>>When I say we all hate to see our reason go out the window, I'm not
>>referring to a form of reason that it takes any time to develop. Fear
>>interferes with the ability to absorb information, even in a very young child.
>
>Except to absorb the information that "If I venture near that well some
>adult might hit me"? In that case, isn't that the crucial info they need,
>until they're big enough to avoid or be careful around wells for other reasons?
Not all physical punishment induces fear. As I mentioned in an earlier post, my position is that both physical and psychological punishment can be either abusive (a fear-inducing attack) or non-abusive (constructive might be a good adjective, here).
>> For all creatures fear is a to-be-avoided experience, along with
>> everything associated with that experience, so eliciting fear tends to
>> teach avoidance and mistrust.
>
>Well avoidance (of the punishable activity) is the point. What do you
>mean by mistrust?
Avoidance of the person meting out the punishment is the likely result of the use of attacking forms of punishment; mistrust of the punisher is what I mean.
>Where's Catherine? I think this is kind of her area, and I'm sure she'd
>agree with you. I just think the generalizations are overdrawn. Which
>wouldn't be a problem except they also tend, at least implicitly, to put
>the recent common wisdom of professional class EuroAmericans at the top of
>some universal chain of childraising wisdom.
I don't pretend to be an expert on child raising (though I've done some of that, and taught kids for five years), but I do know something about raising other social mammals, and I find there are useful parallels. A long time ago, when I was starting to work with dogs, I came across an old Australian book of dog stories in which I was introduced to the idea of the "friendly kick". The Ozzie telling the story was describing training his dogs to hunt kangaroos. Kangaroos are capable of snatching up a fair-sized dog and disemboweling it, so the dogs that survived the hunt were the ones who were made aware of the danger. For this purpose our narrator used what he called a friendly kick, booting his younger animals out of range when they were lunging too close to the kangaroo. (Note: dogs are so tough-skinned that the unexpected boot itself would not induce fear of the booter in the heat of battle, but a yell probably would. If the fellow had hollered rather than kicked, the young dogs would have been more likely to lose their heads and be snagged by the roo.) This story opened up the possibility that physical punishment could be meted out with good results if it was well-timed, well-gauged, and well-meant.
I'm not recommending we kick children. I am saying that, whatever punishment we offer them (whether it's "because I said so" or a swat on the bottom), it's best to do it as much as possible without fury: without placing the child under attack.
The way I translated this rule into my dog rearing practices is as follows. (Note: I try to act as much as possible like a dog.) In my first work with misbehaving young puppies I accompany a growl and a slight, stiff turn of my head with a stare into the distance (alpha wolf style) and a short clump with the fist under the animal's jaws (note: pup doesn't see it coming, can't get scared). This sharp clump, without being hurtful, communicates my strength and resolve. As soon as the pup acknowledges the correction by doing a little hang-dog routine, or lying on its back, it is right away allowed back into my good graces with hugs and cuddles (for an older dog a little smile is usually enough): thus I present myself as a safe haven for good doggies. A few of those little growl-clump-turn-stare routines, well-timed, and then all I have to do is perform the head turn and stare to make my point. In this way, with a little quiet theatre, whether I'm across the room or across a field, I can get a misbehaving dog to stop what it's doing. Reminders in the form of a growl and/or clump need occur only occasionally, and with decreasing frequency, over time.
Now, dogs are a simpler project than kids, by and large, but I think a non-species-specific case can be made that, if we are (as much as humanly possible) benevolent and non-threatening in our delivery of punishment to those in our care, the inherent lessons are more likely to be absorbed, and can actually help to build trust in and respect for us caretakers. In fact, no individual lesson learned has much value, over the long run, if it hasn't reinforced the idea that the trainer (teacher, parent) is safe and fair and worth listening to; and the less menace exhibited by the trainer, the more receptive the young trainee will be to the lesson. In other words, it seems to me, effective punishment, whether physical or psychological, is a form of communication, and is delivered and received as correction, not as retribution.
cheers, Joanna S
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