by Anne White
He took one of the nice little trouts on his plate, and, by way of experiment, touched its tail with his finger. To his horror, it was immediately transmuted from an admirably fried brook-trout into a gold-fish, though not one of those gold-fishes which people often keep in glass globes, as ornaments for the parlor. No; but it was really a metallic fish, and looked as if it had been very cunningly made by the nicest goldsmith in the world. Its little bones were now golden wires; its fins and tail were thin plates of gold; and there were the marks of the fork in it, and all the delicate, frothy appearance of a nicely fried fish, exactly imitated in metal. A very pretty piece of work, as you may suppose; only King Midas, just at that moment, would much rather have had a real trout in his dish than this elaborate and valuable imitation of one. (Nathaniel Hawthorne, "The Golden Touch" in A Wonder Book)
We have heard a great deal lately on the topic of imitation (via AI) vs. real. AI may create something cunning, delicate, even frothy, with marks of the fork in it; but it's still not fish.
However, for educators, the story of Midas can hold even deeper meaning. Charlotte Mason did not write about serving children metallic fish, but she did mention feasts of "smoke and lukewarm water," or, more literally, "stale commonplaces" (V.6, p. 44). We might even say that when administrators and curriculum developers touch the king's breakfast with their well-intentioned fingers, they almost invariably turn the food into something glittering but inedible. At the very least, they affect the trout; at the worst (as in the story of Midas and his daughter), they transform the children themselves.
It had been a favorite phrase of Midas, whenever he felt particularly fond of the child, to say that she was worth her weight in gold. And now the phrase had become literally true. And now, at last, when it was too late, he felt how infinitely a warm and tender heart, that loved him, exceeded in value all the wealth that could be piled up betwixt the earth and sky!
What shall we do to repair this damage, to restore life to these warm and tender hearts? Midas was told to sprinkle river water over the affected objects (and people) in his palace. Mason has a few similar suggestions, which, perhaps not coincidentally, includes the early reading of Hawthorne's stories.
Nature-Knowledge––Thus our first thought with regard to Nature-knowledge is that the child should have a living personal acquaintance with the things he sees.
Object-Lessons––...we should rather leave him receptive and respectful for one of those opportunities for asking questions and engaging in talk with his parents about the lock in the river, the mowing machine, the ploughed field, which offer real seed to the mind of a child, and do not make him a priggish little person able to tell all about it.
We trust much to Good Books––...We are determined that the children shall love books, therefore we do not interpose ourselves between the book and the child. We read him his Tanglewood Tales, and when he is a little older his Plutarch...
We do not recognise [an artificial] 'Child-Nature.'––We endeavour that all our teaching and treatment of children shall be on the lines of nature, their nature and ours... [we] leave time and scope for the workings of Nature and of a higher Power than Nature herself. (V.2, pp. 231-232)
The healing of King Midas began with the recognition that a real trout could be even more beautiful than one made of gold. The restoration of education also requires that we recognize the value of the "lines of nature," that we allow Nature and the Holy Spirit their proper "time and scope."
And that can be...an epiphany.
