What is a Child? by George Bernard Shaw

An experiment. A fresh attempt to produce the just man made perfect:
that is, to make humanity divine. And you will vitiate the experiment
if you make the slightest attempt to abort it into some fancy figure
of your own: for example, your notion of a good man or a womanly
woman. If you treat it as a little wild beast to be tamed, or as a
pet to be played with, or even as a means to save you trouble and to
make money for you (and these are our commonest ways), it may fight
its way through in spite of you and save its soul alive; for all its
instincts will resist you, and possibly be strengthened in the
resistance; but if you begin with its own holiest aspirations, and
suborn them for your own purposes, then there is hardly any limit to
the mischief you may do. Swear at a child, throw your boots at it,
send it flying from the room with a cuff or a kick; and the experience
will be as instructive to the child as a difficulty with a
short-tempered dog or a bull. Francis Place tells us that his father
always struck his children when he found one within his reach. The
effect on the young Places seems to have been simply to make them keep
out of their father's way, which was no doubt what he desired, as far
as he desired anything at all. Francis records the habit without
bitterness, having reason to thank his stars that his father respected
the inside of his head whilst cuffing the outside of it; and this made
it easy for Francis to do yeoman's service to his country as that rare
and admirable thing, a Freethinker: the only sort of thinker, I may
remark, whose thoughts, and consequently whose religious convictions,
command any respect.

Now Mr Place, senior, would be described by many as a bad father; and
I do not contend that he was a conspicuously good one. But as
compared with the conventional good father who deliberately imposes
himself on his son as a god; who takes advantage of childish credulity
and parent worship to persuade his son that what he approves of is
right and what he disapproves of is wrong; who imposes a corresponding
conduct on the child by a system of prohibitions and penalties,
rewards and eulogies, for which he claims divine sanction: compared
to this sort of abortionist and monster maker, I say, Place appears
almost as a Providence. Not that it is possible to live with children
any more than with grown-up people without imposing rules of conduct
on them. There is a point at which every person with human nerves has
to say to a child "Stop that noise." But suppose the child asks why!
There are various answers in use. The simplest: "Because it
irritates me," may fail; for it may strike the child as being rather
amusing to irritate you; also the child, having comparatively no
nerves, may be unable to conceive your meaning vividly enough. In any
case it may want to make a noise more than to spare your feelings.
You may therefore have to explain that the effect of the irritation
will be that you will do something unpleasant if the noise continues.
The something unpleasant may be only a look of suffering to rouse the
child's affectionate sympathy (if it has any), or it may run to
forcible expulsion from the room with plenty of unnecessary violence;
but the principle is the same: there are no false pretences involved:
the child learns in a straightforward way that it does not pay to be
inconsiderate. Also, perhaps, that Mamma, who made the child learn
the Sermon on the Mount, is not really a Christian.