Archive for the ‘punishment’ Tag
I had hit 70 straight wins, setting an ultimate goal of 100 (only 30 more days to go). Then, darn it, came one of those where you get the last four letters right on the third try with lots of possible first letters to make a word. And, guess what, I tried the wrong first letters on the last three tries until I lost. And that was my teaching moment. Well, it’s what I would have tried to turn into a teaching moment if I were still teaching. I could physically feel the energy draining out into a kind of “why bother” attitude.
It was a demonstration of an approach gradient in action. “Approach gradient?” If I could do anything more than just write words on this blog, I’d draw a picture. Or even find one to copy. But I haven’t been good at extra stuff ever since they made the blog system “easier?” a few years back. So please picture this with me. (Or skip the next paragraph if you don’t like imagining graphs, even simple ones.)
First there’s the horizontal axis, the bottom line, representing the distance from the goal, in this case the number of tries (one per day) starting in the left-hand corner. Straight across, 1-2-3-4-5-etc to 100. And then there’s the vertical axis, heading up from the left-hand corner representing the strength of the desire to reach the goal. You might call it the enthusiasm for getting to 100. Intro Psych tells us the enthusiasm measure will rise as one gets closer to the goal (of 100). In other words, the intensity of the desire to reach the goal increases. OK. So now picture that suddenly at try number 71 the line flops down to zero, necessitating starting all over. Enthusiasm drops to zero, or close to it.
You don’t really need to picture an “approach gradient.” Just see that, having made my way steadily and eagerly toward 100, I was suddenly – thud — back to zero. I failed. It didn’t help much to blame the game creator. I’m the one who didn’t get the right answer. My upward journey was stopped. And I could feel my enthusiasm drop. It really felt like a physical thud. Oh yes, I played Wordle again the next day, but I was in a “don’t-really-care-very-much-if-I-don’t-get-it” mood.” That “thud,” and the “I don’t really care that much,” reminded me of the many people who don’t find energizing success anywhere. Like kids in school whose interests and skills are not identified or encouraged. What a loss! I’m talking about the failure to encourage some among us to appreciate the gifts they can use and give. And then we’re surprised that they just kind of “hang out” their lives, or, worse still, revert to socially undesirable things like drugs, or bullying, or violence of other forms.
And that’s just referring to people who aren’t encouraged. Worse still are the kids who live in atmospheres where punishment and shaming are used in the attempt to drive them to socially acceptable behaviors. Ridiculous, really, when the function of punishment is to stop action, not to encourage it.
I lost on Wordle and was reminded of the approach gradient and its importance in encouraging the living of life. I’ve been fortunate to have abilities appreciated for most of my life, so I find it fun to try again. But that’s not true for too many people. And then we call them lazy. I don’t believe in lazy.
Before you call out the morality police on this one, remember we’re talking about two very little girls.
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While Jennie and Carl were gone, Hallie and Mona had engaged in a new activity. In the privacy of the playhouse they played what they called “show naked.” No sooner had they gone on to something else than the guilt attacked them. They just knew it was wrong.
Guilt hurts. At least it hurt Mona, so badly that she retreated to the privacy of the bathroom where she could moan without anyone noticing. That night she slept tight – I mean, her body was tight. It was as if she were stiffening herself two inches above the mattress. As the sleep-disturbed nights went on, the days were worse and worse. Nothing was fun.
“I think we should tell our mothers,” she pleaded with Hallie.”
“Oh no, I’ll never tell my mother.” Hallie thought of the switch her mother used as punishment.
The worst punishment Mona had ever suffered was when Jennie washed her mouth out with Lux soap for swearing. That really burned, she remembered. But she’d rather have that than the awful pain of guilt.
So, on the day Jennie went to fetch the fur coat and visit the milliner to design the hat, Mona decided she couldn’t stand the pain any more. When her mother got home she gave her time to hang the coat on the light fixture in the upstairs hall where she always put her new things. Then Mona choked her confession through her tightened throat.
“Thank you for telling me,” Jennie said. “Don’t ever do it again.”
All they did was watch each other urinate, she thought. I guess it’s good they felt guilty. They’re not likely to do worse things.
Mona had been feeling so bad that the relief was almost as good as Christmas. She floated across the back yard to tell Hallie.
Hallie never did tell her mother.
The fur on that coat always had a special sweet feel.
Yesterday’s post recognized the built-in nature of vengeance. But I think if we probe further there is something more basic behind it. The need to regain control and order. Think of the expression “get even.” It’s as if we can bring things back into balance.
The animal in the wild who is attacked instinctively fights back to preserve his (or her) self and group. Behind it is survival — getting back to a level of safety. Safety implies familiarity — things returning to where they were.
The problem for us in our civilization is that we can never return things to the way they were. Whatever the offense, whether a terrible rape and murder or a personal insult, it is now a fact of life. That old urge to get even can’t work. There is no way to return to the way things were.
So, the best effort is to gain control. To find a way to bring order out of the chaos the offense created. And that’s where using our heads helps. That’s the basis for a realistic approach to whether and how to forgive — to let go our desire for vengeance and bring order — a new order — back into our lives.
It’s something we do for our own sanity and comfort. Does it mean the crime goes unpunished? Probably not. Punishment applied appropriately, untainted by vengeance, may be one way of reassuring ourselves of safety in the future. But back to the issue of vengeance. The basic fact still is, vengeance breeds vengeance — and so is lost the safety we’re after.
Thoughts?
monagustafsonaffinito 