"All of God's creatures, moving in the harmony of Science, are harmless, useful, indestructible,"  ^{Science and Health, p. 514.} writes Mary Baker Eddy in Science and Health. This, of course, is not a relative statement, but an absolute, scientific one, and it describes the spiritual and only real creation. Reasoning from the basis of this statement, it is possible to conclude that in Spirit, indestructibility and harmlessness are universal and inseparable. The precious qualities inherent in genuine childlikeness, for example, such as humbleness, innocence, purity, trust, obedience, could never actually be separated from the qualities inherent in the harmless maturity that typifies God's man, qualities such as wisdom, power, understanding, consistency. Therefore, in reality, childlikeness is never the gullible or vulnerable state suggested by the material senses. Nor is maturity a crossing over from innocence to treachery and predation.

It is of the greatest importance today, in light of ever-increasing reports of child and animal abuse, that humanity gain a sense of both childlikeness and maturity as expressing divine Mind, Spirit, not as mere states of mortal mind or matter. Only when seen spiritually can childlikeness and maturity be understood to be limitless—simultaneously present and never in conflict anywhere in creation.

Is it justified to discuss the healing of both child and animal abuse at the same time? Yes. Physical and mental abuse of children really begins with the abuse of childlike qualities, and with the misunderstanding and misuse of the qualities of maturity. Genuinely deep healing requires that we penetrate shallow mortal classifications, requires the impartial support of all that is truly childlike, wherever expressed. The effort to honor and live this childlikeness, the refusal to humiliate or take advantage of the obedience, gentle trust, and innocence of any creature under any circumstances—this commitment would immediately begin to reverse the seeming tide of aggression toward children. If we give the true qualities of childlikeness weight in our thinking, they will carry weight in the world.

Actually, nuances of these ideas have already been glimpsed by some humanitarians. In a 1981 statement to the twentieth anniversary assembly of the Œuvre d'Assistance aux Bêtes d' Abattoirs in Paris (the French organization dedicated to the reform of factory farms and slaughterhouses), writer Marguerite Yourcenar made this radical and thought-provoking declaration: "Let us remember, if we are concerned with human rights, that there would be less child abuse if there were fewer abused animals. . . ."

My own life certainly bears witness to the validity of this reasoning. Through an experience we had with our dog, I learned that if I abused childlike qualities, in whatever form they were expressed in my life, I could neither love and cherish children, nor nourish and express the indestructible innocence and harmless maturity that typified my own completeness as God's man.

Our dog, a big Weimaraner named Atticus, developed a glandular infection, aggravating a distressing problem he'd had from birth that we were told was medically treatable but not curable. In our prayer for him, we focused particularly on passages in the first chapter of Genesis that helped us to see his real being as an immortal creation of God with a perfect spiritual identity. But when the condition worsened, we felt the need to call a Christian Science practitioner for help.

At one point I told this practitioner about the deceptions (although I didn't call them deceptions) we practiced on our pet because we found him so difficult to handle. I related that instead of taking the time to discipline patiently, we would manipulate him in or out of rooms (and situations) by sending him after his ball, bribing him with a tidbit, or inventing some other ruse, and then closing the door on him. Atticus had become stubborn, distrustful, and more disobedient—confused in his attempts to understand whether or not we were being truthful. The practitioner listened quietly. Then she said, "How can you love him if you're deceiving him!" Chagrined, I made the connection immediately. Since God is both Truth and Love, it is impossible in Science to deceive and still love! (And deceive was one of the early meanings of the word "abuse.") When I next looked at Atticus, it was as though a veil had been lifted from my eyes. With the understanding provided by Science, I could see through the material sense of him to perceive that I was not dealing with a compound of organic matter called a dog, but with qualities, conditions, and modes of thought. I saw the precious, childlike qualities he embodied—his natural trust, joy, loyalty, spontaneity, innocence, unconditional love. Filled with remorse and repentance, I realized that I had abused those qualities. And now I felt a deep desire to respect, cherish, and nurture them. This was the real healing.

As for the physical condition, the bleeding accompanying the infection tapered off immediately, and in a few days Atticus was permanently healed—not only of the diseased condition but also of the supposedly incurable glandular abnormality. It took much, much patience and work over several years to establish a totally trusting relationship again, one motivated by neither bribe nor reward but by mutual love and respect. Yet this discipline was an important part of my spiritual growth.

The real surprise came when I realized that I was no longer irritated or annoyed by infants or young children. I found I had a tender, genuine affection for children that I had not had prior to this experience. Not that I suddenly became a Pied Piper! But I did have an experience through which God showed me the deeper meaning of what I had learned.

One day a couple we know invited us to their home to spend an evening. They had several children of their own, and had volunteered to care for a badly abused three-and-a-half-year-old girl whose mother was in prison for child abuse. When we walked into their living room, the child came toward me with her arms open, wanting to be held and loved. Surprised, my friend told me that even her husband hadn't been able to pick the child up yet. As I held the little girl in my arms, I knew that Christ Jesus' rebuke to the arrogance in his disciples' thinking—"Suffer the little children to come unto me, and forbid them not"  ^{Mark 10:14.} —had been meant for me as well. And now, by consciously, devotedly embracing childlikeness in my heart, I had at last followed Christ Jesus in suffering the little children to come to me.

Soon afterward I realized that when an adult practices deception of any kind on a child (or, for that matter, on anyone or any creature)—even the deception of Santa Claus or the Easter bunny—he confesses a belief in incompleteness. He confesses a belief in lack of the maturity that would see through a myth or lie, and lack of the guilelessness that is incapable of deception.

But beyond this lesson was an even greater, related lesson. I came to understand that the regeneration of human character and the healing of abuse are possible (and inevitable) because of the absolute spiritual fact that every least or greatest expression of Love is protected by the very nature of spiritual, indestructible identity. I needed to see this seminal truth. Because not only was I unable to shake off a sense of guilt about our treatment of Atticus but I also began to feel burdened with sadness at the thought that children and animals seemed first to be at the mercy of human cruelty, and then dependent on human goodness to be saved from cruelty.

One day I found myself pondering Noah's ark, and I realized that the idea of the ark had not originated with Noah. Actually, the divine idea of safety had been revealed as an ark to Noah by the Christ—Truth revealing itself to human consciousness. Thus the safety of each one in the ark was actually God-derived and individual. I saw that refuge from the belief of good or evil human influence begins with the ark-idea of man's direct, individual relationship to divine Love. With this great scientific fact I was at last released from the agonizing illusion that there could be victims and victimizers in God's universe. The whole experience with Atticus became to me a clear illustration of innocence restored, and innocence protected.

Mrs. Eddy states: "In reality there is no mortal mind, and consequently no transference of mortal thought and will-power. Life and being are of God. In Christian Science, man can do no harm, for scientific thoughts are true thoughts, passing from God to man."  ^{Science and Health, pp. 103-104.} For me, this is one of the most merciful, comforting statements in Science and Health. In Science—that is, in the absolute truth of being—we cannot harm one another at all. In this divine consciousness, there is no mind to dominate or be dominated, abuse or be abused. Not only is there no reality in cruelty, insensitivity, ignorance; there is no reality in helplessness, weakness, or mortal dependence.

With the ammunition of these powerful facts, we are able to do battle with the mortal supposition that presents evil, in any guise, as a fundamental reality. Through Christ and the spiritual laws of the Christ Science, we have the ability to prove here and now that the idea formed by the divine Principle and maintained inseparable from that Principle is complete. Childlike innocence is powerful and indestructible; and power is in reality innocent and harmless.