The child is a book from which we read, and in which we should write.
Once upon a time a magician wandered about in these woods creating no
little excitement among the peasants. He carried a book containing
blank pages, which upon being held to his lips were immediately covered
with legible script, as though his breath had been a pen. I then
discovered that the words had previously been written with a colourless
liquid which left no trace and became visible only when he had breathed
upon it.
Children are like this book. Indifferent eyes discern nothing worthy of
notice in them, and not until they are touched by the warm breath of
love do the traits appear which frequently surprise, delight, or alarm
us. And it rests largely with us which traits shall be called forth.
That is to say, the personal peculiarities must be taken into account.
In children this individuality is perhaps not great, but it nevertheless
exists. Up to a certain point we enjoy the pliant natures which appeal
to our own, but when the real character once discloses itself, we must
give it due regard. It may be absurd, yet I must say that I have a
certain dislike for many of the educational institutions which now exist
in the world outside, where all the pupils are cast in the same mould
and then polished off, in the end producing but ordinary men. These, to
be sure, constitute the best building material for society and the
state, even as houses are most conveniently constructed with bricks.
But characters, sturdy types which develop under unusual circumstances,
sometimes seem to me preferable. A grindstone does not suit all knives;
many scholars learn more in life than in school.
We should first test that which we intend to employ with the child, the
physical care, games, moral and mental instruction, in order to be sure
that they harmonise with his nature and with the conditions and demands
of his future life. Cherish childhood tenderly; it is quite different
from our riper age; thoughtlessly forgetting our own childish happiness,
we regard as unreasonable and foolish much of that which is in reality
of great benefit to the little ones, and which they lose all too soon,
never to find again.
I do not share the opinion of that philosopher who maintains that
parents should allow themselves to be brought up by their children,
although I acknowledge that we might learn much from them that is to be
found in no book of worldly wisdom. Children seem to be born for a
heaven, their young minds being constituted solely for happiness. We
have to educate them for this earth, to which they must now adapt
themselves, but not prematurely. Let the little hearts strengthen
themselves with childish pleasure, warm themselves with faith in God and
the world, for they may need this warmth and strength when, in later
years, many things turn cold and fall in ruins about them. Their faith
in God will change and become more spiritual, but if you--oh, teacher of
a new school--do not instil this faith into the growing mind, then in
the matured intellect there will be no room for belief in the divine,
the ideal. Whoever has once prayed with all his heart before the cross,
will never forget the image of love and self-sacrifice. Whoever has
once been thrilled by the sweet worship of the Mother of God, whoever
has been awed by the resurrection of the dead and the eternal glory of
heaven, he, I think, must be armed for all time against the demon of
unbelief and have unshaken faith in the final victory of the good and
beautiful.
Each fortunate man upon whom nature has bestowed in his children the
prospect of an earthly future, will wish that they may be as happy as he
himself now is, or happier.
Human content and discontent depend greatly upon our view of the world.
As the world enters our souls through our minds, such it is to us. It
is not a question of truth for truth's sake, but of happiness, or rather
of contentment. Only those pursue the truth for itself who either find
or fancy they find in the search or in its results _contentment_.
We cannot greatly alter our own view of the world; our eyes are
accustomed to their spectacles, be they dark or rosy. But the child who
calls us father, although he does not yet know why we are responsible to
him, with clear eyes gazes questioningly into the bright world and
questioningly looks at us. Which glasses shall we give him--rosy, dark,
magnifying, or diminishing?
Children wear no spectacles! In regard to this, the schoolmaster from
Holdenschlag recently said to me that one should allow children to gaze
upon the world with their natural eyes.
Here again I think differently. The gypsy boy on the heath looks at the
world with his natural eye. Is he hungry, he takes what lies nearest
him; he knows nothing of mine or thine. Our children must have
instruction and education, the former to show them what the world is
according to our experience, the latter to teach them how to bear
themselves towards it and how far they are to yield to its influence.
The objection might be urged that the nature of the world itself
determines one's conception of it, and a thing cannot be taken for other
than it is. I answer: The contemplation of an object depends entirely
upon the observer's point of view. It is not to be expected of man
that, forgetting self, he should rise above himself and the world at
large, for the eye with which he sees and the brain with which he thinks
is far too human.
Our point of view is optional; the colour through which we look at the
world is for the most part also optional; but the choice must be made
sufficiently early. Children, as soon as they are conscious of their
existence and their surroundings, consider their parents and teachers
faultless beings; as a matter of course everything is good and perfect
to them. They joyously gravitate towards all things as the flowers of
the field turn towards the sun. Their first look into the world is full
of trust.
Thinking over the numerous books of the modern school, which I
occasionally receive from the owner of the forest, I often ask myself:
What conception of the world should we teach children?
Should we say to them: The plan of the world is by no means good;
mankind is imperfect, miserable; existence is aimless; life is a
misfortune?
Should we show them the bad and good sides, and soberly explain
everything to them, just as it seems to us?
Or should we acquiesce in their belief and strengthen them in their
view, that everything is desirable and for the best?
A teacher who had neither sense nor heart would do the first; one who
had sense alone, the second; one who had both sense and heart, the
third.
The youngsters in ragged clothing, who run about under our feet in the
streets, carrying their bags of books to school, are often a very saucy
brood. They banter, chaff, sneer, and think themselves far wiser than
their elders. We meet with this principally in cities. In their homes
they are accustomed to bitter words. Many methods of education aim to
transform the little ones rapidly into cool-headed, sensible men. The
children must know and think, only this; all warm feeling is stifled,
and then one wonders why there is so little ability and creative power!
When such a youth has sated himself with the works of art and nature,
which have become for him merely toys and objects of derision, he grows
disheartened, fretful, and young men and maidens of twenty are weary of
the world. They have soon convinced themselves that their own abilities
and ambitions are no higher than those which they have so often
scorned--nor scarcely so high; they become impotent and lose faith in
themselves; and now they are fully convinced of that which they have so
often heard, and in their inexperience have so often maintained: The
world is thoroughly bad--and they are _unhappy_. This element of
pessimism, to which they have accustomed themselves, so disturbs their
power of action that they have not even sufficient courage to take that
step which seems to them the most desirable: suicide.
The second method is not inexpedient, indeed for progress in life it is
often really necessary. We might show the children the world as it
appears to us; relate to them our own experiences, that they may profit
by them. Still this way, although perhaps necessary, is not the best;
it too soon disturbs the ideals of youth which warm the child-heart like
a breath of God and can never be replaced in later years. Therefore we
must not initiate children into the hardships of life prematurely. Then
again, this method is not always as useful as one would think; indeed,
every day we see children who give no heed to the precepts which are the
results of their parents' experiences and who pay for their carelessness
and learn wisdom only by their own failures. Even were they able to
profit by the trials of their parents, how shall they instruct _their_
children, if not forced to undergo any experiences of their own? Such
things cannot be handed down; only where they originate and grow, do
they bear fruit.
My opinion is, that we should guard the fresh rosebud called
"child-heart" as long as we are able. Let us interfere as late as
possible with the intellectual life and vocation of the child. For
indeed, even three-year-old children have often already chosen their
life work. They hunt up and make toys for themselves, they hammer, they
dig, they draw, plane, and build and are as much in earnest as we elders
in our efforts. It is a great disadvantage to the children of the rich
to receive their playthings ready made, the result of which is, that
they simply destroy them; and this often happens even in the case of
well-disposed children. How can the little ones become inventive and
ingenious, how can they practise the art of acquiring and saving, of
patience and perseverance, when everything which their hearts desire and
which they often do not really desire, comes to them as if by the aid of
a wishing-rod? It may partly account for the fact--and this is within
my own knowledge--that children of the poor, who from their earliest
youth must seek and make everything that they wish to have, are often
intellectually superior to the children of the rich. But we should
encourage and guide the little ones in their occupations and small
creations.
It is wiser to check speech than action in children. And if they have
done something wrong, or produced something faulty, then give them the
opportunity to do it again and better.
Many parents and teachers have the custom of speaking disparagingly and
critically of their children before strangers; that is almost more
dangerous than pushing them forward and praising them in the presence of
others. An embittered disposition is apt to follow wounded ambition.
Instead of analysing the excellences and defects in the works and
standards of mankind, I consider it better to recognise their worth
unconditionally, that the children may learn to honour and admire them.
Critical knowledge of one's ideal has never been sufficient to inspire a
man to strive to imitate it, although it may have caused respect and
enthusiasm. The critical, fault-finding element means only too often
repudiation--it is the chief characteristic of incapable natures and
never imparts strength, but rather impedes the creative power. Whatever
works upon the reason, chills; that which works upon the heart, warms;
especially with children.
Children should hear only of the beautiful, the good, and the great.
Our own ideals, the bright visions of our youth and our guiding star,
even though they be now extinct, let us rekindle them in the children's
hearts; or if Nature has herself performed this work, then let us feed
and fan the flame; at such a fire we shall warm ourselves again. Human
history is exceedingly rich in great deeds--I do not mean the campaigns
and destruction wrought by victorious generals, nor the intrigues of
land-greedy princes, with which one ordinarily seeks to _improve_ our
youth--I mean the blessed, beautiful deeds of noble men. Let us
surround the child with these, and with them we shall plant in him a
garden full of roses and glorious fruits!
And when the high and noble things in the earthly kingdom are exhausted,
then let us with confidence open the gates to those eternal regions
whence mankind for a thousand years has drawn courage and inspiration.
The true man of culture, familiar with all the successes and failures of
the human intellect, the man acquainted with the world, who knows that
tolerance is a chief characteristic of noble minds, will not hesitate to
portray to the child the great ideals of poetic souls.
But there are certain people in the world outside against whom I would
make the charge that they are as lenient toward the weaknesses and sins
of mankind as they are intolerant of religious opinions. These people
are adherents to a doctrine asserting the animal supremacy in man, and
make freedom of will and action wholly dependent on natural or
accidental outward circumstances--modern fatalists, who are still more
dangerous than those of the romantic school. They believe that they are
satisfying their love for mankind, if they excuse the criminals and
fallen ones according to prescribed precepts, thus justifying the crime
to their children. That means making the criminal interesting to the
children. However, we should instil into their minds neither hatred nor
pharisaical pride, although the mistakes and crimes themselves cannot be
too severely censured before the little ones. Even as nobility should
be represented to them as worthy of their entire respect, so should evil
be unconditionally condemned. One only confuses children with such
subtle reasoning and philosophical explanations--everything must be
distinct, clear, and tangible.
One more word in regard to the love of fatherland.
Child and home--how natural! We well know that the little ones long to
go forth into the world, but still stronger is their desire to return
home. So we might add, teach them love of home. A hearth of one's own,
a family; here man is guarded from the greatest evils; here industry,
self-sacrifice, self-confidence, and contentment are developed; here
love for the parish and fidelity to the fatherland thrive. The attitude
which many people in the outside world are now assuming toward the
fatherland is said to be becoming somewhat revolutionary. This must be
followed by results which I do not like to mention to the children here!
I am consequently obliged to counteract these reports by telling them
that it is difficult to remain on friendly terms with people who are
always discontented and unthankful. How shall one demand of a citizen
of the state that he shall work for the perfection, the strengthening,
and freedom of his native land, when he is perfectly indifferent towards
it! And the continual denunciations of the conditions of the country,
of its rulers and laws, all combine to undermine gradually the love for
the fatherland. I do not care for that patriotism which sends our sons
upon the battle-field, chosen for them by leaders of the state, but
rather for that which teaches how to _live_ for the fatherland. Resist
hostile invasions, for that is manly and right. But patriotism often
springs from prejudice; the children should therefore be taught where it
ceases to be a virtue.
Besides the love of one's native land, there is fortunately in mankind
room for love of the whole world. Instead of inspiring children with
admiration for the warrior heroes of history, it were better to instil
into them the greatest horror for the profession of war. The idea that,
for any reason whatever, we may kill innocent people must gradually be
eradicated from the human race.
The school alone cannot of course do everything; it teaches youth but is
unable to educate it. With which organs does the young tree absorb the
more nourishment and life, with its branches and leaves from the free
air, or with its roots from the ground, whence it springs? What the
child acquires at school must be carefully digested, but the example and
guidance of the parents are involuntarily absorbed into the flesh and
blood. It remains then with the parents to lay in the child the
foundation for a sound conception of the world.
I was once acquainted with the father of a family, who so strictly
carried out the principle of presenting to his children a bright
conception of the world, that he kept them away from all existing evil.
That I do not consider necessary. It is not so much what they see as
_how_ they see it. Children seldom tremble in the presence of danger.
One should call their attention to it, not in a startling manner, which
only disheartens, but rather in a tone of calm self-reliance which rests
on the consciousness of its own power. And after unfortunate accidents,
where man is powerless, one should never show despair or apathetic
discouragement before children, but always the open countenance full of
resignation and hope; everything will be well again! These are magic
words for us as well. There is a constant interchange of light and
shadow everywhere in life, and each misfortune brings us new expectation
of good; he who lives in this hope already enjoys the interest of a
capital not yet due.
The five-year-old daughter of the stone-cutter, when her only brother
was buried, whom she loved so dearly that it was thought she could not
live an hour without him, gazed down into the deep little grave
surrounded by the mourning bystanders and said: "God keep thee, Hans, we
will meet in heaven," and hastened away over the flowery meadow. Yes,
thus should it be and thus should it continue among us men.
And that boy from Schirmtanner's house, who built a little hut, a mill,
and a variety of things on the hillside, working at it one whole summer,
when an avalanche destroyed his playthings, cried: "It's gone! It did
not please God that I should build on the hill, now I will go and build
my house down by the barn fence." He might just as well have clenched
his fist and snarled: "Why did it not please God?" But it has been said
to him: "God is far stronger and wiser; against Him thou canst do
nothing, but He does not mean ill by thee." And sometime in later years
of life, when the heart is broken and faith is dead, that which is best
and most enduring in such a conception of life shall still remain by
us,--resignation.
I have nothing against knowledge, but I like wisdom better. Wisdom does
not come so much from the head as from the heart. Let childishness and
confidence in the world be fostered as long as possible; childishness is
fruitful soil for the beautiful, confidence in the world for the good.
I do not mean that a generation of idealists should be developed, who
cannot think and work practically. But they should have confidence in
the world and in themselves, for that is the most fruitful ground for
right thinking and practical deeds. A simpler and happier race must
arise than could ever be imagined by the crabbed philosophers, who are
so vain of their lofty reasoning and so hopeless in their human mission.
However, the heart of man is good; from generation to generation he
approaches perfection. There are indeed periods which are not
favourable to him; often the blossoms grow too luxuriant, the fruit
becomes too large. In the midst of the most auspicious May, frosts,
blights, insects, and plagues of all kinds arrive---but
gradually--gradually the day shall dawn of which all nations have
dreamed and which all prophets have foretold.
*WALDLILIE IN THE SNOW*