason of his parents, instead of being governed by his own.
'Practical Effect of these Truths'.
The true course, then, for parents to pursue is not to expect too much from the ability of their children to understand what is right and proper for them—but to decide all important questions themselves, using their own experience and their own power of foresight as their guide. They are, indeed, to cultivate and train the reasoning and reflective powers of their children—but are not to expect them in early life to be sufficiently developed and strengthened to bear any heavy strain, or to justify the placing of any serious reliance upon them. They must, in a word, treat the reason and the judgment of their children as the farmer treats the strength of his young colt, which he exercises and, to a certain extent, employs—but never puts upon it any heavy burden.
It results from this view of the case that it is not wise for a parent to resort to arguing or reasoning with a child—as a substitute for authority—or even as an aid to make up for a deficiency of authority, in regard to what it is necessary that the child should do. No doubt it is a good plan sometimes to let the child decide for himself—but when you pretend to allow him to decide, let him do it really. When you go out with him to take a walk, if it is so nearly immaterial which way you go, that you are willing that he should determine the question, then lay the case before him, giving him the advantages and disadvantages of the different ways—and let him decide; and then act according to his decision. But if you have determined in your own mind which way to go, simply announce your determination; and if you give reasons at all, do not give them in such a way as to convey the idea to his mind that his obligation to submit is to rest partly on his seeing the force of them. For every parent will find that this principle is a sound one, and one of fundamental importance in the successful management of children—namely, that it is much easier for a child to do what he does not like to do as an act of simple submission to superior authority—than for him to bring himself to an accordance with the decision by hearing and considering the reasons. In other words, it is much easier for him to obey your decision—than to bring himself to the same decision against his own will.
'In serious Cases no Reliance to be placed on the Reason of the Child'.
In all those cases, therefore, in which the parent cannot safely allow the children really to decide, such as the question of going to school, going to church, taking medicine, remaining indoors on account of indisposition or of the weather, making visits, choice of playmates and companions—and a great many others which it would not be safe actually to allow them to decide, it is true kindness to them to spare their minds the painful perplexity of a conflict. Decide for them. Do not say, "Oh, I would not do this or that"—whatever it may be—"because"—and then go on to assign reasons thought of perhaps at the moment, to meet the emergency—and indeed generally false; but, "Yes, I don't wonder that you would like to do it. I would like it if I were you. But it cannot be done." When there is medicine to be taken, do not put the child in misery for half an hour while you resort to all sorts of arguments—and perhaps artifices, to bring him to a willingness to take it; but simply present it to him, saying, "It is something very disagreeable, I know—but it must be taken;" and if it is refused, allow of no delay—but at once, though without any appearance of displeasure—and in the gentlest-manner possible, force it down. Then, after the excitement of the affair has passed away—and you have your little patient in your lap—and he is in good-mood—this is all, of course, on the supposition that he is not very sick—say to him, "You would not take your medicine a little while ago—and we had to force it down. I hope it did not hurt you much."
The child will probably make some fretful answer. "It is not surprising that you did not like to take it. All children, while they are too young to be reasonable—and all animals, such as horses and cows, when they are sick, are very unwilling to take their medicine—and we often have to force it down. You will, perhaps, refuse to take yours a good many times yet before you are old enough to see that it is a great deal easier to take it willingly, than it is to have it forced down."
And then go on and tell him some amusing story of the difficulty some people had in forcing medicine down the throat of a sick horse, who did not know enough to take it like a man.
The idea is—for this case is only meant as an illustration of a general principle—that the comfort and enjoyment of children, as well as the easy and successful working of parental government, is greatly promoted by deciding for the children at once—and placing their action on the simple ground of obedience to authority in all those cases where the decision cannot really and honestly be left to the children themselves.
To listen reluctantly to the persistent arguments of children in favor of their being allowed to do what we are sure that we shall decide in the end that it is not best for them to do—and to meet them with counter arguments which, if they are not actually false, as they are very apt to be in such a case, are utterly powerless, from the incapacity of the children to appreciate them, on account of their being blinded by their wishes, is not to strengthen the reasoning powers—but to confuse and bewilder them—and impede their development.
'Mode of Dealing with the REASON of a Child'.
The effect, however, will be excellent of calling into exercise the reason and the judgment of the child, in cases where the conclusion which he arrives at can be safely allowed to determine his action. You can help him in such cases by giving him any information that he desires—but do not confuse him—or interfere with his exercising his own judgment, by obtruding advice. Allow him in this way perhaps, to lay out his own garden; or to plan the course of a walk or a ride; or to decide upon the expenditure of his own pocket-money; but within certain restrictions in respect to such things as would be dangerous or hurtful to himself, or annoying to others. As he grows older you can give him the charge of the minor arrangements on a journey, such as taking care of a certain number of the parcels, choosing a seat in the car, etc. Commit such things to his charge only so fast as you can really entrust him with power to act—and then, with slight and not obtrusive supervision on your part, leave the responsibility with him, noticing encouragingly whatever of fidelity and success you observe—and taking little notice—generally in fact, none at all—of such errors and failures as result simply from inexperience and immaturity.
In a word, make no attempt to seek support from his judgment, or by convincing his reason, in important cases—but in all such cases rest your decisions solely upon your own authority. But then, on the other hand, in unimportant cases, where no serious evil can result whichever of the various possible courses are taken, call his judgment into exercise—and abide by its decisions. Give him the responsibility if he likes to take it—but with the responsibility give him the power.
Substantially the same principles as explained above, in their application to the exercise of the judgment, apply to the cultivation of the reasoning powers—that is to say, in the act ofreasoning, or drawing conclusions from premises. Nothing can be more unprofitable and useless, to say nothing of its irritating and vexatious effect, than maintaining an argument with a child—or with anybody else, in fact—to convince him against his will. Arguing very soon degenerates, in such a case, into an irritating and utterly useless dispute. The difference of opinion which gives occasion for such discussions, arises generally from the fact that the child sees only certain of the more obvious and immediate relations and bearings of the subject in question, which is, in fact, all that can be reasonably expected of him—and forms his opinion from these alone.
The parent, on the other hand, takes a wider view—and includes among the premises on which his conclusion is founded considerations which have never been brought to the attention of the child. The proper course, therefore, for him to pursue in order to bring the child's mind into harmony with his own, is not to ridicule the boy's reasoning, or chide him for taking so short-sighted a view of the subject, or to tell him it is very foolish for him to talk as he does, or silence him by a dogmatic decision, delivered in a dictatorial and overbearing manner—all of which is too often found to characterize the discussions between parents and children—but calmly and quietly to present to him the considerations bearing upon the question which he has not yet seen. To this end—and to bring the mind of the child into that listening and willing state without which all arguments and even all attempts at instruction are wasted, we must listen candidly to what he says himself, put the best construction upon it, give it its full force; see it, in a word, as nearly as possible as 'he' sees it—and let him know that we do so. Then he will be much more ready to receive any additional considerations which we may present to his mind, as things that must also be taken into account in forming a final judgment on the question.
A boy, for example, who is full of health and increasing vigor—and in whom, of course, those organs on which the consciousness of strength and the impulses of courage depend, are in the course of rapid and healthy development, in reading to his mother a story in which a thief that came into a back store-room of a house in the evening, with a bag, to steal grain, was detected by the owner and frightened away, looks up from his book and says, in a very valiant manner,
"If I had been there—and had a gun, I would have shot him on the spot."
'The Rough Mode of Treatment'.
Now, if the mother wishes to confuse and bewilder—and to crush down, so to speak, the reasoning faculties of her child, she may say,
"Nonsense, George! It is of no use for you to talk big in that way. You would not dare to fire a gun in such a case, still less, to shoot a man. The first thing you would do would be to run away and hide. And then, besides, it would be very wicked for you to kill a man in that way. You would be very likely to get yourself hung for murder. Besides, the Bible says that we must not resist evil; so you should not talk so coolly about shooting a man."
The poor boy would be overpowered by such a rebuke as this—and perhaps silenced. The incipient and half-formed ideas in his mind in respect to the right of self-defense, the virtue of courage, the sanctity of life, the nature and the limits of the doctrine of non-resistance, would be all thrown together into a jumble of hopeless confusion in his mind—and the only result would be his muttering to himself, after a moment of bewilderment and vexation, "I 'would' shoot him, anyhow." Such treatment would not only fail to convince him that his idea was wrong—but would effectually close his heart against any such conviction.
'The Gentle Mode of Treatment'.
But let the mother first see and recognize those bearings and relations of the question which the boy sees—that is, those which are the most direct and immediate—and allow them their full force—and she establishes a sympathy between his mind and hers—and prepares the way for his being led by her to taking into the account other considerations which, though of greater importance, are not so obvious—and which it would be wholly unreasonable to expect that the boy would see himself, since they do not come within the range of observation that could be reached spontaneously, by the unaided faculties of such a child. Suppose the mother says, in reply to her boy's boastful declaration that he would shoot the robber, "There would be a certain degree of justice in that, no doubt."
"Yes," rejoins the boy, "it would be no more than he deserved."
"When a man engages in the commission of a crime," adds the mother, "he runs the risk of all the perils that he exposes himself to, from the efforts of people to defend their property—and perhaps their lives; so that, perhaps, 'he' would have no right to complain if people did shoot at him."
"Not a bit of right," says the boy.
"But then there are some other things to be considered," says the mother, "which, though they do not show that it would be unjust towards him, might make it bad for 'us' to shoot him."
"What things?" asks the boy.
The mother having candidly admitted whatever there was of truth in the boy's view of the subject—and thus placed herself, as it were, side by side with him, he is prepared to see and admit what she is going to point out to his observation—not as something directly antagonistic to what he has said—but as something additional, something which is 'also' to be taken into the account.
"In the first place," continues the mother, "there would be the body to be disposed of, if you were to shoot him. How should we manage that?"
It would make a great difference in such a case in respect to the danger of putting the boy's mind into a state of antagonism against his mother's presentation of the case, whether she says, "How shall 'we' manage that?" or, "How will 'you' manage that?"
"Oh," replies the boy, "we would send to where he lives—and let his family come and take him away; or, if he was in a city, we would call in the police."
"That would be a good plan," says his mother. "We would call in the police, if there were any police at hand. But then there would be the blood all over the carpet and the floor."
"There would not be any carpet on the floor in a store-room," says the boy.
"True," replies the mother; "you are right there; so that there would not be, after all, any great trouble about the blood. But the man might not be killed outright—and it might be some time before the policemen would come—and we should see him all that time writhing and struggling in dreadful convulsions, which would fix horrid impressions upon our minds, that would haunt us for a long time afterwards."
The mother could then go on to explain that, if the man had a wife and children, anyone who had killed the husband and father would pity them as long as he lived—and could never see them or hear them spoken of without feeling pain—and even some degree of self-reproach; although, so far as the man himself was concerned, it might be that no injustice had been done. After the excitement was over, too, he would begin to make excuses for the man, thinking that perhaps he was poor—and his children were suffering for lack of bread—and it was on their account that he was tempted to steal—and this, though it would not justify, might in some degree palliate the act for which he was slain; or that he had been badly brought up, having never received any proper instruction—but had been trained and taught from his boyhood to pilfer and steal.
These and many analogous considerations might be presented to the child, going to show that, whatever the rule of strict justice in respect to the criminal may enjoin, it is not right to take the life of a wrong-doer merely to prevent the commission of a minor offense. The law of the land recognizes this principle—and does not justify the taking of life except in extreme cases, such as those of imminent personal danger.
A friendly conversation of this kind, carried on, not in a spirit of antagonism to what the boy has said—but in the form of presenting information novel to him, in respect to considerations which were to be taken into the account in addition to those which he had himself perceived, will have a great effect not only in modifying his opinion in this case—but also in impressing him with the general idea that, before adopting a decisive opinion on any subject, we must take care to acquaint ourselves not merely with the most direct and obvious relations of it—but must look farther into its bearings and results, so that our conclusion may have a solid foundation by reposing upon as many as possible of the considerations which ought really to affect it. Thus, by avoiding all appearance of antagonism, we secure a ready reception for the truths we offer—and cultivate the reasoning powers at the same time.
'General Principles'.
The principles, then, which are meant to be illustrated and enforced in this chapter are these:
1. That the mental faculties of children on which the exercise of judgment and of the power of reasoning depend, are not among those which are the earliest developed—and they do not attain, in the first years of life, to such a degree of strength or maturity as to justify placing any serious reliance upon them for the conduct of life.
2. Parents should, accordingly, not put them to any serious test, or impose any heavy burden upon them; but should rely solely on their own authority, as the expression of their own judgment—and not upon their ability to convince the judgment of the child, in important cases, or in those where its inclinations or its feelings are concerned.
3. But they may greatly promote the healthy development of these faculties on the part of their children, by bringing to their view the less obvious bearings and relations of various acts and occurrences on which judgment is to be passed, in cases where their feelings and inclinations are not specially concerned—doing this either in the form of explaining their own parental principles of management, or practically, by entrusting them with responsibility—and giving them a degree of actual power commensurate with it, in cases where it is safe to do so.
4. They may enlarge the range of the children's ideas—and accustom them to take wider views of the various subjects which occupy their attention, by discussing with them the principles involved in the several cases; but such discussions must be conducted in a calm, gentle and considerate manner, the parent looking always upon what the child says in the most favorable light, putting the best construction upon it, and admitting its force—and then presenting such additional views as ought also to be taken into account, with moderate earnestness—and in an unobtrusive manner. Thus taking short and easy steps himself in order to accommodate his own rate of progress to the still imperfectly developed capabilities of the child.
In a word, it is with the unfolding of the mental faculties of the young, as it is with the development of their muscles and the improvement of their bodily powers; and just as the way to teach a child to walk is not to drag him along hurriedly and forcibly by the arm faster than he can himself form the necessary steps—but to go slowly, accommodating your movements to those which are natural to him—and encouraging him by letting him perceive that his own efforts produce appreciable and useful results. Just so, in cultivating any of their thinkingand reasoning powers, we must not put at the outset too heavy a burden upon them—but must call them gently into action, within the limits prescribed by the degree of maturity to which they have attained, standing a little aside, as it were, in doing so—and encouraging them to do the work themselves, instead of taking it out of their hands and doing it for them.
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