“Satisfying Our Inner Sadist”

Skip The BS

by Sterling “Skip” Eisiminger

“More carrot and less stick.”

—Anonymous

CLEMSON, SC—(Weekly Hubris)—3/1/10—If the proverbs of a region reflect the mores of the people who utter them, the children of the American South had best behave. “There’s a board for every bottom” and, “No lickin’, no larnin’” are two threats dressed up as maxims students tell me they grew up with.  When I think of all the bruised children hunkered in the shadows, I understand why recessions fall hardest on those least able to defend themselves.

But parents aren’t entirely to blame, for many of the churches in South Carolina still preach the proverbial “wisdom” of Solomon: “Withhold not correction from the child, for if you beat him with the rod, he shall not die.”  Or, as another Southern proverb states: “A switch breaks no ribs.”

Unfortunately, that’s where most fundamentalist sermons end. The real message lies a few books beyond Proverbs in the seldom-told story of Rehoboam, Solomon’s abused son, who for 17 years after assuming the crown cruelly oppressed his people. “Spare the rod, save the world” is then the moral of the story.

Given the way Jehovah handled his own children after their “Original Willfulness,” the advice to lay on the rod has long puzzled me. Surely Solomon had read the story of Adam and Eve in which the children (and that is what they were, having just learned to discern right from wrong) are not physically punished. Instead, they are sent into life-long exile, just like Cain in the next generation, but God never raises a hand to them. One strike and you’re out!  And we thought the “three-strike policy” was harsh.  It’s a pity the “time-out chair” had not been conceived of in 4004 BC.

Of course, by Noah’s time, Jehovah was really annoyed because the innocently willful had become flagrant sinners, so He sent a flood to kill all but eight righteous people. Talk about flip-flopping on an issue! Later, in Deuteronomy, Moses warns that the moral failings of the fathers will damn their grandchildren. But, in Ezekiel, God’s prophet proclaims: “The son shall not suffer for the iniquity of the father. . . . ”

The point is that the preeminent moral guide in Western civilization has too long been giving us mixed messages on the subject of corporal punishment, and confusion is the understandable result. Allow me to illustrate: a British-American friend (I’ll call him “David Adams) tells of a required religion class he took in the ninth form.  During a major examination, the aging instructor fell asleep at his desk in front of the all-male class. As soon as the first snore reverberated off the chalk board, books and notes appeared like rabbits from a stovepipe hat. My friend resisted the temptation to cheat, but most of his mates did not.

A few days later, the instructor returned the papers he’d graded with the comment that these were some of the best exams he’d read in years. He was so pleased with the class’s performance that he boasted in the teachers’ lounge of all the A’s he’d given. After inquiring about when and where the class was taught, the football coach said he understood the reason for the stellar performance: he’d passed by that classroom, seen the instructor sleeping, and the boys “reading and writing.”

Infuriated that he’d been taken advantage of after a three-week unit on integrity, the teacher announced that, with the coach’s help, everyone in the class, cheaters and non-cheaters alike, would be whipped six times with a leather belt, and they were. Then they had to shake the hand of the sadist who’d whipped them and thank him for the elevating experience!

Fifty years later, religion is largely a matter of indifference to David, and he’s still bitter over an injustice made worse by his surname. The boys were whipped in alphabetical order. Tommy Young said he hardly felt a thing.

Of course, the proper thing would have been to discard the exam and test the boys again (with a strong cup of tea set at the teacher’s desk). But that would have meant the proctor’s admitting he was partly to blame, and he was not man enough to confess it.

One good tale deserves another to make a very different point.  In 1950, Arun Gandhi, grandson of Mohandas, was living in Durban, South Africa with his parents. One day, Arun’s father, Manilal, told his son, who had just learned to drive, that if he drove him to a meeting and took the car for an oil change, he could go to the movies, which he loved. Glad to have the opportunity to drive, the boy did as told, but as luck would have it, there was a John Wayne double feature playing, and the boy sat through both, oblivious of his waiting father. When the films were over, Arun realized the time, and raced to the pre-arranged pick-up point. “Where were you, son?  I was worried sick,” his father said.

“The oil was slow to drain,” Arun said. “I had to wait for the mechanic to finish.”

“I know that is a lie—I called the shop an hour ago. Your dishonesty tells me I must have done something terribly wrong in raising you, my son.” And with that the father started walking home—18 miles away. For six hours, Arun followed closely, begging his father to join him in the car. Of course, the older man refused, knowing that shame is a more effective long-term corrective than paddling. Later, they laughed about it, and Arun realized that, in the right context, laughter is another powerful alternative to corporal punishment.

One more story, and I’m finished. A Taiwanese exchange student told me that her father used to strike her five times when she brought a 95 home from school, four times if she had a 96, and so forth. “I think it hurt my mother more than it did me,” she said.

“Do you love your father?” I asked.

“No, but I respect him,” she said.

Respect is a step in the right direction, but I, myself, would hope for more. The research has been done; we don’t need a task force. In the end, physical punishment only increases ill will and anti-social behavior.  Respect is not good enough if it’s acquired through the medium of a teacher’s belt or a father’s hand. An 18-mile hike might do many tempted to raise their hand a world of good. . .or we could just count to ten.