Buch lesen: «The Moral Instruction of Children», Seite 4

To recapitulate briefly the points which we have gone over: regular habits can be inculcated and obedience can be taught even in infancy. By obedience is meant the yielding of a wayward and ignorant will to a firm and enlightened one. The child between three and six years of age learns clearly to distinguish self from others, and to deliberate between alternative courses of action. It is highly important to control the elements which enter into the concept self. The desire to choose the good is promoted chiefly by the sentiment of reverence.

We are thus prepared to describe in a general way the moral outfit of 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.

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 Märchen of which the word fairy tale is but an inaccurate rendering. The Märchen 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 Märchen 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 Märchen 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 Märchen 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 Märchen 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 Märchen 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 Märchen, and makes them so admirably suited to satisfy the heart of childhood.

But how shall we handle these Märchen 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 Märchen, 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 Märchen 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 Märchen 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.

Finally the story of Red Riding Hood illustrates the cardinal virtue of childhood —obedience to parents. Children must not loiter on the way when they are sent on errands. And Riding Hood loiters, and hence all the mischief which follows. She is sent to bring wine and cake to her grandmother. The example of such attentions as this serves to quicken in children the sentiment of reverence for the aged. Children learn reverence toward their parents in part by the reverence which these display toward the grandparents. Another point is that Red Riding Hood, to quiet her conscience, when she strays from the straight path deceives herself as to her motives. She says, "I will also gather a bunch of wild flowers to please grandmother." But her real purpose is to enjoy the freedom of the woods, and the proof is that presently she forgets all about grandmother. There is one objection that has sometimes been urged against this story, viz., the part which the wolf plays in it. But the wolf is not really treated as a hostile or fearful being. He meets Red Riding Hood on the way, and they chat confidentially together. He appears rather in the light of a trickster. But, it is objected, that he devours the grandmother and, later on, Red Riding Hood herself. Very true; but the curious fact is that, when his belly is cut open, the grandmother and Red Riding Hood come out intact. They have evidently not been injured. Children have very defective notions of the human body, with the exception of such external parts as hands, feet, and face. In an examination recently conducted by Prof. G. Stanley Hall in regard to the contents of childrens' minds at the time they enter school, it was found that ninety per cent of those questioned had no idea where the heart is located, eighty-one per cent did not know anything about the lungs, ninety per cent could not tell where their ribs are situated, etc. Of the internal organs children have no idea. Hence when the story says that the grandmother is swallowed by the wolf, the impression created is that she has been forced down into a sort of dark hole, and that her situation, while rather uncomfortable, no doubt, is not otherwise distressing. The ideas of torn and mangled flesh are not suggested. Hence the act of devouring arouses no feeling of horror, and the story of Red Riding Hood, that prime favorite of all young children, may be related without any apprehension as to its moral effect.

Then there are other stories, such as that of the man who went abroad to learn the art of shuddering – an excellent example of bravery; the story of the seven Suabians – a persiflage of cowardice; the story of the Marienkind which contains a wholesome lesson against obstinacy, etc. I have not, of course, attempted to cover the whole ground, but only to mention a few examples sufficient to show along what lines the selection may be made. The ethical interests peculiar to childhood are the heads under which the whole material can be classified.

The value of the fairy tales is that they stimulate the imagination; that they reflect the unbroken communion of human life with the life universal, as in beasts, fishes, trees, flowers, and stars; and that incidentally, but all the more powerfully on that account, they quicken the moral sentiments.

Let us avail ourselves freely of the treasures which are thus placed at our disposal. Let us welcome das Märchen into our primary course of moral training, that with its gentle bands, woven of "morning mist and morning glory," it may help to lead our children into the bright realms of the ideal.