The story telling “situation” is an artistic situation. It falls under
the category of the _beautiful_, and is subject to all the general
principles of æsthetics. Thus it stands in striking contrast with
all formal methods of instruction, and all routine and unemotional
learning. In such artistic situations the child is _more fully present_
than in the formal school work, for he brings with him his deeper,
_unconscious_ nature.
The nature of the story as an educational art is best shown by its
place in primitive life. Here the function of the story is clearly
practical. By it religion, and all beliefs, morals, customs, and
traditions are conveyed to the child. The folk-tales, the legends, the
fairy-tales, the epics, and the myths of the world are not _merely_
fanciful inventions of man; in a far more profound way than we yet
fully understand, they express man’s most urgent needs and desires.
Primitive man began early to express, in his stories, by means of
a varied symbolism, his own hopes and wishes,—sometimes, thereby,
keeping them alive through hard conditions, and passing them on to new
generations; sometimes obtaining for them a vicarious satisfaction.
These racial stories affect our feelings deeply, simply because there
is _continuity in evolution_: because the past still lives in the
present: because these stories are the products of universal needs,
and symbolize or represent them. The story is thus a _language of the
feelings_; it is a means of communication between the past and the
unconscious and undeveloped potentialities of the present. The story
is a _symbolic_ language: its scenes and words are often trivial, but
underneath them runs a deeper meaning. Everyone who has told stories
must have felt this. We all know that when we tell a good story to a
child, the child is receiving from us indescribable meanings, which the
story itself conveys, but does not really contain or express,—and this
sense of free-masonry of emotional meaning is the greatest charm of the
story. One who feels this does not need to point a moral to a tale; and
one who feels the need of the moral does not really tell his story.
Without knowing something about the nature of the æsthetic feelings
and moods it is impossible to understand the scope of such an art as
story telling. We are likely to think of æsthetic feeling as passive,
or as merely “refining” in its effects: or, if inspiring, as mainly
affecting the creative, artistic imagination. But this is not the case.
All æsthetic feelings are intensely active. Because the responses are
internal,—a play of forces within the organism—we are likely to
overlook them altogether. In every æsthetic state, we have good reason
to believe, there is a play of volitions, an active choosing, a drama
of aroused and satisfied desire—definite, specific desire, which,
though it may often be unconscious, if none the less real. And it is
because of this drama of desire that æsthetic situations have meaning
and value—educational value.
We cannot at present know,—and as practical educators we do not need
to know—precisely the mechanism or content of every emotional state;
yet we can often see clearly some of the deeper meaning and effect of
æsthetic valuations. We can see sometimes, in the child’s interest in
fairy-tales, for example, that the child is playing a part; that he
is accepting for _himself_ misfortunes for the sake of the good that
issues from them; that he is appreciating, in some half-conscious way,
the nature of a world in which events are not separate and haphazard,
but are connected through far-seeing purposes. The child is not
merely pleased at the story; he reacts to it by taking attitudes:
by accepting, rejecting, deciding; by desiring, and by receiving
satisfaction. In such experiences the child is even acquiring religion,
and the standards and moods of later life are made up of just such
feelings as are conveyed so effectively through the medium of the
artistic story.
The story, then, is an important method in education. It is a very
effective and natural devise for conveying the ideals and volitions
of one generation to the mind of another, and of coördinating many
individuals by means of the common possession of these ideals and
purposes. We have yet to learn fully how far we can go by this and
other kinds of artistry in teaching; but that the story should
have a serious place in education, seems wholly certain. Just how
large a place it should occupy is to be determined, in part, by
experiment. Good story telling may be utilized in so many subjects of
the curriculum, for so many purposes, and in so many departments of
education, within and without the school; its artistic possibilities
are so great; the present momentum of interest is so strong, and so
well justified by science, that we may expect to see a widespread use
of the story as a method of education. We shall expect to see story
telling become a part of the equipment of all teachers, and the story
literature of the world become more and more accessible, and better
adapted to the child. And it is likely that the professional story
teller will again flourish among us, as in the days before books and
schools robbed him of his art.
* * * * *
The Story Tellers’ League, of Nashville, Tenn., issues an attractive
Year Book for the current year. Among the topics announced for the
year is a Greek pageant, “The Fire Regained,” to be given out of
doors at the Parthenon, in Centennial Park. This pageant was written
by Mr. Sidney Hirsch, a member of the Story Tellers’ League, and
dedicated to the League. A popular subscription of $10,000 has been
made by the city for its production. Seats will be arranged for 20,000
people. The Schools will furnish 800 young men and young women for
the performance; a herd of sheep and a flock of doves enter into the
pageant. It will be given five afternoons early in May.