I do not pretend to say that children may at first be taught to answer in this manner: though I may add that many have given me such answers when they were four years of age. Let us, however, suppose a child to be extremely reserved and uninstructed:—the worst that can happen is, the waiting only a few more years with patience.
Shew children a house, and make them comprehend that this house did not build itself. The stones or bricks, say you, were not elevated without some one's carrying them so high. It may be as well, too, to shew them the masons at work: then make them contemplate heaven and earth, and the principal things which God has made for the use of man: say to them "how much more beautiful and better made is the world than a house! Was it made of itself? No—assuredly it was made by the hands of the Almighty."
First follow the method of scripture. Strike their imaginations in as lively a manner as possible—propose to them nothing which may not be clothed with sensible images. Represent God as seated on a throne—with eyes more brilliant than the rays of the sun, and more piercing than the lightning—represent him with ears that hear every thing; with hands that support the universe; with arms always stretched out to punish the wicked; and with a tender and paternal heart to make those happy who love him. The time will come when this information may be rendered more exact. Observe every opening of the mind which a child presents to you: try her by different methods, so that you may discover how these great truths will best occupy her attention. Above all, talk of nothing new, without familiarising her to it by some obvious comparison.
For example—ask her if she would rather die than renounce Jesus Christ—she will answer—Yes. Then say—"how, would you suffer your head to be cut off in order to enter paradise?" Yes. The child will now think she has sufficient courage to do it. But you, who are willing to make her sensible that nothing can be effected without grace, will gain nothing, if you merely say that grace alone is sufficient to produce faithfulness—the child does not understand those words; and if you accustom her to repeat them without understanding them, you gain nothing by it. What then is to be done? Relate to her the history of St. Peter: represent him saying, in a presumptuous tone of voice—"I will follow thee even unto death, though all the rest should desert thee, yet will I never abandon thee." Then describe his fall: he denies his master, Christ, three times—even a servant makes him tremble. Declare why God permitted this weakness—then make use of the comparison of a child or sick person who cannot walk alone—and make her comprehend, that as an infant must be supported in the arms of its nurse, so we stand in need of the Almighty's assistance. Thus you will make her sensible of the mystery of grace.
But the most difficult truth for a child to comprehend is, that we have a soul more precious than our body. Children are at first accustomed to talk about the soul; and the custom is advantageous—for this language, which they do not understand, is perpetually exciting them to have a (confused) notion of the distinction of body and soul, until they are able really to conceive it. In proportion as early prejudices are pernicious when they lead to error, so are they useful when they conduct the imagination to truth, until reason is gradually directed towards it by the force of principles. But, at length, we must fix a true persuasion—and how are we to set about it? Is it in plunging a young girl in philosophical subtleties? Nothing is worse calculated for it. We must confine ourselves to render clear and distinct to her mind, what she hears and speaks every day.
As to her person, she is perhaps too well instructed in the knowledge of that: every thing induces her to flatter, adorn, and idolise it. An essential point is gained if you can inspire her with contempt for it, by observing something of greater value about her.
Say then to a child who is capable of a little reasoning—Is it your soul that eats? If she answers absurdly, do not be harsh with her—but tell her mildly that the soul does not eat—It is the body that eats—the body, which resembles the brutes. Have brutes intellect—are they learned? No, the child will answer. But they eat, you will add, although they have no intellect: you see, therefore, that it is not the soul which eats—it is the body which takes food to nourish it—it is that which walks, and which sleeps. And what does the soul do? It reasons—it knows every one—it loves certain things, and dislikes others. Go on, in a playful manner, "Do you know this table?" Yes. "You know it then?" To be sure. "You see clearly that it is not made like that chair, which is formed of wood, and not like the chimney piece, of stone?" Yes, the child will reply. Proceed no farther without being convinced, by her tone of voice, and by the child's eyes, that these simple truths have struck her. Then say—But does this table know you? You will see that the child will begin laughing, and ridiculing, as it were, such a question.—No matter: go on—Which loves you the best, that table or that chair? She will still keep laughing—but pursue the discourse—Is the window very wise? Then try to go further—Does this doll answer you when you speak to it? No. Why—has it no intellect? No, none. It is not then like you; for you know it, and it does not know you. But after death, when you will be under the ground, shall not you be like this doll? Yes. You will no longer feel any thing? No. You will no longer know any body? No. And your soul will be in heaven? Yes. Will it not then see God? True, it will. And where is the soul of the doll at present? You will perceive that the child will answer with a laugh—or at least that it will make you understand the doll has no soul.
Upon this foundation, and by means of these simple illustrations, enforced at different times, you may accustom the child, by degrees, to attribute both to the body and the soul, that which is peculiar to each—provided you do not indiscreetly propose to her consideration, certain actions which are common to the one and the other. All subtilty must be avoided, as it perplexes truth; and we must content ourselves to point out, with care and correctness, those circumstances that mark distinctly the difference between the body and soul. Sometimes one meets with such stupid characters, whom even the help of a good education will not assist in the comprehension of these truths: however, they may be sometimes clearly conceived, without being perspicuously expressed. God sees better than we do into the spirit of man, what is there placed for the knowledge of his mysteries.
With respect to those children in whom we discover a mind capable of further researches, one may, without throwing them into a study which savours too much of philosophy, make them conceive, according to their inclination, what is meant when it is said that God is a spirit, and that the soul is also a spirit. I think that the best and most simple method of making them conceive this spirituality of God and of the soul, is, to make them remark the difference between a dead and living man: in the one, there is nothing but a body; in the other, the soul is united with the body. Afterwards you may shew them that that which is capable of reasoning, is more perfect than that which has mere form and motion. Then illustrate, by various examples, that no body perishes—that it is only separated: thus, pieces of burnt wood fall into charcoal, or evaporate in smoke. If then, you will add, that which is of itself only charcoal (incapable of knowing and thinking) perishes not—how much more shall the soul, which is capable of both knowledge and thought, endure for ever! The body may die—that is to say, may quit the soul and shrink into dust—but the soul will live; for it will always have the faculty of thinking.
Those who instruct children, should develop, as much as possible, these truths, which are the foundation of all religion. But if success should not crown their exertions, especially with dull obstinate children, let them hope that God will enlighten internally. There is, however, a sensible and practical way of confirming this knowledge of the distinction between body and soul—and that is, accustom children to despise the one, and regard the other, throughout their manners and intercourse with the world. Praise that instruction which nourishes the soul and causes it to expand: esteem those great truths which animate it to become wise and virtuous. Despise luxury of diet and dress, and every thing which enervates the body: make them sensible how much honour, a good conscience, and religion, are above these sensual pleasures. By the force of such sentiments, without reasoning upon the body and the soul, the ancient Romans taught their children to despise the body, and to sacrifise it to every thing which could inspire their minds with the pleasure of virtue and glory. With them, it was not simply persons of high birth, it was the entire mass of the people who lived temperately, disinterestedly, despising life, and sensible only of honour and wisdom, which excited their applause or imitation. When I speak of the ancient Romans, I mean those who lived before the extension of their empire had corrupted their simplicity of manners.