the child on entering school. We have, indeed, already described it. The
moral acquirements of the child at the age of which we speak express
themselves in habits. The normal child, under the influences of parental
example and command, has acquired such habits as that of personal
cleanliness, of temperance in eating, of respect for the truth. Having
learned to use the pronouns I and thou, it also begins to understand the
difference between _meum_ and _tuum_. The property sense begins to be
developed. It claims its own seat at table, its own toys against the
aggression of others. It has gained in an elementary way the notion of
rights.
This is a stock of acquirements by no means inconsiderable. The next
step in the progress of conscience must be taken in the school. Until
now the child has been aware of duties relating only or principally to
persons whom it loves and who love it. The motive of love is now to
become less prominent. A part of that reverence which the child has felt
for the parents whom it loves is now to be transferred to the teacher. A
part of that respect for the rights of equals which has been impressed
upon it in its intercourse with brothers and sisters, to whom it is
bound by the ties of blood, is now to be transferred to its school
companions, who are at first strangers to it. Thus the conscience of the
child will be expanded, thus it will be prepared for intercourse with
the world. Thus it will begin to gain that higher understanding of
morality, according to which authority is to be obeyed simply because it
is rightful, and equals are to be treated as equals, even when they are
not and can not be regarded with affection.
I have in the above used the word habits advisedly. The morality of the
young child assumes the concrete form of habits; abstract principles are
still beyond its grasp. Habits are acquired by imitation and repetition.
Good examples must be so persistently presented and so often copied that
the line of moral conduct may become the line of least resistance. The
example of parents and teachers is indeed specially important in this
respect. But after all it is not sufficient. For the temptations of
adults differ in many ways from those of children, and on the other
hand in the lives of older persons occasions are often wanting for
illustrating just the peculiar virtues of childhood. On this account it
is necessary to set before the child ideal examples of the virtues of
children and of the particular temptations, against which they need to
be warned. Of such examples we find a large stock ready to hand in the
literature of fairy tales, fables, and stories. In our next lecture
therefore we shall begin to consider the use of fairy tales, fables, and
stories as means of creating in children those habits which are
essential to the safe guarding and unfolding of their moral life.
FOOTNOTE:
[7] So important is environment in supporting self-consciousness, that
even adults, when suddenly transported into entirely new surroundings,
often experience a momentary doubt as to their identity.
PRIMARY COURSE.
VI.
THE USE OF FAIRY TALES.
There has been and still is considerable difference of opinion among
educators as to the value of fairy tales. I venture to think that, as in
many other cases, the cause of the quarrel is what logicians call an
_undistributed middle_--in other words, that the parties to the dispute
have each a different kind of fairy tale in mind. This species of
literature can be divided broadly into two classes--one consisting of
tales which ought to be rejected because they are really harmful, and
children ought to be protected from their bad influence, the other of
tales which have a most beautiful and elevating effect, and which we can
not possibly afford to leave unutilized.
The chief pedagogic value they possess is that they exercise and
cultivate the imagination. Now, the imagination is a most powerful
auxiliary in the development of the mind and will. The familiar anecdote
related of Marie Antoinette, who is said to have asked why the people
did not eat cake when she was told that they were in want of bread,
indicates a deficiency of imagination. Brought up amid the splendor of
courts, surrounded by luxury, she could not put herself in the place of
those who lack the very necessaries. Much of the selfishness of the
world is due not to actual hard-heartedness, but to a similar lack of
imaginative power. It is difficult for the happy to realize the needs of
the miserable. Did they realize those needs, they would in many cases be
melted to pity and roused to help. The faculty of putting one's self in
the place of others is therefore of great, though indirect, service to
the cause of morality, and this faculty may be cultivated by means of
fairy tales. As they follow intently the progress of the story, the
young listeners are constantly called upon to place themselves in the
situations in which they have never been, to imagine trials, dangers,
difficulties, such as they have never experienced, to reproduce in
themselves, for instance, such feelings as that of being alone in the
wide world, of being separated from father's and mother's love, of being
hungry and without bread, exposed to enemies without protection, etc.
Thus their sympathy in a variety of forms is aroused.
In the next place, fairy tales stimulate the idealizing tendency. What
were life worth without ideals! How could hope or even religion
germinate in the human heart were we not able to confront the
disappointing present with visions which represent the fulfillment of
our desires. "Faith," says Paul, "is the confidence of things hoped for,
the certainty of things not seen." Thus faith itself can not abide
unless supported by a vivid idealism. It is true, the ideals of
childhood are childish. In the story called Das Marienkind we hear of
the little daughter of a poor wood-cutter who was taken up bodily into
heaven. There she ate sweetmeats and drank cream every day and wore
dresses made of gold, and the angels played with her. Sweetmeats and
cream in plenty and golden dresses and dear little angels to play with
may represent the ideals of a young child, and these are materialistic
enough. But I hold nevertheless that something--nay, much--has been
gained if a child has learned to take the wishes out of its heart, as it
were, and to project them on the screen of fancy. As it grows up to
manhood, the wishes will become more spiritual, and the ideals, too,
will become correspondingly elevated. In speaking of fairy tales I have
in mind chiefly the German _Maerchen_ of which the word fairy tale is but
an inaccurate rendering. The _Maerchen_ are more than mere tales of
helpful fairies. They have, as is well-known, a mythological background.
They still bear distinct traces of ancient animism, and the myths which
center about the phenomena of the storm, the battle of the sun with the
clouds, the struggle of the fair spring god with the dark winter demons,
are in them leading themes. But what originally was the outgrowth of
superstition has now, to a great extent at least, been purified of its
dross and converted into mere poetry. The _Maerchen_ come to us from a
time when the world was young. They represent the childhood of mankind,
and it is for this reason that they never cease to appeal to children.
The _Maerchen_ have a subtile flavor all their own. They are pervaded by
the poetry of forest life, are full of the sense of mystery and awe,
which is apt to overcome one on penetrating deeper and deeper into the
woods, away from human habitations. The _Maerchen_ deal with the
underground life of nature, which weaves in caverns and in the heart of
mountains, where gnomes and dwarfs are at work gathering hidden
treasures. And with this underground life children have a marvelous
sympathy. The _Maerchen_ present glowing pictures of sheltered firesides,
where man finds rest and security from howling winds and nipping cold.
But perhaps their chief attraction is due to their representing the
child as living in brotherly fellowship with nature and all creatures.
Trees, flowers, animals wild and tame, even the stars, are represented
as the comrades of children. That animals are only human beings in
disguise is an axiom in the fairy tales. Animals are humanized--i. e.,
the kinship between animal and human life is still strongly felt, and
this reminds us of those early animistic interpretations of nature,
which subsequently led to doctrines of metempsychosis. Plants, too, are
often represented as incarnations of human spirits. Thus the twelve
lilies are inhabited by the twelve brothers, and in the story of
Snow-white and Rose-red the life of the two maidens appears to be bound
up with the life of the white and red rosebush. The kinship of all life
whatsoever is still realized. This being so, it is not surprising that
men should understand the language of animals, and that these should
interfere to protect the heroes and heroines of the _Maerchen_ from
threatened dangers. In the story of the faithful servant John, the
three ravens flying above the ship reveal the secret of the red horse,
the sulphurous shirt, and the three drops of blood, and John, who
understands their communications, is thereby enabled to save his
master's life. What, again, can be more beautiful than the way in which
the tree and the two white doves co-operate to secure the happiness of
the injured Cinderella! The tree rains down the golden dresses with
which she appears at the ball, and the doves continue to warn the prince
as he rides by that he has chosen the wrong bride until Cinderella
herself passes, when they light on her shoulders, one on her right and
the other on her left, making, perhaps, the loveliest picture to be
found in all fairy lore. The child still lives in unbroken communion
with the whole of nature; the harmony between its own life and the
enveloping life has not yet been disturbed, and it is this harmony of
the human with the natural world that reflects itself in the atmosphere
of the _Maerchen_, and makes them so admirably suited to satisfy the
heart of childhood.
But how shall we handle these _Maerchen_ and what method shall we employ
in putting them to account for our special purpose? I have a few
thoughts on this subject, which I shall venture to submit in the form of
counsels.
My _first counsel_ is: Tell the story; do not give it to the child to
read. There is an obvious practical reason for this. Children are able
to benefit by hearing fairy tales before they can read. But that is not
the only reason. It is the childhood of the race, as we have seen, that
speaks in the fairy story to the child of to-day. It is the voice of an
ancient, far-off past that echoes from the lips of the story-teller. The
words "once upon a time" open up a vague retrospect into the past, and
the child gets its first indistinct notions of history in this way. The
stories embody the tradition of the childhood of mankind. They have on
this account an authority all their own, not indeed that of literal
truth, but one derived from their being types of certain feelings and
longings which belong to childhood as such. The child as it listens to
the _Maerchen_, looks up with wide-opened eyes to the face of the person
who tells the story, and thrills responsive as the touch of the earlier
life of the race thus falls upon its own. Such an effect, of course, can
not be produced by cold type. Tradition is a living thing, and should
use the living voice for its vehicle.
My _second counsel_ is also of a practical nature, and I make bold to
say quite essential to the successful use of the stories. Do not take
the moral plum out of the fairy-tale pudding, but let the child enjoy it
as a whole. Do not make the story taper toward a single point, the moral
point. You will squeeze all the juice out of it if you try. Do not
subordinate the purely fanciful and naturalistic elements of the story,
such as the love of mystery, the passion for roving, the sense of
fellowship with the animal world, in order to fix attention solely on
the moral element. On the contrary, you will gain the best moral effect
by proceeding in exactly the opposite way. Treat the moral element as
an incident; emphasize, it indeed, but incidentally. Pluck it as a
wayside flower. How often does it happen that, having set out on a
journey with a distinct object in mind, something occurs on the way
which we had not foreseen, but which in the end leaves the deepest
impression on the mind. The object which we had in view is long
forgotten, but the incident which happened by the way is remembered for
years after. So the moral result of the _Maerchen_ will not be less sure
because gained incidentally. An illustration will make plain what I
mean. In the story of the Frog King we are told that there was once a
young princess who was so beautiful that even the Sun, which sees a
great many things, had never seen anything so beautiful as she was. A
golden ball was her favorite plaything. One day, as she sat by a well
under an old linden tree, she tossed the ball into the air and it fell
into the well. She was very unhappy, and cried bitterly. Presently a
frog put his ugly head out of the water, and offered to dive for the
ball, on condition, however, that she would promise to take him for her
playmate, to let him eat off her golden plate and drink out of her
golden cup and sleep in her little snow-white bed. The princess promised
everything. But no sooner had the frog brought her the ball than she
scampered away, heedless of his cries. The next day as the royal family
sat at dinner a knock was heard at the door. The princess opened and
beheld the ugly toad claiming admittance. She screamed with fright and
hastily shut the door in his face. But when the king, her father, had
questioned her, he said, "What you have promised, you must keep"; and
she obeyed her father, though it was sorely against her inclination to
do so. That was right, children, was it not? One must always obey, even
if one does not like what one is told to do. So the toad was brought in
and lifted to the table, and he ate off the little golden plate and
drank out of the golden cup. And when he had had enough, he said, "I am
tired now, put me into your little snow-white bed." And again when she
refused her father said: "What you have promised you must keep. Ugly
though he is, he helped you when you were in distress, and you must not
despise him now." And the upshot of the story is that the ugly toad,
having been thrown against the wall, was changed into a beautiful
prince, and of course some time after the prince and the princess were
married.
The naturalistic element of the story is the changing of the prince into
a toad and back again from a toad into a prince. Children are very fond
of disguises. It is one of their greatest pleasures to imagine things to
be other than they are. And one of the chief attractions of such stories
as the one we have related is that they cater to the fondness of the
little folks for this sort of masquerading. The moral elements of the
story are obvious. They should be touched on in such a manner as not to
divert the interest from the main story.
My _third counsel_ is to eliminate from the stories whatever is merely
superstitious, merely a relic of ancient animism, and of course whatever
is objectionable on moral grounds. For instance, such a story as that of
the idle spinner, the purport of which seems to be that there is a
special providence watching over lazy people. Likewise all those stories
which turn upon the success of trickery and cunning. A special question
arising under this head, and one which has been the subject of much
vexed discussion, is in how far we should acquaint children with the
existence of evil in the world, and to what extent we can use stories in
which evil beings and evil motives are introduced. My own view is that
we should speak in the child's hearing only of those lesser forms of
evil, physical or moral, with which it is already acquainted, but
exclude all those forms of evil which lie beyond its present experience.
On this ground I should reject the whole brood of step-mother stories,
or rather, as this might make too wide a swath, I should take the
liberty of altering stories in which the typical bad step-mother occurs,
but which are otherwise valuable. There is no reason why children should
be taught to look on step-mothers in general as evilly disposed persons.
The same applies to stories in which unnatural fathers are mentioned. I
should also rule out such stories as that of The Wolf and The Seven
Little Goats. The mother goat, on leaving the house, warns her little
ones against the wolf, and gives them two signs by which they can
detect him--his hoarse voice and black paws. The wolf knocks and finds
himself discovered. He thereupon swallows chalk to improve his voice and
compels the miller to whiten his paws. Then he knocks again, is
admitted, leaps into the room, and devours the little goats one by one.
The story, as used in the nursery, has a transparent purpose. It is
intended to warn little children who are left at home alone against
admitting strangers. The wolf represents evil beings in general--tramps,
burglars, people who come to kidnap children, etc. Now I, for one,
should not wish to implant this fear of strangers into the minds of the
young. Fear is demoralizing. Children should look with confidence and
trust upon all men. They need not be taught to fear robbers and
burglars. Even the sight of wild animals need not awaken dread. Children
naturally admire the beauty of the tiger's skin, and the lion in their
eyes is a noble creature, of whose ferocity they have no conception. It
is time enough for them later on to familiarize themselves with the fact
that evil of a sinister sort exists within human society and outside of
it. And it will be safe for them to face this fact then only, when they
can couple with it the conviction that the forces of right and order in
the world are strong enough to grapple with the sinister powers and hold
them in subjection.
And now let us review a number of the _Maerchen_ against which none of
these objections lie, which are delicious food for children's minds, and
consider the place they occupy in a scheme of moral training. It has
been already stated that each period of human life has a set of duties
peculiar to itself. The principal duties of childhood are: Obedience to
parents, love and kindness toward brothers and sisters, a proper regard
for the feelings of servants, and kindness toward animals. We can
classify the fairy tales which we can use under these various heads. Let
us begin with the topic last mentioned.
_Tales illustrating Kindness toward Animals._
The House in the Woods.--The daughter of a poor wood-cutter is lost in
the woods, and comes at night to a lonely house. An old man is sitting
within. Three animals--a cow, a cock, and a chicken--lie on the hearth.
The child is made welcome, and is asked to prepare supper. She cooks for
the old man and herself, but forgets the animals. The second daughter
likewise goes astray in the woods, comes to the same house, and acts in
the same way. The third daughter, a sweet, loving child, before sitting
down to her own meal, brings in hay for the cow and barley for the cock
and chicken, and by this act of kindness to animals breaks the spell
which had been cast upon the house. The old man is immediately
transformed into a prince, etc.
The Story of the Dog Sultan.--Sultan is old, and about to be shot by his
master. The wolf, seeing his cousin the dog in such distress, promises
to help him. He arranges that on the morrow he will seize a sheep
belonging to Sultan's master. The dog is to run after him, and he, the
wolf, will drop the sheep and Sultan shall get the credit of the rescue.
Everything passes off as prearranged, and Sultan's life is spared by his
grateful owner. Some time after the wolf comes prowling around the
house, and, reminding his friend that one good turn deserves another,
declares that he has now come for mutton in good earnest. But the dog
replies that nothing can tempt him to betray the interests of his
master. The wolf persists, but Sultan gives the alarm and the thief
receives his due in the shape of a sound beating.
The point of special interest in the beautiful story of Snow-white and
Rose-red above referred to is the incident of the bear. One cold
winter's night some one knocks at the door. Snow-white and Rose-red go
to open, when a huge black bear appears at the entrance and begs for
shelter. He is almost frozen with the cold, he says, and would like to
warm himself a bit. The two little girls are at first frightened, but,
encouraged by their mother, they take heart and invite the bear into the
kitchen. Soon a cordial friendship springs up between Bruin and the
children. They brush the snow from his fur, tease, and caress him by
turns. After this the bear returns every night, and finally turns out to
be a beautiful prince.
The Story of the Queen Bee tells about three brothers who wander through
the world in search of adventures. One day they come to an ant-hill.
The two older brothers are about to trample upon the ants "just for the
fun of it." But the youngest pleads with them, saying: "Let them live;
their life is as dear to them as ours is to us." Next they come to a
pond in which many ducks are swimming about. The two older brothers are
determined to shoot the ducks "just for the fun of it." The youngest
again pleads as before, "Let them live," etc. Finally, he saves a
bee-hive from destruction in the same manner. Thus they journey on until
they come to an enchanted castle. To break the spell, it is necessary to
find and gather up a thousand pearls which had fallen on the
moss-covered ground in a certain wood. Five thousand ants come to help
the youngest to find the pearls. The second task imposed is to find a
golden key which had been thrown into a pond near the castle. The
grateful ducks bring up the key from the bottom. The third task is the
most difficult. In one of the interior chambers of the castle there are
three marble images--three princesses, namely, who had been turned into
stone. Before the spell took effect they had partaken, respectively, of
sugar, sirup, and honey. To restore them to life it is necessary to
discover which one had eaten the honey. The Queen Bee comes in with all
her swarm and lights on the lips of the youngest and so solves the
problem. The enchantment is immediately dissolved. All these stories
illustrate kindness to animals.
Among stories which illustrate the _respect due to the feelings of
servants_ may be mentioned the tale of Faithful John, who understood the
language of the ravens and saved his master from the dangers of the red
horse, etc., a story which in addition impresses the lesson that we
should confide in persons who have been found trustworthy, even if we do
not understand their motives. In the popular tale of Cinderella the
points especially to be noted are: The pious devotion of Cinderella to
her mother's memory, and the fact that the poor kitchen drudge,
underneath the grime and ashes which disfigure her, possesses qualities
which raise her far above the proud daughters of the house. The lesson
taught by this story that we should distinguish intrinsic worth from the
accidents of rank and condition, is one which can not be impressed too
early or too deeply.
Under the heading of _brotherly and sisterly love_ belongs the lovely
tale of Snow-white. The little dwarfs are to all intents and purposes
her brothers. They receive and treat her as a sister, and she returns
their affection in kind.
The story of the Twelve Brothers, whom their sister redeems by seven
years of silence at the peril of her own life, is another instance of
tenderest sisterly devotion combined with self-control. This story,
however, needs to be slightly altered. In place of the cruel father (we
must not mention cruel fathers) who has got ready twelve coffins for his
sons, in order that all the wealth of his kingdom may descend to his
daughter, let us substitute the steward of the palace, who hopes by
slaying the sons and winning the hand of the daughter, to become king
himself.