Principles of Teaching by Adam S. Bennion (primary phonics books .TXT) 📕

or basketball game, held in our amusement halls, too frequently is carried into our sacred meetings. The spirit of unconcern is carried into our classrooms until all too often to call the condition one of disorder is a very inadequate description of the procedure.

It is interesting to note the changing attitude generally in the matter of discipline. The harshness of other days is largely replaced by a leniency that borders on "easiness." Our whole attitude toward criminals has been revolutionized, and our human impulses have carried over into the realm of teaching, until now, at least in the opinion of very many critics, we have drifted largely into "soft pedagogy"—a process of trying to please regardless of the consequences.

Earlier treatises on education devoted a good bit of space to the amount and kind of punishment that should be administered in a well-ordered school. Punishment is decidedly out of taste these days. The biography of an old German master discloses the fact that during his teaching career he had administered 911,527 raps with his cane, 20,989 with a ruler, 136,715 with his hand, and that he was responsible for 1,115,800 slaps on the head. The same attitude is reflected in the fact that in England, as late as the year 1800, two hundred twenty-three offenses were punishable by death. The offenses included shooting rabbits, stealing, defacing Westminster Bridge, etc. In our day we hesitate to apply the extreme penalty even to the murderer.

The attitude toward the content of teaching has undergone a change quite in keeping with that attached to method. There was a time when pedagogical philosophy rather hinted, "It doesn't make any difference what you teach a boy, as long as he doesn't like it." The hint these days might more nearly read: "It doesn't make any difference how valuable certain material is for a boy, don't attempt to teach it to him unless it fascinates him." Our effort to interest our pupils has practically resulted in taking the scriptures, particularly the Old Testament, out of our organizations. Of course, the doctrine of interest is a very vital one, but there are bounds beyond which we ought not to push it.

It is, therefore, perfectly obvious that there is urgent need of discipline. Any effort at social control demands it. The army succeeds as it does because of its discipline. Wherever a group of individuals undertake action in common, every member must be willing to sink interests of self in welfare of others. As was pointed out in the chapter on Individual Differences, a class is made up of all kinds of individuals. They vary in capacity, in ideals, in training, in attitude, in disposition, and in purpose. Manifestly group progress will be made possible in any such case by a mutual willingness to co-operate—a willingness to attend a discussion even though not particularly interested in it, but because it may be of concern to someone else whose interests I have undertaken to promote. My very presence in the class imposes such a responsibility upon me.

It is essential in a discussion of discipline that we agree as to just what discipline is. It is not mere silence. Silent "quietness" may be agreeable, but it certainly does not make for achievement. Such silence would be of little worth if it could be achieved, and it cannot be achieved with twentieth century human beings. The question of the lad who had been taken to task for his disturbance is always refreshing. The teacher, after a somewhat prolonged scolding, had concluded:

"Now, Tommie, do be quiet."

"What fur?"

The English may not be the choicest, but the sense is wonderfully significant to the teacher who would really understand the problem of discipline.

Discipline is not repression. The D of discipline and the D of don't have been confused all too often. Just as the too frequent use of the brakes on an automobile ruins the lining, so the too frequent "don't" of repression ruins the "goodwill lining" of the boy, and when that lining is gone the "brake squeaks," and in emergencies doesn't hold at all.

Discipline rather consists in that direction of wholesome activity which creates an atmosphere of intellectual endeavor in which every individual of a group can profitably follow his own interests while allowing every other individual to do the same thing free from interference. Discipline makes it possible for all to do the thing to be done to advantage. It may at times require silence, it may involve vigorous action—it always presumes intelligent direction that holds those concerned to the orderly pursuit of an established goal.

Various means have been devised for the securing of discipline. The doctrine of rewards has been and still is being followed extensively. To give an individual something for being good has never appealed to educators as fundamentally sound. It puts a false evaluation upon virtue. It may be that such a policy must be resorted to in emergencies, but followed regularly it is likely to be attended with disastrous results. The boy who has regularly to be bought into doing what he should will likely raise his price until the method of rewards becomes ruinous both to the father and the boy. To "heroize" a boy in class every time he does a meritorious act will very likely spoil him. Encouragement, of course, is helpful, but it ought not to be overindulged. A stick of candy may induce a child to go to bed agreeably each night, but the candy may spoil other things than the bedspread. Moral fibre is built up by developing the habit of doing a thing because it is right—because it ought to be done. There are teachers and preachers who hold the interest of those taught by tickling their ears with material, either funny or nonsensical. There is a question whether it is not a dangerous practice in an effort to win them to what should be an attitude of religious devotion.

Then there is the doctrine that children should be good to please their parents and teachers. This doctrine is akin to that of rewards. It sets up something of a false ideal, though of course it is a splendid thing to teach appreciation of those who help us. Much can be defended which seeks to inculcate in the minds of children reverence for their elders. The chief difficulty lies in the fact that this doctrine may not continue to appeal as fundamentally sound.

A third method for securing discipline is to compel it. This is to resort to the law of things. A certain amount of law should characterize both the home and the classroom. Obedience and order are the first laws of heaven and are essential to good social environment. But the law should be so administered that the obedience exacted rests upon an intelligent understanding of the purpose behind the law. Otherwise there comes a time when mere authority fails to control. It is a good thing to train children to abide by regulations out of a sense of duty. If duty and love can be coupled, the combination makes for permanent law-abiding. Arbitrary authority and blind obedience have produced Germany. Strong leadership coupled with democratic co-operation and loyalty have produced America.

Still another doctrine of discipline rests upon a social appeal. Members of a group agree that in the interest of everyone's welfare each individual will subscribe to certain conditions regardless of their application to him. This principle, fundamental in all democracies, can safely be trusted to secure desired results in groups mature enough to assure sound judgment. The sense of justice in the human soul is a safe guarantee of both liberty and good order. Many of our classes no doubt could be improved noticeably if we could enlist the co-operation of the members to the extent that they would assume to govern themselves.

Finally there is the doctrine of interest as a means of maintaining discipline. This doctrine implies that a teacher should get his class so interested in doing what he wants it to do that it hasn't any inclination to do what it ought not to do. This doctrine is not the pernicious doctrine hinted at earlier in this chapter of cheapening everything into "easiness." Genuine interest may lead not only to effort, but to sacrifice. The boy who plays football does not play because of the ease of the game—he is fascinated by his interest in the struggle. Ample preparation and a complete understanding of pupils will make possible an interest that disciplines without any evidence of discipline. Surely this is the modern doctrine of discipline, though with it should be coupled that wholesome respect for authority that prompts citizens to abide by the law.

No discussion of discipline would be complete which did not mention at least the significance of attitude on the part of one who disciplines. In so many cases when a boy is corrected he complains of the teacher,

"Oh, well, he's got it in for me."

It is always interesting to know whether a parent or teacher disciplines a child because the child needs it, or because the parent or teacher is unnerved and has to give expression to his feelings. The disciplinarian who can correct, when correction is necessary, both in firmness yet in fairness, so that the person who is corrected is made to feel that the correction grows out of a desire to help rather than merely to punish—that disciplinarian will exert an influence for good that is hard to estimate. He is both a friend and a benefactor.

Let us conclude this chapter with that wonderful passage from the Doctrine & Covenants which gives us the word of the Lord on this matter of controlling others: