On a dry and lovely mid-April morning, David Foster Wallace delivered a twenty-minute commencement speech to Kenyon’s graduating class of 2005, framed solely around a little parable about two swimming fish called “This is Water.” From this brief fable, Wallace demonstrated the value of education, the importance of attention, and many other kernels of wisdom that could take a lifetime to truly digest. (If anyone is curious, the speech is linked here.) In our modern world, people are constantly looking for the ‘right’ answers to life’s most (and least) challenging questions. With the rise of the internet and the gilded age of information, answers to any and all questions abound, and access to them is easier than ever. If you want to know how to schedule your day, write a paper, talk to that cute girl, breathe the correct way, or even how many steps you need in a day, the right answer is a click away. Of course, all these answers are drawn from the latest research, the most empirical science, thorough surveys, and rigorously accurate tests. Never mind if these conclusions and responses disagree or contradict one another, they all have the veneer of empiricism and the conviction of immutable scientific fact. An obsession with finding a plain, simple, numerical equation that will solve all life’s problems appears to dictate and dominate our lives. Despite this, there is a growing concern that no one is going about life the right way. No matter how often you return to the vortex of facts and opinions that constitutes the internet in this day and age, it never seems to satisfy or scratch that itch. In an era where schedules, facts, information, numbers, and what feel like instruction manuals control our adult lives, I want to make a case for a solution that is not based in science, is not divisible by the square root of four, nor does it fit on the back of a note card with bullet points and Roman numerals on each line to boot. I submit that true wisdom and real learning are not found in lifeless information or cold numbers but in the fables and fairy tales passed down through tradition—the stories that have been used to teach children and mankind for millennia. In the spirit of Percy Shelley, I wish to make a case in defense of fairy tales.
Oral Tradition
The ability to tell stories and communicate our own and other people’s lived experiences is a defining feature of what it means to be human. However, the art of storytelling has gone through many iterations over the course of human existence. The story began as an oral tradition, tales told around the campfire by one member to the others in his group or tribe. The experience was a communal and interpersonal one, in which the speaker and listener both played a role. Together, they contributed to a general passing of knowledge and experience. These stories were told again and again, recorded by nothing other than the attentive ears of listeners and transcribed only by memory. Poets such as Homer and Herodotus represent the pinnacle of this evolution of storytelling. They wove magnificent heroic narratives chronicling the deeds of extraordinary characters contending with foes, supernatural forces, numerous deities, and nature itself. Often, they described the triumph of human cunning and ingenuity over the forces that meddle and move our lives. Epic poems not only illustrated the feats of adventurous individuals for the benefit of the audience but explained how the world people lived in worked and made sense of people’s lives in relation to the natural (and supernatural) forces they felt affected them. As the main form of communication, stories served a practical, educational purpose which also applied to the teller of the story, who conveyed “openly or overtly, something useful…the storyteller is a man who has counsel” (Benjamin, 86). The ability to deliver wisdom and universal experience was one of the many reasons stories persisted. The oral craft of telling stories to entertain, teach, and astonish our fellow man continued for thousands of years throughout all cultures and peoples.
Modern Era
This oral tradition remained predominant until the invention and popularization of the Gutenberg printing press during the 15th century. While the written word had been around since ancient times (Mesopotamia to be exact), it was the invention of the printing press that made the dissemination of literary works and of literacy itself easily accessible and widespread. Within the span of less than a hundred years, the number of books being made a year went from a few hundred to over half a million, and the literacy rates in Europe jumped from under 30% to almost 50% of the population. The circulation of writing and reading at scale changed the dynamic from small, elite, academic circles being the only ones communicating through the written word to nearly the majority of the population all reading and writing. This brought about a plethora of changes in human society and tradition. In a very real sense, it brought about the modern era—a world in which the principles of the Enlightenment, science, and the entire industry of the “news” were born. Information became valuable; it became currency that could be bought and sold.
Many of the trends and tendencies that now define our political, social, and economic life have their roots in the invention of the printing press and the dramatic changes it brought about in communication. One could even argue that the subsequent evolutions of communication—from photography, radio, and video, to finally the internet itself—are continuations and accelerants along the same line.
Information vs. Stories
You may be wondering how the invention of the printing press and the evolution of storytelling are relevant to a defense of fairy tales. The changes in how we tell stories are significant to understanding the inherent value of fairy tales for a number of reasons. Before the news, before the scientific revolution, before the principles of the Renaissance were heralded as the new infallible doctrine of enlightenment, people still searched for answers to life’s puzzling questions. What answers did they find? Fairy tales. Most people are probably familiar with them as joyful, fantastical short stories we tell children to occupy them or help them drift to sleep. Inherent in this understanding is a dismissal of the value and wisdom of these tales, which are often characterized as frivolous stories to amuse the immature, not something worth study or time. However, the origins of the fairytale are far more ancient and remarkable than many people know. Fairy tales, besides religion, are one of the most prominent and plentiful remains of the world before the onset of literacy, the supremacy of information, and the decline of the oral tradition. Fairy tales are the common people’s epic poem, myth, or gospel; as Walter Benjamin puts it, the fairy tale “to this day is the first tutor of children because it was once the first tutor of mankind… Whenever good counsel was at a premium, the fairy tale had it, and where the need was greatest, its aid was nearest” (Benjamin, 102). Stories, far from being frivolous anecdotes or fanciful distractions from the important tasks of the day, were a repository of knowledge and wisdom. A simple, elegant, and effective way of contributing to the communal education of all people. The fantastical elements of fairy tales by no means detract from their importance, for as every child still knows, the world is a mystical and magical place. This was understood at the outset of the literary revolution that swept Europe in the 16th and 17th centuries. Hundreds of years of folk wisdom, in the form of fairy tales, were collected and written down by classically trained authors to preserve not only the culture and beliefs of the people but to retain the accumulated communal wisdom. And, unsurprisingly, these works were intended for an educated, literary, and gasp adult audience.
So far, I have drawn a vague contrast between information and stories. This distinction may appear intuitive at first glance, but let’s ask the question: why? In order to answer this, we must define information, which we do as facts that explain events or things and require no external explanation. In other words, information is a fact that does not lead you to wonder about its meaning. For example, “the paper is white” is not very ambiguous. Stories differ from information in the simple regard that they are not passive photons you merely receive; they require interpretation and active participation from the listener or reader to understand. For example, consider this parable by Herodotus:
“Psammenitus was the king of Egypt; the Persian king Cambyses defeated Psammenitus, and to humble him, he made Psammenitus watch the victory procession which included Psammenitus’s own daughter and his son on the way to execution. Through all of this, Psammenitus remained mute and motionless, but when he saw one of his elderly attendants among the prisoners, he broke down and gave all the signs of deepest mourning.” (Benjamin, 89)
This brief parable evokes questions, emotions, interpretations, and a genuine desire to understand someone’s experience. It is not rich in detail and does not provide ready-made and happily proffered answers. Instead, it communicates ideas, morals, and lessons you can discover and decide on for yourself. It is this emphasis on wisdom and experience that makes fairy tales the original and rightful teachers of mankind.
Happily Ever After
The lessons we can draw from fairy tales are manifold and perhaps more essential than ever in a time that has abandoned communal wisdom in favor of information. Consuming information can be equated to reading a menu detailing all the dishes at the restaurant next door, while reading a story is the experience of eating a five-star meal. Emotion is never evoked from lifeless facts, foreign figures, or scientific expertise. Just as significant, much of the scientific information we receive is the product of experts in a specific field, results from sophisticated laboratory experiments, and information gained from years of dedicated study. This is not information by or for the layman. These are the domain of a specific sect of experts who have made the decision to dedicate their lives to a discipline. Worse still, oftentimes these experts disagree with one another, and the scientific consensus and facts are in constant flux. How can we hope to apply this information to our real lives? How can we even understand it? In contrast, stories told by storytellers for their communities are concerned with the travails and struggles of everyday life, occasionally enhanced by a wandering giant or wayward witch. In the transmission of life is where the true pearls of wisdom lie for the common man. Despite our best efforts, we live in a world that we do not understand, surrounded by forces we cannot control. At times, our problems feel insurmountable. Yet, as Kafka once said, “inadequate, even childish measures may also serve to rescue one,” and these simple measures are what fairy tales offer. We will always have stories to comfort us as we sit by the fire, to ward away the darkness and sing the night away. There are still eternal truths burning in the embers to light the way. “The wisest thing the fairy tale taught mankind in olden times, and teaches children to this day, is to meet the forces of the mythical world with cunning and with high spirits” (Benjamin, 102). So take heart, read fairy tales, and live happily ever after!