II
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.