Fairytales are brutal. If you grew up on the sanitized, sugar-coated Disney versions where birds sew dresses and everyone lives happily ever after without breaking a sweat, the original Grimm stories feel like a fever dream of violence. People get their eyes pecked out. Toes are hacked off to fit into glass slippers. Parents literally abandon their children in the woods because they can't afford to feed them. It's dark. But in 1976, a child psychologist named Bruno Bettelheim released a book that argued this darkness was exactly what kids needed. The Uses of Enchantment became an instant sensation, winning the National Book Award and changing how we think about the nursery.
Bettelheim’s core argument? Fairytales are "existential" mirrors. He thought that by stripping away the grit, we were actually robbing children of the tools they need to process their own inner chaos. Honestly, it’s a heavy read, but it’s one of those books that sticks in your teeth. Even if you find some of his Freudian takes a bit much—and many people do—the logic of Bettelheim's The Uses of Enchantment remains a massive pillar in child psychology and literary criticism.
It’s about survival. Not physical survival, but psychological.
The Freudian Lens and Why It Feels So Weird Now
Bettelheim was a product of his time. He was deeply influenced by Sigmund Freud, which means everything in his analysis eventually circles back to the Id, the Ego, and the Superego. If you aren’t familiar with the lingo, basically he sees the child as a bundle of wild, unchecked impulses (the Id) trying to navigate a world that demands control (the Superego).
Take "Hansel and Gretel." Most people see a story about a scary witch. Bettelheim saw a story about "oral greed" and the fear of starvation. He argued that the gingerbread house represents the mother who provides everything, but if the child doesn't learn to move past that "oral stage," they’ll be eaten alive by their own dependencies. It’s a bit intense, right? He believed the forest wasn't just a woods; it was the subconscious.
- The Step-Mother Dynamic: Bettelheim argued that the "evil stepmother" isn't an attack on real step-parents. Instead, it’s a mental trick children use. They split their mother into two: the "good mother" (the biological one who died) and the "bad mother" (the stepmother who makes them do chores). This lets the kid hate the "bad" version without feeling guilty about hating the person they actually love.
The Power of Magic: In his view, magic is the only way a child can make sense of a world where they have no power. If a frog can turn into a prince, then maybe a small child can survive a giant.
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The Happy Ending: This is non-negotiable for Bettelheim. He hated "cautionary tales" like Little Red Riding Hood (the Perrault version where she just dies). He thought that was traumatizing. The "happily ever after" is a psychological promise that the struggle is worth it.
The Controversy Behind the Man
You can't talk about The Uses of Enchantment without mentioning the elephant in the room. Bettelheim’s reputation has taken some massive hits since his death in 1990. For one, he was accused of plagiarizing significant portions of this book from Julius Heuscher's A Psychiatric Study of Myths and Fairy Tales. It's a messy situation. Scholars like Alan Dundes have been pretty vocal about how much Bettelheim "borrowed" without proper credit.
Then there’s his work at the Orthogenic School for Disturbed Children. For years, he was hailed as a genius who could "cure" autism. Later, it came out that his methods were... questionable. He coined the term "refrigerator mothers," essentially blaming moms for their children's autism. We know now that's completely false and frankly cruel.
So, why do we still care about his book?
Because despite the man's personal failings and his outdated theories on autism, his insights into storytelling were remarkably sharp. He understood that children aren't fragile porcelain dolls. They are small humans dealing with big, scary emotions—rage, jealousy, fear of abandonment—and they need stories that acknowledge those feelings exist.
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Why "Little Red Riding Hood" Is Actually About Growing Up
In Bettelheim's The Uses of Enchantment, the story of the girl in the red velvet cap is a masterclass in his "coming of age" theory. He looks at the color red as a symbol of violent emotions and sexual awakening. He isn't subtle about it.
The wolf? That’s the "asocial, animalistic" side of humanity. Bettelheim argues that the story is a warning about the conflict between our pleasure-seeking side and our moral side. When the huntsman cuts the wolf open to save the girl, Bettelheim sees it as a "second birth." She goes into the belly of the beast as a naive child and emerges as someone who has faced the dark and survived.
He makes a compelling case that if you take out the wolf, or make the wolf "misunderstood," you ruin the metaphor. The wolf has to be dangerous. If the world isn't dangerous, why would a child ever need to grow up?
The Difference Between Myths and Fairytales
Bettelheim was very particular about this distinction. He thought myths were "pessimistic." In a myth, the hero usually dies or the gods win because they are gods. Think of Icarus. He flies too high, the sun melts his wings, he drowns. The end.
Fairytales are "optimistic."
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They are for children because they offer a path forward. The hero in a fairytale is usually the "youngest brother" or the "simpleton." Someone overlooked. Someone small. Bettelheim points out that these characters don't win because they are the strongest or smartest; they win because they are kind, persistent, or lucky. That’s a powerful message for a kid who feels small and powerless every single day.
Actionable Takeaways for Modern Parents and Readers
If you're looking at your kid's bookshelf and wondering if you should toss the Disney stuff and buy a leather-bound copy of Grimm, here’s how to actually use Bettelheim’s logic today:
- Don't Fear the Dark: It’s okay if a story is a little scary. Children use these stories to process "monsters" they are already feeling inside. If you avoid the scary stuff, the kid just feels alone with their fears.
- Focus on the Resolution: The most important part of the story isn't the giant; it’s the fact that Jack climbed the beanstalk and came back down safely. Ensure the stories you share emphasize the ability to overcome.
- Talk About the "Why": You don't have to go full Freud and talk about "oral fixations" at the dinner table. But you can ask, "Why do you think the stepmother was so mean?" It helps kids externalize complex feelings.
- Respect the Originality: Try reading the non-musical versions of these stories. The lack of songs and the presence of real stakes can lead to much deeper conversations.
The Uses of Enchantment reminds us that stories aren't just entertainment. They are equipment for living. Whether you agree with Bettelheim’s specific interpretations or not, he was right about one thing: we need our monsters. Without them, we never learn how to be brave.
To put this into practice, start by introducing a classic, unedited fairytale once a week and observe how it sparks different questions than a standard modern picture book. Look for "The Juniper Tree" or "The Boy Who Set Out to Learn to Shudder"—stories that don't shy away from the strange or the spooky. Observe the child's reaction; often, they are far more resilient and intrigued by the "darkness" than we give them credit for.
By allowing room for these "enchantments," we give the next generation a richer vocabulary for their own inner lives. That is the lasting legacy of Bettelheim’s work, regardless of the controversies that surround his name. Fairytales aren't there to tell us that dragons exist—kids already know that. Fairytales are there to tell us that dragons can be beaten.