Richard Reiss writes a powerful and moving piece about how he has to deal with his teenage son’s aggressive and self-destructive behavior. 

At the age of 3 he began to show a temper. At 6 he developed an
attitude. At 10 he struck a classmate. At 14 he was spiraling out of
control. His mother and I grew convinced that our love was not enough
to help him, so we looked into having him taken away to people who
could. We researched it, examined the costs, talked to everyone we
could find. And we’ve put up all of our assets to pay for it: mortgaged
our house, spent his college fund. It’s all gone to this. A financial
hardship, yes, but how could we not?

     The son had stopped going to school; he fought;  he was in constant trouble.

     They send him off to a wilderness camp designed to instill discipline; and, then, they send him straight off to a "therapeutic boarding school."

     It is a parental nightmare.  They must be consumed with guilt, wondering what they did wrong (even if their actions are not necessarily the cause of the child’s troubles).  But it also sounds like they did the right thing.  Mencius would understand.

    I write a lot on this blog about how Confucian ethics require direct, personal involvement in the care of those closest to us.  Confucius, for example, would have supported Terri Schiavo’s parents if they, themselves, were directly involved with her care and did not just let others do it.  It is that sort of personal investment in cultivating our closest relationships that allows us to discover and build our own Humanity.

    So, how could it be right for parents to give their son over to others to raise?  Obviously, the actions that Reiss had to take (and I believe he had to do so), were a last resort.  The brief description of his family life suggests that they had fought and cajoled and struggled with their son’s increasingly unruly behavior for some time.  He was "spiraling out of control," and they needed to take extraordinary measures.  And it was only through such unusual means that they might find a way to bring their son back to health and serenity.

    The link to Mencius here – and the reason I think Mencius would be sympathetic – comes out of this passage:

    Kang-sun Ch’ou said: "Why is it the noble-minded never teach their own children?"
    "The way people are, it’s impossible," replied Mencius.  "A teacher’s task is to perfect the student, and if the student doesn’t improve, the teacher gets angry.  When the teacher gets angry, the student in turn feels hurt: ‘You demand perfection, but you’re nowhere near perfect yourself.’  So father and son would only hurt each other.  And it’s a tragedy when fathers and sons hurt each other." (134)

Child-rearing and education are difficult tasks if done right.  To bring a child to wisdom and knowledge is fraught with moments of pain and anger.  For those of us with children less aggressive than Reiss’s son, it is a constant effort to keep a son or daughter focused on doing the right thing and learning what needs to be learned. Indeed, teaching our own children is central to what it is to be a parent.  But most of us also rely on teachers and others to help in this gigantic task. 

    In a situation like Reiss finds himself, more help may be necessary, however difficult it may be to send a child away for a time.  What would matter most to Mencius is whether the parents are acting out of sincere concern for the proper moral education of the child.  It is obvious that Reiss is motivated by love.  And that would be enough for Mencius to to agree that, in this case, sending the son literally into the wilderness may well accomplish the goal of keeping father and son from hurting one another.