A PROPHECY OF FREEDOM. THE FISH IN THE BROOK. A child regards with new delight While yet he treads the ways of earth. HENRIETTA R. ELIOT. THE FISH IN THE BROOK. Merry little fishes, In the brook at play, Floating in the shallows, Darting swift away. 'Happy little fishes, come and play with me!" "No, O no!" the fishes say, "that can never be!" 66 Pretty bodies curving, Bending like a bow, Through the clear, bright water, See them swiftly go. 'Happy little fishes, may we play with you?" "No, O no!" the fishes say, "that would never do!" EMILY HUNTINGTON MILLER. DEAR: In that great city of Weissnichtwo, which Carlyle has made so famous and which, as all students of spiritual geography know, is situated just within the borders of modern Utopia, there lives and works a kindergarten trainer who has succeeded in approximately realizing the ideals toward which all training schools are striving. Just as I was beginning to collect my thoughts on the Fish in the Brook I received from her a letter which said all I wanted to say, and which I have therefore decided to copy and send to you instead of writing you myself. How I wish, dear friend [so begins her letter], that you could have attended our conference yesterday. I came home from the meeting the happiest of women. The reason of my happiness? That is what I am going to tell you just as fast as I can. It was a stormy afternoon, and I knew in advance that we should have an inspiring meeting, because only those who were most earnest would brave the tempest. Those who came to object and criticise; those who came because it might help their chances of promotion; those who came because others came; those who came from mechanical habit, carried to the place of meeting, as it were, by a series of automatic leg reflexes, would all be absent, and we should not feel the weight of their leaden atmosphere. As I entered the room I looked around, and my spiritual temperature began to rise. For there they were, all my bravest, dearest, best, and their kindling eyes told me they felt as I felt. Were we very wicked to be so glad we were alone? As you know, the meetings are informal, and each one speaks as the spirit moves her. The subject is chosen in advance, and printed slips are given the students suggesting the questions to be discussed. The subject for this afternoon was the play of the Fish in the Brook, and the questions given the preceding week were as follows: 1. Why does Froebel call this play The Fish in the Brook? 2. Why does the child try to seize the fish? 3. What experience comes to him through catching the fish? 4. What general truths are illustrated in his desire for the fish, his seizure, and its results? 5. Can self-activity be perfect so long as it is in any degree dependent upon an external environment? 6. In the higher forms of self-activity is the mind more and more self-environing? 7. Is it equally true to say that it is only by ascent into the divine life that man realizes his freedom? 8. Can you harmonize these two statements? You do not need to be told that the questions are only intended to incite thought, nor yet that, far from insisting upon following their order, I myself always try to follow the order in which the class develops the idea of the play. Even if you were not already familiar with our kindergarten method it would, I think, reveal itself in the course of this letter. The discussion this afternoon was opened by Miss You remember her, do you not, the dear little kindergartner with the New England conscience, whom we used to call our categorical imperative? She had been reading Professor James's Psychology, and was very unhappy over the following statements: "If evolution and the survival of the fittest be true at all, the destruction of prey and of human rivals must have been among the most important of man's primitive functions; the fighting and the chasing instincts must have become ingrained. Certain perceptions must immediately, and without the intervention of inferences and ideas, have prompted emotions and motor discharges; and both the latter must, from the nature of the case, have been very violent, and therefore, when unchecked, of an intensely pleasurable kind. It is just because human bloodthirstiness is such a primitive part of us that it is so hard to eradicate, especially where a fight or a hunt is promised as part of the fun.” * 6 "In illustration of this thesis," said Miss "Mr. James quotes from Fowler the statement that every one knows what pleasure a boy takes in the sight of a butterfly, fish, crab, or other animal, or of a bird's nest; out the wings and legs of flies, and tormenting one animal or another; with what irresistible strength the plundering of birds' nests attracts him without his having the least intention of eating the eggs or the young birds.† . . . Our ferocity,' concludes Mr. James, 'is blind, and can only be explained from below. Could we trace it back how he delights in pulling * Principles of Psychology, vol. ii, p. 412. |