Like the beginning of life, its termination, death, is one of the
recurring puzzles of childhood. This might be illustrated from almost
any autobiographical reminiscences of childhood. Here indeed the
mystery, as may be seen in C.’s case, is made the more impressive and
recurrent to consciousness by the element of dread. A little girl of
three and a half years asked her mother to put a great stone on her
head, because she did not want to die. She was asked how a stone would
prevent it, and answered with perfect childish logic: “Because I shall
not grow tall if you put a great stone on my head; and people who grow
tall get old and then die”.
Death seems to be thought of by the unsophisticated child as the body
reduced to a motionless state, devoid of breath and unable any longer to
feel or think. This is the idea suggested by the sight of dead animals,
which but few children, however closely shielded, can escape.
The first way of envisaging death seems to be as a temporary state like
sleep, which it so closely resembles. A little boy of two and a half
years, on hearing from his mother of the death of a lady friend, at once
asked: “Will Mrs. P. still be dead when we go back to London?”
The knowledge of burial gives a new and terrible turn to his idea of
death. He now begins to speculate much about the grave. The instinctive
tendency to carry over the idea of life and sentience to the buried body
is illustrated in C.’s fear lest the earth should be put over his eyes.
The following observation from the Worcester Collection illustrates the
same tendency. “A few days ago H. (aged four years four months) came to
me and said: ‘Did you know they’d taken Deacon W. to Grafton?’ I. ‘Yes.’
H. ‘Well, I s’pose it’s the best thing. His folks (meaning his children)
are buried there, and they wouldn’t know he was dead if he was buried
here.’” This reversion to savage notions of the dead in speaking of a
Christian deacon has a certain grim humour. All thoughts of heaven were
here forgotten in the absorbing interest in the fate of the body.
Public-domain text, read in full here on John Shaqi.
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