Samuel Drake - The Myths and Fables of To-Day

“Ye men of Athens, I perceive that in all things ye are too superstitious.”

To say that superstition is one of the facts of history is only to state a truism. If that were all, we might treat the subject from a purely philosophical or historical point of view, as one of the inexplicable phenomena of an age much lower in intelligence than our own, and there leave it.

But if, also, we must admit superstition to be a present, a living, fact, influencing, if not controlling, the everyday acts of men, we have to deal with a problem as yet unsolved, if not insolvable.

I know it is commonly said that such things belong to a past age – that they were the legitimate product of ignorance, and have died out with the education of the masses. In other words, we know more than our ancestors did about the phenomena of nature, and therefore by no means accept, as they did – good, superstitious souls! – the appearance of a comet blazing in the heavens, or the heaving of an earthquake under our feet, as events having moral significance. With the aid of electricity or steam we perform miracles every day of our lives, such as, no doubt, would have created equal wonder and fear for the general stability of the world not many generations ago.

Very true. So far as merely physical phenomena are concerned, most of us may have schooled ourselves to disunite them wholly from coming events; but as regards those things which spring from the inward consciousness of the man himself, his intuitions, his perceptions, his aspirations, his imaginative nature, which, if strong enough, is capable of creating and peopling a realm wholly outside of the little world he lives in – “ay, there’s the rub.” Who will undertake to span the gulf stretching out a shoreless void between the revelations of science and the incomprehensible mysteries of life itself? It is upon that debatable ground that superstition finds its strongest foothold, and, like the ivy clinging round old walls, defies every attempt to uproot it. As Hamlet so cogently puts it, —

Superstition, we know, is much older than recorded history, and we now stand on the threshold of the twentieth century; yet just in proportion as humanity has passed over this enormous space of time, hand in hand with progress, superstition has followed it like its shadow. That shadow has not yet passed away.

There is no sort of use in denying the proneness of weak human nature to admit superstition. It is an open door, through which the marvellous finds easy access. Imbibed in the cradle, it is not even buried in the grave. “Age cannot stale, nor custom wither” those ancient fables of ghosts, giants, goblins, and brownies told by fond mothers to children to-day, just as they were told by mothers centuries ago. Even the innocent looking Easter egg, which continues to enjoy such unbounded popularity with old and young, comes of an old Aryan myth; while the hanging up of one’s stocking, at Christmas, is neither more nor less than an act of superstition, originating in another myth; or, in plain English, no Santa Claus, no stocking.

How much of childhood’s charm in the greatest of all annual festivals, the world over, would remain if Santa Claus, Kris Kringle, and St. Nicholas were stripped of their traditional, but wholly fictitious, character? One of our popular magazines for children – long life to it! – flourishes under the title of St. Nicholas to-day; and during the very latest observance of the time-honored festival, a leading journal in New England’s chief city devoted considerable space in its editorial columns to an elaborate defence of that dear old myth Santa Claus, with whom, indeed, we should be very loth to part, if only for the sake of old associations.

It is also noticed that quite recently stories of the wonderful brownies have enjoyed their greatest popularity. For a time these spindle-shanked, goggle-eyed puppets could be seen in every household, in picture-books, on book covers, in the newspapers – in short, everywhere. Should the children be told that there never were any such creatures as fairies or brownies, there would be an end to all the charm they possess; for, unquestionably, their only hold upon the popular mind rests upon the association with olden superstition. Otherwise they would be only so many commonplace rag dolls.

Kipling’s popular “Jungle Stories,” probably more widely read than any stories of the century, give still further effect to the same idea.

Now, is not the plea that these are mere harmless nothings by far the most short-sighted one that could be advanced? The critical thought to be impressed here is that about the first teaching little children receive is a lesson in superstition, and that, too, at a time when their young minds are most susceptible to lasting impressions. We have yet to hear of the mother, nursery-maid, or governess, who begins the story of Cinderella or Bluebeard with the warning that it is not “a real true story,” as children say.

Are children of a larger growth any less receptive to the marvellous? “Great oaks from little acorns grow.” The seed first planted in virgin soil later bears an abundant harvest. Stage plays, operas, poetry, romances, painting, and sculpture dealing with the supernatural command quite as great a popularity, to-day, as ever. Fortune telling, palmistry, astrology, clairvoyance, hypnotism, and the rest, continue to thrive either as a means of getting a living, or of innocent diversion, leaving their mark upon the inner consciousness just the same in one case as in the other.

So much being undeniable, it stands with every honest inquirer after truth to look these facts in the face without blinking. Ignorance we dare not plead. The dictates of a sound common sense will not permit us to dismiss what we do not understand with a laugh, a shrug, or a sneer. “To scold is not to answer.”

Superstition is not easily defined. To say that it is a disposition to believe more than is warranted by reason, leaves us just as helpless as ever; for where reason is impotent we have nothing tangible left to fall back upon. There is absolutely no support on which to rest that lever. Religion and philosophy, which at first fostered superstition, long ago turned against it all the forces they possessed. Not even science may hope to overthrow what can only be reached through the inner consciousness of man, because science can have little to do with the spiritual side of man. That intangible something still eludes its grasp. If all these combined forces of civilization have so far signally failed to eradicate superstition, so much the worse for civilization.

We might also refer to the efforts of some very erudite scholars to interpret modern superstition by the aid of comparative mythology. Vastly interesting, if not wholly convincing, theories have been constructed on this line. Instructive, too, is the fact that some of our most familiar nursery stories may be traced to the ancient folk-lore of still older peoples. Even a remote antiquity is claimed for the familiar nursery tale of “Jack and Jill”; while something very similar to the story of “Little Red Riding Hood” is found, in its purity, in the grewsome werewolf folk-lore of Germany; and “Jonah’s Gourd,” of the East, we are told, probably is the original of “Jack and the Beanstalk” of the West.

But the very fact of the survival of all these hoary superstitions, some of them going back so far that all further trace is lost, certainly furnishes food for thought, since they seemingly enjoy as great a popularity as ever.