This type of family relationship is repeatedly and vividly described on the pages of fiction. Mr. Dombey in Charles Dickens, the old man Karamazov in F. M. Dostoevsky, Evgraf Shiryaev from A. P. Chekhov’s story «Heavy People», James Brody in Archibald Cronin and a string of other equally despotic fathers, tyrannizing their families for years, could be here excellent illustrations.
However, with the development of a civilized society, those extreme manifestations of family despotism, which nourished the plots and types of many writers, go further and further. Still, it cannot be said that the issue is settled. Dictatorship in a family, where some of its members suppress others’ independence, initiative, self-esteem, and now can manifest itself in forms, perhaps not so sharp, but quite definite.
Nobody argues — parents can and should make demands on their child, based on the goals of education, moral standards, specific situations in which it is necessary to make pedagogically and morally justified decisions. But the maximum exactingness of the elders must be combined with the maximum trust and respect for him — otherwise the exactingness turns into heavy pressure, coercion. Adopted by the theory of upbringing and dating back to A. S. Makarenko, the formula “maximum exactingness — maximum respect and trust” is a convincing alternative to dictate in family relations.
It is significant that the stories of family dictatorships described by the masters of fiction always ended in the collapse of all the hopes and plans of tyrants. A sad end to Mr Dombey’s tyranny. And it’s not just the death of Paul and the departure of Florence. The children were not formed at all the way the callous and cruel father saw them in his dreams. It should be said that psychologically the fiasco of the educational principles of dictate is natural.
Parents who prefer order and violence to all types of influence inevitably encounter resistance from the object of education — a child who responds to pressure, coercion, threats and other cruel measures of influence with their own countermeasures: hypocrisy, deceit, outbursts of gu.e.sti, and sometimes outright hatred . But even if the resistance is broken, the victory is pyrrhic. Along with broken perseverance, many valuable qualities of a person turn out to be broken, trampled: independence, self-esteem, initiative, faith in oneself and one’s capabilities.
The reckless authoritarianism of parents, ignoring the interests and opinions of the child, depriving him of the right to vote in resolving issues that relate to him — all this is a guarantee of a catastrophic failure in the formation of his personality. It is difficult to predict the fate of a young man who is the victim of such an educational system. Maybe a toady, an opportunist, a coward will grow up, maybe a cynic, a boor, a despot. It can happen, and it will get better under the influence of any extra-family influences, and everything will do without serious consequences.
But one thing can be said with complete certainty: no matter what goals of upbringing pursued by parents who adhere to dictate tactics — they cannot consciously plan the upbringing of a scoundrel or a boor — their goals will not be achieved, their son or daughter will turn out to be something that they they did not expect. The positive effect of such upbringing, even if it is the result of the best intentions of the father and mother, is obviously zero.
Here one could put an end to it, but how not to say that dictate in the family is far from always similar to a one-way street. A child can be not only an object, but also a subject of dictatorship.
There are families in which the child is a real little tyrant. In fact, this often happens in families where the child has been ill for a long time and the parents, imbued with pity and compassion, are ready to do everything to compensate for what the illness has deprived him of. Or it may be a long-awaited child, born in a family of middle-aged parents who have lost hope for offspring. As a rule, there is no refusal to such a baby in anything, any of his requirements are unconditionally fulfilled.
I remember such a picture. An old Moscow house, an asphalt courtyard with almost no greenery. The guys are playing a game, now forgotten: «twelve sticks» — a complicated version of hide and seek. From the second floor, a woman’s voice is heard from the window:
— Vovochka, go to dinner!
Silence. Again the same voice:
— Vovochka! We are waiting for you!
Nobody responds. The woman’s voice sounds desperate:
— The soup will get cold, Vovochka. Go home.
A freckled teenager separates from a flock of children and, looking up, shouts:
— I won’t! I do not want! Leave me alone!
“But, Vovik, you had a bad breakfast today!” I’m waiting for you. Go home, please, Vovochka!
Again silence. Vovochka (his street nickname is Japanese) nails the cement seam of the wall and finally makes a decision:
— Get the soup here! I will eat here!
— Well, how is it, Vovochka … It’s inconvenient. Why… Well, okay, I’ll bring you a plate now.
The woman gives up. It wasn’t there. The new order makes her lean out of the window, and the boys come closer:
— Bring the soup to me! On a rope!
The guys froze: what will happen?
“Japanese, are you crazy? Yes, you now … — one of them threw.
A confident reply followed:
— And you look what will happen, and then speak.
The son knew his mother better. Soon a bowl of soup, surprisingly deftly tied with twine, slowly crawled down from the window (just a bowl! I remember well) and settled on the knees of the boy, who squatted on his haunches. Bread and a spoon, wrapped in a large napkin, were lowered in the same way.
He lazily sipped his soup and, to the surprised exclamations of his comrades, let out proudly:
— And she is trained by me … Not like yours! ..
And then one of the guys, Borka, with a cry: “What a bastard you are!” Kicked the plate out of him and went over his face. He ran home with a roar … The guys dispersed, cautiously looking at the windows of the second floor.
A year or two after the dinner we remembered, we, the guys from this yard, went to the front. Many did not return. Borka did not return either (our street is named after the Hero of the Soviet Union, guard senior lieutenant Boris Nikolaevich Dmitrievsky). Vladimir R-sky did not return either. The mother did not much survive her son and husband (the latter died just before the war). Remained on the second floor escheat apartment. The new tenants said that they found a letter in the chest of drawers announcing the death of R-sky: by the verdict of a military tribunal, he was shot for cowardice and desertion…
I am far from thinking of directly linking the tyrannical behavior of my son in relations with relatives and the gravest military crime. But the scoundrel’s personality traits were molded by his family in front of the eyes of those around him over a number of years, and I remember that no one was surprised then, in 1945, that Vladimir R-sky, alone in our entire district, died not a glorious, but a shameful death.
A little despot, accustomed to not meeting resistance to his dictates in the family, outside of it, as a rule, does not have any privileges and must adapt and dodge. This leads to a kind of split personality. It coexists cruelty to some and fawning over others, goo and cowardice, arrogance and humiliation. How easily such a person becomes a hypocrite and a traitor — he pities only himself and loves only himself. It is difficult to say which is worse: despotism from above or despotism from below. Both are worse!