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.