“Fern says the animals talk to each other. Dr. Dorian, do you believe animals talk?”
“I never heard one say anything,” he replied. “But that proves nothing. It is quite possible that an animal has spoken civilly to me and that I didn’t quite catch the remark because I wasn’t paying attention. Children pay better attention than grownups.” – Charlotte’s Web
How many adult books feature talking animals? I can think of two—Animal Farm and Watership Down. Yet in children’s literature, talking animals are a staple, perhaps more popular than books with only talking people. What happens along the way, sometime after age eleven, to sideline such stories from “adult” consideration, at least until the child grows up and has children of their own?
E.B. White explains this phenomenon in a conversation between Fern’s mom and Dr. Dorian in Charlotte’s Web. Fern has been going down to the barn all day, every day, to sit and listen to the animals, especially Charlotte the spider talking with her best friend Wilbur the pig. Fern’s mother feels alarmed and anxious, believing it’s high time for Fern to “grow up,” stop making up stories, and play with children her own age instead of barnyard animals.
Fern’s mom mentions the possibility of a neighbor-boy, Henry Fussy, and Dr. Dorian counters with this gem: “I would say, offhand, that spiders and pigs were fully as interesting as Henry Fussy.” He follows this comment, though, with a dark prophecy: “Yet I predict that the day will come when even Henry Fussy will drop some chance remark that catches Fern’s attention.”
Imagining the dramatized experience of the animal world—their friends and enemies, hopes and fears—ceases to hold our attention as we mature, not because we know it’s not real (children understand this) but because even if it were real, it’s less relevant to me. It’s the paradox of child development. At a young age, a child lacks a sense of self, and the ability to inhabit the perspective of another. In that regard, children are imprisoned in extreme selfishness. At the same time, children possess an ability to lose themselves entirely in exploring the world around them.
Children have great curiosity not embedded in self-interest because they haven’t mastered yet the skill of self-interest—where everything you see, hear, touch, and smell is filtered through its usefulness to you. Because of this, they explore, imagine, and ask about meaningless, impractical things, like what animals might say to each other. They pay attention to things adults have long since tuned out because whatever a squirrel might have to say to a rabbit, it will not help me get a promotion or keep my bathroom clean.
The hidden tragedy of Charlotte’s Web is that in the closing third of the book, Fern vanishes from the narrative. One of the reader’s final glimpses of Fern is running off to explore the fair holding hands… with Henry Fussy. Charlotte dying alone is not just the tragedy of a cold world; it’s an indictment of you and me in our steady march towards “maturing” self-interest.
Worshiping God re-expands your horizons. It leads to rediscovering wonder. It’s not that worshiping God serves no practical value to you, but it does so indirectly. If you set out to worship God in order to maximize a transactional benefit, you will get none. Worshiping God reintroduces wonder because, like the dialogue of two animals, God gains nothing by you paying attention, and loses nothing by you ignoring. He exists in glory and wonder and wisdom whether you see it or not. He directs the universe for his glory and his people’s good whether you acknowledge that or not.
Contemplating God directs your mind in a thousand different directions because God is doing a thousand different things—999 of which are not done for you in any individual sense. If you listen, if you learn to pay attention again, you will meet with wonder in every blade of grass and stitch of fabric. You can perceive God at work behind the conversations, decisions, relationships, and encounters of billions of people not yourself. “[All] beasts and all livestock, creeping things and flying birds” are praising God (Psalm 148:10). Take a moment away from your screen today and pay attention to what they’re saying.
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5 comments
Mike singenstreu
First of all I am sorry I missed meeting you at presbytery this past weekend. I have enjoyed your blog now for sometime. Today’s as much or more than the others. As adults we too often wish to treat our children as adults when we should continue to listen to their child like faith and look into their eyes and see what they see to stay humble. Growing up is a fact of life but growing old is a choice!
Thank you
Justin N. Poythress
Thanks, Mike. I really like that angle — growing up is a factu, but growing old is a choice. It’s really hard for me to slow down and enjoy, so I find this convicting.
Mike singenstreu
Well I’m almost 71 with a church full of children and 8 grandkids … so I have to slow down. LOL!
In His Grip,
Mike
Lorraine Z
Reminds me of this (perhaps you had it in mind as you wrote):
Because children have abounding vitality, because they are in spirit fierce and free, therefore they want things repeated and unchanged. They always say, “Do it again”; and the grown-up person does it again until he is nearly dead. For grown-up people are not strong enough to exult in monotony. But perhaps God is strong enough to exult in monotony. It is possible that God says every morning, “Do it again” to the sun; and every evening, “Do it again” to the moon. It may not be automatic necessity that makes all daisies alike; it may be that God makes every daisy separately, but has never got tired of making them. It may be that He has the eternal appetite of infancy; for we have sinned and grown old, and our Father is younger than we.
G.K. Chesterton, Orthodoxy
Jeff Lynch
What a beautiful and thought provoking look into the mind of a child. There is certainly much that us “mature adults” can learn from our children. May God restore our wonder in Him and His creation. Thank you, Justin.