NAUGHTY
The young brain was awake and hungry. It was a vigorous young brain, well-organized; eager, receiving impressions with keen joy and storing them rapidly away in due relation.
Such a wonder world!
Sweetness and light were the first impressions—light which made his eyes laugh; and Sweetness Incarnate—that great soft Presence which was Food and Warmth and Rest and Comfort and something better still; for all of which he had no name as yet except “Ma-ma!”
He was growing, growing fast. He was satisfied with food. He was satisfied with sleep. But his brain was not satisfied. So the brain’s first servant went forth to minister to it; small, soft, uncertain, searching for all knowledge—the little hand.
Something to hold! Ancestral reflexes awoke as the fingers closed upon it. Something to pull! The soft arm flexors tightened with a sense of pleasure. Sensations came flowing to the hungry brain—welcomed eagerly.
Then suddenly, a new sensation—Pain! He drew back his hand as a touched anemone draws in its tentacles, scarce softer than those pink fingers; but he did not know quite where the pain was—much less where it came from, or what it meant.
“More!” said the hungry brain. “More!” and the little hand went out again.
It was sharply spatted. “No, No!” said a strange voice—he had never heard that kind of tone before. “No! No! Naughty! Don’t touch!” He lifted his face unbelievingly. Yes—it was Food and Warmth and Comfort who was doing this to him.
The small moist mouth quivered grievingly—a cry rose in him.
“Here!” said the Presence, and gave him a rattle.
He had had that before. He knew all that it could do. He dropped it.
Over and over again, day after day, the little servant of the brain ran forth to minister, and met sharp pain; while the dim new concept “‘Naughty’—something you want to do and mustn’t”—was registered within.
The child grew and his brain grew faster. He learned new words, an behind the words, in the fresh untouched spaces, the swift brain placed ideas—according to its lights. He had learned that the Presence varied. It was not always Sweetness and Rest and Joy—sometimes it was Discomfort—Hindrance—even Pain. He had learned to look at it with doubt—when about to do something—to see which way it would react upon him.
“Isn’t that baby cute?” said the Presence. “He knows just as well!”
But his brain grew stronger, and his hand grew stronger, and about him was a world of objects, rousing all manner of sensations which he fain would learn.
“I have to watch that child every minute to keep him out of mischief!” said the Presence.
She caught him sharply by the arm and drew him back.
“Don’t touch that again! If you do I’ll whip you!”
He stared at her, large-eyed, revolving the language. Language was so interesting. “Don’t” he knew well, and “touch” and “that” and “again.” “If you do” was harder. He was not at all sure about “if.” And “whip”—that was quite new. He puckered his soft mouth and made a little whispering sound, trying to say it.
“Yes, Whip!” said the Presence. “Now you be good!” He knew “be good,” too. It meant not doing anything. He couldn’t be good very long—any more than the Proverbial Indian.
In the course of his growing he soon learned “Whip.” It was very unpleasant. The busy brain, receiving, sorting, arranging, re-arranging, stored up this fierce experience without delay. “Whipping—Pain and Insult. It happens when you break anything. It is a Consequence.”
The brain was kept very busy re-arranging this Consequence. “It happens when you spill the milk—when you soil your dress—when you tear it (dresses must be sacred!)—when you ‘meddle’—when you run away—when you get wet—when you take sugar—when”—(this was a great discovery), “when Mama is Angry.” He was older now, and found that the Presence varied a good deal. So the brain built up its group of ethical impressions.
And then—one memorable day—this neat arrangement of ethics, true, received a great shock.
There was the sugar—in easy reach—and sugar is All Good to the young body. Remembered pleasure, strong immediate desire, the eye’s guidance, the hand’s impulse—all urged to perform the natural act of eating. Against it,—what? The blurred remembrance of promiscuous pain, only by main force to be associated with that coveted, visible pleasure; and the dawning power of inhibition. To check strong natural desire by no better force than the memory of oral threat, or even of felt pain, is not easy always for adults.
He ate the sugar, fearing yet joyous. No one else was present. No one saw the act, nor learned it later.
He was not whipped.
Then rose the strong young brain to new occasion. It observed, deduced, even experimented, flushed with the pleasure of normal exercise. It established, before he was five years old, these conclusions:
“‘Naughty’ is a thing you’re punished for doing—if you’re not punished it isn’t naughty.
“Punishment is a thing that happens if you’re found out—if you’re not found out you’re not punished.
“Ergo—if you’re not found out you’re not naughty!”
And the child grew up to be a man.