Since confession is good for the soul, I have to put up my hand and admit that yes, I too 'got the belt'. I hasten to add that it was entirely undeserved, and I shall protest my innocence till my dying day.
In fact, before I go any further, I feel I really do need to explain what happened on that fateful day. There was an old piano in Matheson Hall, which one or two miscreants were thumping and on which they were bashing out a tune, much to the annoyance of a certain teacher who was in the staffroom at the time.
He obviously had had enough, and flew out of the staffroom in a rage, pointed to the five or six boys who were standing nearest the piano at the time, and summarily carried out the punishment in front of the class. I was in the wrong place at the wrong time, and no amount of pleading carried weight. It was my first, and last, experience of corporal punishment. It was certainly unjust, cruel and undeserved; but it was also unforgettable.
That, of course, was part of the philosophy behind the tawse, cane and belt: that the short, sharp shock treatment would be so etched into one's memory and conscience that the experience would not be forgotten and the misdemeanor would not be repeated.
But in my philosophical and theological reflections, I have often wondered at the identification of the greater sin: my alleged wrongdoing, or the teacher's unjust chastisement. The clause of the Lord's Prayer which grounds the request for forgiveness on us forgiving those who trespass against us took on new meaning after that incident.
And I often reflected on two things. First, I wonder how many teachers used the belt simply for love of the belt? Was it a sadistic thing? A deep repression of some dark fantasy? Or were they just power crazy in a generation which allowed swift retribution without appeal? It has always struck me that however just a punishment may seem, there will forever linger the doubt that justice has been served.
Second, the best teachers I had never used the belt. We probably goaded them often, and provoked them much, but the teachers I respected the most, and from whom I learned the most, never had to resort to such violence. They engendered respect by the presence they commanded, rather than by the power they wielded.
Of course, the cost of the punishment was not merely in the inflicting of physical pain; there was the humiliation of the spectacle before the class, the desperate attempt to recover dignity afterward, and the shame of having to tell one's parents. Nowadays we parents would be back at the school the same day complaining; but not 30 years ago. In many cases a belting in school could be endorsed with another one at home, and in a power conspiracy that allowed no defence on the part of the accused, school and home combined to instill a fear of superiors and higher powers.
So, for all the reasons listed above, and not least because I have become a parent myself, I support the ban on the belt. I don't support totally the moves to ban smacking, because I think that within the security of a family relationship a moderate level of corporal punishment is natural and effective. But I am certainly glad that for school pupils today, the belt is a relic of the past.
That said, however, I also have sympathy with teachers who are increasingly prevented from meeting out suitable discipline to disruptive pupils, and for whom the parental contribution is often not a help. What options does a teacher have in the effective disciplining of their classroom? And if I had a pound for every grandmother who has said to me at the beginning of the term that the teacher would have to teach their darling new infant pupils to sit still, I would be a wealthy minister. Why should teachers pick up the tab for the lack of disciplinary procedures in the home?
The Bible does not say that to spare the rod is to spoil the child. It has healthy and positive things to say about discipline. What love is it that does not correct?
What father worthy of the name will not chastise? As John Owen puts it, commenting on the section of Hebrews 12 in which the writer speaks of the disciplinary processes through which God brings his children: 'every son will more or less stand in need of discipline' and 'every wise and tender father will in such cases discipline his son'. This, says Owen, is a 'duty that inseparably belongs to the relationship between a father and a son'.
It was not without reason that God incorporated into the commandments the requirement that we honour our parents. And nor was it without justification that the Puritans exegeted that requirement in such a way as to make it clear that its application was to extend to all legitimate authority. The fifth commandment sanctions authority, and mandates our respect to all who exercise it, whether it is in home, school or work.
For the early Christians that was a real dilemma. What if they were being punished, not as wrong doers, but simply because they were Christians? Well, says Peter, 'if when you do good and suffer for it you endure, this is a gracious thing in the sight of God. For to this you have been called…'.
Peter's court of appeal in this argument is to the example of Jesus himself. He was not singled out while idly standing by the piano. He took the punishment willingly for those who were thumping the piano. That is the meaning of penal substitution.
My brush with the belt has been under my skin all these years. I have long since forgiven the over-zealous member of staff who carried out the dirty deed. Perhaps, 30 years later, I am ready to move on.
Just don't let me stand too near a piano.

iaind@backfreechurch.co.uk