A famous writer—I do not remember his name—was interviewed towards the end of his life about his writings. He said, “I first wrote for academic journals, then found that very few people read those articles. Then I wrote for the general adult population; more people read it. Lastly, I wrote for children. Looking back, I wish I had written all my life for children.”
Some of the world’s greatest bestsellers are apparently stories for children. Think of Pinocchio or The Little Prince. Both seem to be children’s stories, but are hits with both adults and children. They contain much wisdom.
Robert Coles, psychiatrist and Harvard professor, is known as the academic who wrote most on the life of children. He did not simply read about children. He listened to them. He learnt much from their wisdom and goodness. You will find his touching account of Ruby’s courage and faith in this issue.
Alister Hardy’s well-known research on religious experience found many adults who wrote about the religious experiences they had had as children. They also found that it was hard to find adults who understood their experience.
Psychologists of religion tell us that living with good and loving adults is far more important and helpful for a child than being indoctrinated in religion. Makes sense, doesn’t it? (True of religious formation, too, as we saw in the July issue.)
This issue, apart from our regular and much-acclaimed columns—carries three cover stories: One on learning from children, another on reaching out to youth (since August 12 is World Youth Day) and the third on the beauty of the senior years (August 21 is Seniors’ Day).
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Talking of the wisdom of children, we know that children are curious, full of life, open to learning. There is a freshness, innocence and creativity about them which most adults lose. Many adults go through life half dead, functioning far below our God-given potential. Some of us get caught in the sad and destructive games of adult life—power games, jealousy, greed, hatred, violence, wars, man-made poverty and mass starvation. Is there no way out?
Yes, there is.
If we retain the freshness and creativity of children, we can do much, enjoy much, contribute much. How?
Three categories of people seem to keep the qualities that make children charming and full of potential: poets, mystics and scientists.
Scientists do not simply repeat what previous generations did. They approach problems with a child’s freshness of mind. Albert Einstein, first thought to be a slow learner, proved to be a matchless wizard of science. He said that he asked questions that a child would ask: Does light bend around an object? Does a train look smaller from far? In fact, once when a neighbour apologized to him since her six-year-old daughter was “disturbing” the great man with her homework, Einstein answered, “I have learnt more from your child than all that I have been able to teach her.” Another time, at Halloween (when children in the US wear masks and go around asking for gifts), when a group of small children came to his home, Einstein asked them to wait, went in, picked up his violin, and joined them as they went from house to house.
Mahatma Gandhi, considered by many to be the Man of the Millennium, had a childlike side—charm, directness, lack of malice. He used to write for while with a pencil a child had given him, since it was given with love by that little kid.
Thomas Aquinas, a towering intellectual who became the most quoted name in Catholic theology, who wrote for kings and popes, retained the simplicity of a child. The monk who heard his last confession as Aquinas lay dying, came out of the cell crying and saying, “The sins of a child of five!”
Wouldn’t it be great if more of us had the childlike transparency, creativity, charm and innocence of these brilliant men—together with their wisdom, responsibility and use of time and talent?
Fr Joe Mannath SDB
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