Children are not Adults

I was sucked into watching 20/20 last night when I should have been going to bed, and they were addressing the question "How young is too young?" by looking at the lives of pre-pubescent bull-fighters, pilots, race-car drivers, preachers, and professional fighters. They also had a segment on toddlers who know the presidents and that sort of thing, but it was mostly for the cute factor, I think. Meanwhile, PBS was examining the movement in Niger, Guatemala, and India to stop the practice of child marriage. Convenient juxtaposition.

Whether or not I think seven-year-olds should fly planes is not the point of my blog today. (The short answer there would be no.) I have been thinking about what the actual difference is between an adult and a child. There are the obvious physical differences, of course. There is a lack of life experience on the part of the child that can only be resolved by living for a number of years. There is the continuing development of the frontal lobe of the brain up through age twenty or so, which is apparently the source of decision-making skills and abstract reasoning. There is the fabled innocence of youth, the faith of a child, the sensitivity and purity that we associate with the young.

From a sermon by the Presbyterian minister Edward Griffin (1770 - 1837):

"When I was a child I spoke as a child I understood as a child I thought as a child; but when I became a man I put away childish things." I Cor. 13:11

In childhood the mind, pleased with every trifle and void of care, vacantly pursues its little pleasures, and, blessed with ignorance of the ills and disappointments of life, looks forward with sanguine hopes to fairy scenes of happiness; while the bright and tearless eye, resting on the outside of things, sees a paradise in every lawn and grove. A recollection of these childish delights is often cherished with rapture in future years, while the man, forgetful of the frettings and whining of childhood, indulgently inquires, Why were the former days better than these? But he does not ask wisely concerning this. A virtuous manhood is much more to be desired than the state of children. It is capable of far nobler pursuits, of knowledge, enjoyment, and action more congenial with the ends of our being. The child has no high and manly aim, no cares for great and dignified things, little thought for his future well being either in this life or the life to come. His understanding is feeble, his knowledge is small, his pursuits and pleasures are useless to the world, his years are trifled away in pursuing airy visions, and he is a stranger to elevated and substantial happiness. He speaks as a child, prattling unconnectedly of his little concerns; he understands as a child, superficially and contractedly; he thinks as a child, incorrectly and inconsistently; but when he becomes a man he puts away childish things. His taste relishes nobler objects; his conversation is more dignified; his conduct and pursuits are manly; his views and knowledge are enlarged. Spurning the shackles and toys of babyhood, he becomes perhaps a philosopher, and explores with astonished gaze the works of his Creator. His unrestricted fancy, not confined to the policies and interests of kingdoms, wanders among the stars, and delights itself with the numberless worlds which revolve above his head, while his faith and knowledge are employed on the great affairs of the kingdom of God.

Perhaps it is those changes, that development of mind, body, and spirit, that allows the man to have greater power than the child. The man is capable both of greater good and greater evil because he has a depth of understanding and life within him that the child is physically impossible of obtaining. With that increased power and ability, something is lost: the freedom and innocence of the concrete. The child knows that things are as he sees them; the man is well-acquainted with doubts, insecurities, questions. These questions may lead to crisis; crises may lead to truth. The man can go further than the child ever can.

So, is it better to be child or adult? I think it's like asking if it is better to be man or woman. Equal and alike are not the same thing, as Meg Wallace reminded us years ago ("A Wrinkle in Time," Madeleine L'Engle). But I don't think it's wise to forget that child is child and man is man. We have a responsibility one to the other. Would I rather be a child? Often, I wish I could! Simplicity and innocence have a lot of appeal, sometimes. But that doesn't matter. I am an adult; I cannot shirk the rights, privileges, and responsibilities appertaining thereunto.

Yup, next time I'm whining and wanting to retreat into my childhood, I'll have to come back and read all these inspiring words. Won't look nearly as good then, I know -- but it might be good for me.