The Myth of the Spoiled Child

by Alfie Kohn

  Children and adults in less-powerful groups are sometimes actively discouraged from asking why (let alone saying no), regardless of how legitimate such a response may be. The consequences of being perceived as a troublemaker may be more dire for those already at a disadvantage by virtue of their race or social status. They are therefore urged to keep their heads down and hope to join the ranks of the privileged rather than impertinently questioning the moral justification of a system of privilege. (Of course, discouraging children’s dissent makes it more likely that an unfair system will continue.)

  At the same time, though, it sometimes seems that affluent, successful, college-bound students are particularly careful to avoid doing anything that might alienate those in a position of authority. The question “‘Why do we have to learn this?’ . . . came largely from students in the lower tracks,” a math teacher reported. “Those who were succeeding in school, the ‘best students,’ didn’t seem to be as concerned with ‘Why?’” Or if they did doubt the value of what they were being told to do, they weren’t about to say so. As one graduate explained to a journalist, “We didn’t get [to college] by rocking the boat.”7

  So who is left to rock it if no one will play that role? Who will take his cue from Bartleby in Melville’s short story, the character who created an uproar when “in a singularly mild, firm voice, [he] replied, ‘I would prefer not to’”? After three conservative members of a church in Fulton, Missouri, criticized the fact that the local high school had staged Grease—despite the fact that the script had been carefully edited by the drama teacher to omit possibly offensive content—the superintendent, without any public discussion, canceled the next play that was scheduled to be performed. It was, if you can bear the irony, Arthur Miller’s The Crucible, which concerns the terrible consequences of religious zealotry and conformity. Neither the drama teacher nor the students, who had already begun preparing for their auditions, could figure out what was supposed to be objectionable about the play. But one student said, “It’s over. We can’t do anything about it. We just have to obey.”8

  The novelist and critic Mark Slouka shakes his head at this sort of passivity, and particularly at the widespread tendency to confuse it with maturity. “What we require most in America today are bad soldiers: stubborn, independent-minded men and women, reluctant to give orders and loath to receive them, loyal not to authority, nor to any specific company or team, but to the ideals of open debate, equality, honesty, and fairness.”9

  Such men and women start life as boys and girls in whom we nourish the characteristics of persistent questioners and reflective rebels.

  As a rule, researchers in developmental psychology and, for that matter, parenting advisers, tend to mirror the norms of the culture in which they work. Few spend much time examining the goals and assumptions that underlie their studies (or, in the case of advisers, their advice). The question of what constitutes healthy development or a desirable outcome—and what makes it so—is likely to be passed over quickly or ignored altogether. What’s healthy may simply be equated with what’s normal. If a certain style of parenting is associated with socially acceptable behavior on the child’s part—“appropriate” deference to the parent and fidelity to what’s considered proper conduct—then this is judged to be a successful intervention. By declining to ask whether the society’s norms are defensible, whether a parent’s actions (that may have elicited a child’s “misbehavior”) were reasonable, it’s possible to avoid what a professor of mine, a psychiatrist, once dismissed as “the whole value muddle.”

  But there are exceptions. Rather than just defining it as a positive outcome, a few researchers have asked whether compliance is always and necessarily a good thing. And those who have asked that question have discovered that the answer is often no. I summarized some of their results in a previous book: explorations of “compulsive compliance” and studies that found resistance to parental authority is often associated with a healthier sense of psychological autonomy.10 More recent research has confirmed this, showing that “high-defiant toddlers . . . are likely to develop better on average than their low-defiant peers.”11

  Of course much depends on the extent and type of the defiance—or compliance. Moreover, we’d need to consider the context: What sort of demand, request, or situation prompted the child’s response? (As usual, behaviors are too often thought to reflect only the individual’s personality rather than the interaction between the individual and a particular environment.) What’s undeniable, though, is that it’s possible for children to be too well behaved. And that’s true in terms of psychological outcomes, whether or not our basic values make us uneasy about people who shrug their shoulders and say, like that frustrated young actor in Missouri, “We just have to obey.”

  Shrugging wasn’t an option for Katelyn Campbell, who was outraged by an assembly to promote sexual abstinence in her public high school. The speaker, sponsored by a religious group, told students that condoms were unsafe, urged them to “embrace God’s plan for sexual purity,” and reduced some students to tears with statements such as “If you are on birth control, your mother probably hates you.” Katelyn didn’t just complain to a friend; she spoke out to the local newspaper and enlisted the help of the American Civil Liberties Union. As a result, she reports, the principal threatened to inform Wellesley College, which had just awarded her a scholarship, that she was a troublemaker. Graduation plans at the high school were changed so that Katelyn and several other seniors were no longer permitted to speak. And she was shunned and spit on by other students.12

  The notion that children should be “critics of other people’s ideas, analyzers of evidence, and makers of their own personal marks on this most complex world” is, according to educator Deborah Meier, “an idea with revolutionary implications. If we take it seriously.” Meier, for one, did take it seriously, not only as a theorist but also as the founder of several remarkable schools. A junior high school principal in the same neighborhood as one of Meier’s schools remarked, “You can always tell the kids” who attended it. “They don’t accept anything you tell them at face value. They’re always asking, ‘Why?’”13

  As Katelyn discovered—or may have known already—not everyone welcomes this proclivity. Aside from those who aren’t happy about having their authority questioned, bystanders who didn’t speak out sometimes resent someone who did.14 In the long run, however, the consequences are bleak for all of us, and for our democracy, when people remain silent. A society in which no one is willing to risk being called a troublemaker is a place where power is certain to be abused.

  A RECIPE FOR REFLECTIVE REBELLIOUSNESS

  No parent wants his or her child to be spit on or threatened, but every parent should—and I think many parents would—be proud to raise a child who’s willing to take a risk to do what’s right. Sometimes, though, we may need a reality check, an invitation to reconsider our priorities. Not long ago I came across a blog post in which a father (and executive) described what a friend of his had to say over lunch about her two teenage children. This woman’s fifteen-year-old son regularly resisted doing his homework, she complained, despite the fact that he was taking medication for ADHD and seeing a “coach for his executive functioning issues.” By contrast, her thirteen-year-old daughter “does exactly what she is supposed to do and gets all A’s and B’s.” At this point, the writer had an interesting response. He asked which of her children was likely to “do great things” in life. She unhesitatingly replied, “My son, for sure. . . . He’s very motivated to work on whatever he finds interesting, he’s highly creative, and he has many interests. My daughter just focuses on what she’s supposed to do at the moment.” In that case, the writer wondered, why was she “spending all of her time, resources, and emotional energy trying to fix her son rather than trying to inspire her daughter?”15

  His question was probably rhetorical, but if we treat it as real—and consider its relevance more generally—we’d have to acknowledge that almost
all of us are subject to powerful social pressures to make our children conform, play it safe, and get ahead (or at least avoid falling behind). It takes courage on our part to encourage our children to be courageous. Perhaps the kid who objects to spending his after-school hours filling out more worksheets and slogging through textbooks will grow up to do great things, but if he doesn’t do what he’s told right now we may worry about his grades or the possibility of receiving stern missives from the school. Some of us may even find noncompliance irksome in its own right. (“You’re the child; you don’t get to decide.”) When we pause to take the long view, yes, this kid may be more impressive than his sibling who passively follows directions, but on a given Thursday evening, it’s the sibling who makes our lives easier.

  I think our challenge as parents is to rise above that preference for the child of least resistance and to think beyond short-term success as a criterion—particularly if success is defined by conventional and insipid standards. Don’t we want our kids to be inspiring rather than spend their lives just collecting tokens (grades, money, approval)? Don’t we want them to think in the plural rather than focusing only on what will benefit them personally? Don’t we want them to appraise traditions with fresh eyes and raise questions about what seems silly or self-defeating or oppressive, rather than doing what has always been done just because it’s always been done?

  There are three fundamental components of this more ambitious agenda. The first is to support kids’ inclination to care and develop a “prosocial” orientation. The second is to support their self-confidence and assertiveness. And the third is to help them embrace the value of skepticism and nonconformity.

  Psychologists use the word prosocial to refer to actions intended to benefit someone else as well as a general concern about the welfare of others: an inclination to see the world from perspectives other than one’s own, to feel the emotions of other people along with them, and to care about others and help those who need it. These varied elements involve the head as well as the heart, reflecting a commitment to moral principles as well as a connection to real human beings (including people to whom we’re not related and whom we may not even know). Elsewhere, I’ve drawn from a large published literature to describe various strategies, programs, and resources for how one can raise a prosocial child.16

  It is possible, however, to have sympathy or empathy to spare yet not to act on what one feels. In some situations it can require a fair measure of self-confidence to come to someone’s aid. To be sure, it’s also possible to be assertive (and to demonstrate grit) only in the service of one’s own needs. We meet people every day who are bold and persistent but entirely motivated by self-interest. My point here, though, is that concern about other people doesn’t always translate into action unless there’s some gumption mixed in with the care. The good news is that both characteristics can result from the same approach to child rearing, one characterized by a warm, empathic style that facilitates secure attachment. This tends to promote self-confidence and autonomy as well as a concern about others.17

  But even individuals who are both confident and caring may be unwilling to swim against the tide. The last component is a proclivity for asking “Why?” and, when necessary, saying “No.” Because more has been written about promoting assertiveness and care, it’s this third factor on which I’d like to focus.

  THE GRASS MOMENT

  Here’s another hypothetical school scenario. A principal announces that, because of a recent outbreak of graffiti in the bathrooms (involving spray-painted assertions regarding certain features of the principal’s own anatomy), no student will be permitted to use the bathroom unless accompanied by a teacher. What interests me is figuring out how we can raise children whose first and last response to this directive isn’t likely to be “Well, like it or not, that’s the rule now, so there’s nothing we can do.”

  The alternative involves two discrete steps. First, the student must question the inevitability and desirability of the decree, at least within his or her own mind: Was that a reasonable thing for the principal to do? Is the point really to “protect student safety”? How else might he have dealt with the graffiti problem? What are the implications of requiring students to be escorted to the bathroom? Any of these questions may lead the student to decide the new policy is unacceptable—even if other people appear to be accepting it (or at least not doing anything about it). That decision can prompt, or be prompted by, the recognition that certain things aren’t just “a part of life”; they can and should be called into question. I call this the Grass Moment, based on a Far Side cartoon in which several cows in a pasture are grazing contentedly until one of them suddenly lifts its head and says, “Hey, wait a minute! This is grass! We’ve been eating grass!”

  The second step is for the student—ideally after conversations with others—to consider what sort of action to take. What can we do besides grumble? Well, we could find a sympathetic teacher, organize a larger group of kids, or rally the parents. We could start a petition, meet with the principal, complain to the school board, or write a letter to the newspaper. We could amend the existing graffiti (“and he doesn’t just have one; he is one”), arrange a pee-in at the principal’s office, or show up outside his house at night with loud music and a megaphone (“No privacy for us, no peace for you”). The possibilities are limited only by one’s imagination. And, well, by the law.

  We may approve of some of these responses more than others, but all of them, as well as the process of choosing among them, reflect a disposition for skepticism and critical thinking, a disinclination to take things at face value, a tendency to ask why things are the way they are. Self-assertion may be necessary to organize resistance, but clearly it isn’t sufficient. Again, not all assertiveness is about standing up for a principle (or against a principal), nor is it necessarily even rebellious.

  Now consider a second case: A group of friends decides to pull a cruel prank, perhaps involving online harassment, on someone in their class who doesn’t quite fit in. What does it take, beyond simple courage or compassion, for one member of that group to say, “I’m sorry, guys, but that’s just a rotten thing to do, and I don’t want any part of it”? Notice that the same kind of responses are required as in the first case: seeing the idea as something that can be challenged, and then speaking out and perhaps taking some other kind of action to stop it. Notice, too, that the same personality characteristics may be required here as in that first example. The difference is that just about all of us grown-ups admire the kid who stands up to a bullying peer group, whereas we get nervous when he or she rebels against a school administrator (let alone against us).

  If we’re willing to get over that nervousness, our task is not just to teach a set of skills but to cultivate a disposition.18 That disposition—particularly the inclination to be bold rather than reticent—is obviously influenced by one’s inborn temperament. But parenting plays a role, too. In a study conducted during the 1960s, researchers asked more than a thousand undergraduates about their childhoods. It turned out that those who were involved in social service activities (community volunteer work) and political activism (protesting in behalf of a cause) were less likely to have been raised in homes characterized by a traditional, punitive approach to discipline. Their parents, more than those of other students, seemed generally respectful of them and had expected them to be responsible and mature.19

  Nonpunitive guidance and a trusting relationship with one’s children—relying on love and reason more than on power—define what I’ve called a “working with” approach to parenting. That approach is also associated with a focus on ambitious long-term goals, such as wanting kids to grow up as happy, ethical, compassionate, creative, independent thinkers. (All of this can be contrasted with more controlling methods as well as with a predominant focus on compliance.) The idea is to support children’s autonomy in a way that complements their concern about others. Autonomy support, remember, is not the same as pressure to becom
e more independent.20 The point is to “work with,” not to say, “Figure it out by yourself.” It’s an active and interactive process in which we provide guidance, assist kids in becoming more skilled and confident at deciding, and let them know we’re there to help when they need it (not when we need them to need us).

  This support helps to create a sense of safety for children. They’re more willing to venture out, take a stand, accept that they’ll sometimes make mistakes, and question authority. We have to make it clear that we really do welcome offbeat responses and won’t become defensive when they challenge what we’ve said. In fact, we may want to help them figure out how to frame their arguments against us as convincingly as possible, even when we don’t agree with their position. Our goal isn’t to win a debate but to encourage them to think for themselves and teach them to become more skilled at doing so.21

  The bottom line is that kids learn to make good decisions by making decisions, not by following directions. If we want them to take responsibility for making the world a better place, then we need to give them responsibilities. That means dialing back our control, whether of the flagrant or subtle variety. (An example of the latter is praise for pleasing us, which tends to promote insecurity and dependence on authority. The more we praise, the more they need to hear it.) This approach to parenting shows them on a daily basis how cooperation and respect can inform the way we deal with others. And if they see us questioning authority and taking a stand for a principle—in our work lives and as citizens—that, too, sets a powerful example.

  TALKING IT OUT

  To this point I’ve been describing a general approach to parenting that might be expected to promote reflective rebelliousness. I’d like to conclude with a few words about how we can talk with our children directly about this way of living one’s life.