Finally, the same impulse to understand the new and strange by assimilating it to the familiar is, so far as I can gather, seen in children’s first ideas about those puzzling semblances of visible objects which are due to subjective sensations. As we shall see in C.’s case the bright spectra or after-images caused by looking at the sun are instinctively objectived by the child, that is regarded as things external to his body. Here is a pretty full account of a child’s thought about these subjective optical phenomena. A little boy of five, our little zoologist, in poor health at the time, “constantly imagined he saw angels, and said they were not white, that was a mistake, they were little coloured things, light and beautiful, and they went into the toy-basket and played with his toys”. Here we have not only objectifying but myth-building. A year later he returned to the subject. “He stood at the window at B. looking out at a sea-mist thoughtfully and said suddenly, ‘Mamma, do you remember I told you that I had seen angels? Well, I want now to say they were not angels, though I thought they were. I have seen it often lately, I see it now: it is bright stars, small bright stars moving by. I see it in the mist before that tree. I see it oftenest in the misty days.... Perhaps by-and-by I shall think it is something in my own eyes.’” Here we see a long and painstaking attempt of a child’s brain to read a meaning into the ‘flying spots,’ which many of us know though we hardly give them a moment’s attention.
What are children’s first thoughts about their dreams like? I have not been able to collect much evidence on this head. What seems certain is that to the simple intelligence of the child these counterfeits of ordinary sense-presentations are real external things. The crudest manifestation of this thought-tendency is seen in taking the dream-apparition to be actually present in the bedroom. A boy in an elementary school in London, aged five years, said one day: “Teacher, I saw an old woman one night against my bed”. Another child, a little girl, in the same school told her mother that she had seen a funeral last night, and on being asked, “Where?” answered quaintly, “I saw it in my pillow”. A little boy whom I know once asked his mother not to put him to bed in a certain room, “because there were so many dreams in the room”. In thus materialising the dream and localising it in the actual surroundings, the child but reflects the early thought of the race which starts from the supposition that the man or animal which appears in a dream is a material reality which actually approaches the sleeper.
The Nature-man, as we know from Professor Tylor’s researches, goes on to explain dreams by his theory of souls or ‘doubles’ (animism). Children do not often find their way to so subtle a line of thought. Much more commonly they pass from the first stage of acceptance of objects present to their senses to the identification of dreamland with the other and invisible world of fairyland. There is little doubt that the imaginative child firmly believes in the existence of this invisible world, keeps it apart from the visible one, even though at times he may give it a definite locality in this (e.g., in C.’s case, the wall of the bedroom). He gets access to it by shutting out the real world, as when he closes his eyes tightly and ‘thinks’. With such a child, dreams get taken up into the invisible world. Going to sleep is now recognised as the surest way of passing into this region. The varying colour of his dreams, now bright and dazzling in their beauty, now black and terrifying, may be explained by a reference to the division of that fairy world into princes, good fairies, on the one hand, and cruel giants, witches, and the like, on the other.
We may now pass to some of children’s characteristic ideas about living things, more particularly human beings, and the familiar domestic animals. The most interesting of these I think are those respecting growth and birth.
As already mentioned, growth is one of the most stimulating of childish puzzles. A child, led no doubt by what others tell him, finds that things are in general made bigger by additions from without, and his earliest conception of growth is, I think, that of such addition. Thus, plants are made to grow, that is, swell out, by the rain. The idea that the growth or expansion of animals comes from eating is easily reached by the childish intelligence, and, as we know, nurses and parents have a way of recommending the less attractive sorts of diet by telling children that they will make them grow. The idea that the sun makes us grow, often suggested by parents (who may be ignorant of the fact that growth is more rapid in the summer than in the winter), is probably interpreted by the analogy of an infusion of something into the body.
In carrying out my inquiries into this region of childish ideas, I lighted quite unexpectedly on the queer notion that towards the end of life there is a reverse process of shrinkage. Old people are supposed to become little again. The first instance of this was supplied me by the Worcester Collection of Thoughts. A little girl of three once said to her mother: “When I am a big girl and you are a little girl I shall whip you just as you whipped me now”. At first one is almost disposed to think that this child must have heard of Mr. Anstey’s amusing story Vice Versâ. Yet this idea seems too improbable: and I have since found that she is not by any means the only one who has entertained this idea. A little boy that I know, when about three and a half years old, used often to say to his mother with perfect seriousness of manner: “When I am big then you will be little, then I will carry you about and dress you and put you to sleep”.
I happened to mention this fact at a meeting of mothers and teachers, when I received further evidence of this tendency of child-thought. One lady whom I know could recollect quite clearly that when a little girl she was promised by her aunt some treasures, trinkets I fancy, when she grew up; and that she at once turned to her aunt and promised her that she would then give her in exchange all her dolls, as by that time she (the aunt) would be a little girl. Another case narrated was that of a little girl of three and a half years, who when her elder brother and sister spoke to her about her getting big rejoined: “What will you do when you are little?” A third case mentioned was that of a child asking about some old person of her acquaintance: “When will she begin to get small?” I have since obtained corroboratory instances from parents and teachers of infant classes. Thus a lady writes that a little girl, a cousin of hers aged four, to whom she was reading something about an old woman, asked: “Do people turn back into babies when they get quite old?”
What, it may be asked, does this queer idea of shrinkage in old age mean? By what quaint zig-zag movement of childish thought was the notion reached? I cannot learn that there is any such idea in primitive folk-lore, and this suggests that children find their way to it, in part at least, by the suggestions of older people’s words. A child may, no doubt, notice that old people stoop, and look small, and the fairy book with little old women may strengthen the tendency to think of shrinkage. But I cannot bring myself to believe that this would suffice to produce the idea in so many cases.
That there is much in what the little folk hear us say fitted to raise in their minds an idea of shrinking back into child-form is certain. Many children must, at some time or another, have overheard their elders speaking of old feeble people getting childish; and we must remember that even the attributive ‘silly’ applied to old people might lead a child to infer a return to childhood; for if there is one thing that children—true unsophisticated children—believe in it is the all-knowingness of grown-ups as contrasted with the know-nothingness of themselves. C.’s belief in the preternatural calculating powers of Goliath is an example of this correlation in the child’s consciousness between size and intelligence.[[49]]
But I suspect that there is a further source of this characteristic product of early thought, involving still more of the child’s philosophizing. As we have seen, a child cannot accept an absolute beginning of things, and we shall presently find that he is equally incapable of believing in an absolute ending. He knows that we begin our earthly life as babies. Well, the babies must come from something, and when we die we must pass into something. What more natural, then, than the idea of a rhythmical alternation of cycles of existence, babies passing into grown-ups, and these again into babies, and so the race kept going? Does this seem too far-fetched an explanation? I think it will be found less so if it is remembered that according to our way of instructing these active little brains, people are brought to earth as babies in angels’ arms, and that when they die they are taken back also in angels’ arms. Now as the angel remains of constant size,—for this their pictures vouch—it follows that old people, when they are dead at least, must have shrivelled up to nursable dimensions; and as the child, when he philosophizes, knows nothing of miraculous or cataclasmic changes, he naturally supposes that this shrivelling up is gradual like that of flowers and other things when they fade.[[50]]