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These recent weeks we have considered happiness and. ignorance and understanding: the need for understanding facts and places, and people—perhaps especially people, for we so much need an understanding of each other, at home, at school, at work, in marriage, and in every relationship of life.
Last week we referred to the fallacy of the old adage that “ignorance is bliss”—and to the need for understanding. Now to turn for a moment to another phase of this subject of ignorance and understanding. Some centuries ago, Nicholas Ling said that “Ignorance is a voluntary misfortune.”1 And John Locke later added: “A man […]
We spoke last week of happiness, of discontent, and of the problem of comparisons, and cited this two-century-old sentence: "If one only wished to be happy, this could be easily accomplished; but we wish to be happier than other people, and this is always difficult, for we believe others to be happier than they are."1
A sentence written some two or more centuries ago is significant in the search for the happiness that all of us so much seek. “If one only wished to be happy,” it says, “this could be easily accomplished; but we wish to be happier than other people, and this is always difficult, for we believe […]
Last week we cited a sentence from Sir Richard Livingstone that "the young, whether they know it or not, live on borrowed property,"1 and observed that all of us borrow much from many, from the present and the past, and that we are deeply indebted to too many to mention.
In a significant sentence Sir Richard Livingstone once said: "The young, whether they know it or not, live on borrowed property."1 At all ages, young or old, we all borrow much, and we are deeply aware today, at the beginning of' our thirty-first year on the air, of' the borrowing we have done, and of the debt we owe to too many to mention.
We have talked in recent weeks of self-control, of the fact that every man must sometime be trusted to himself, and of the influencing of others by the living example of our lives. And now, as to some further related thoughts on this general theme: Time passes with exceeding swiftness between the time when we are very young and free and flexible until the time when thoughts and habits and attitudes become somewhat firmly fixed.
May we recall these two phrases from a moving and meaningful song: "Confirm thy soul in self-control, Thy liberty in law."1 Always and earnestly urgent in all the issues and in all the aspects of life are "self-control" and "liberty" and "law." And always to be taught, and never to be forgotten, is that liberty is preserved by law.
Last week we talked of the feelings of self-sufficiency that sometimes seem to assert themselves when people feel sure that they no longer have need of others, and we reminded ourselves that no man can be sure he will not have need of others, ever, nor be sure that he will not need someone soon, no matter how successful or how assured life looks
Last week we closed with a sentence from John Locke on the teaching and training of children, in which he said: "For you must take this for a certain truth, that let them have what instructions you will, and ever so learned lectures . . . daily inculcated into them, that which will most influence their carriage will be the company they converse with, and the fashion of those about them."1
Last week we recalled some sentences on self-control and some thoughts concerning those who leave home, for school, for employment, for other purposes, and cited this significant sentence: "Every man must sometime or other be trusted to himself."1
As to mental, physical and spiritual discipline, sometime ago we cited some sentences from John Locke which said: "Consent to nothing but what may be suitable to the dignity and excellency of a rational creature. . ..
We are mindful these days of young people who are moving into life's more permanent pursuits. We are mindful also of the many decisions facing those who have completed some part of their preparation, and who must now or soon decide whether to quit or how far to proceed with further preparation. It is difficult to generalize, for each case carries its own set of circumstances.
Last week, it may be recalled, we closed with a quotation from an ancient Roman writer: “Do you expect, forsooth,” he said, “that a mother will hand down to her children principles which differ from her own?”1 This compelling question could well be asked by all who contemplate marriage, and who are wise enough to […]
We have concerned ourselves somewhat these past two weeks with mothers, and daughters, and wives, and the place of women in the world, and should like to pursue the subject with these few further thoughts: In considering ideals and objectives, and the sometimes overemphasis on social considerations, and appeals merely to appearance. Ruskin wrote: “The […]
In speaking of mothers, of daughters, of wives, we should like to turn a moment or two to the place of women in the world. Of course, in some respects it has so greatly shifted—so greatly that greatly seems almost too weak a word.
In speaking to an occasion, a century or so ago, Rufus Choate left some lines on love of country that seem to have as much of meaning for love of home: "There is a love he said, "which comes uncalled for, one knows not how. It comes with the very air, the eye, the ear, the instincts, . . . the first beatings of the heart.
Today in a few sentences we should like to share some thoughts on physical fitness, on health and happiness. People may perform well despite physical frailties, despite impairments, despite ill health, and many heroically do; but this doesn't set aside the fact that a person could better think, could better serve, could better perform with all sides of himself fully functioning.
Some recent weeks ago we talked of being in the world, but not of it, and of the impossibility of pleasing all people. And now currently we recall this quotation accredited to a significant source: "I cannot give you the formula for success, but I can give you the formula for failure—try to please everybody."1
Last week we talked of never making life smaller, of never making life less, and of the obligation we have to work, to think, to produce, to enrich the world as part payment for what we have received from others, and as part payment for all that the Lord God has given.
We have talked before of the fact that there is nothing, we ever do that fails to have its effect on, others. People sometimes say that their lives are their own, and that what they do shouldn't concern anyone else. But everything, in fact, sooner or later does concern someone else.
In a moving and most meaningful utterance, the Master of mankind thus prayed for those whom the Lord God had given him: "I pray not that thou shouldest take them out of the world, but that thou shouldest keep them from the evil."1
Perhaps it is time again to say some things that have been said before and to say them gratefully and soberly in this Easter setting—for always and ever we need assurance against what otherwise would be but fleeting futility assurance that men are immortal, that justice can be counted on, that truth and intelligence, people and personality continue eternally beyond time, and that loved ones who have left us are not forever lost.
Since so constantly it has recurred, for so many centuries, we should not, perhaps, be overly awed by its coming once again—but Spring never ceases to be an unbelievable miracle and an unforgettable memory.
Sometimes we little seem to realize how much of hurt there is in irresponsible utterance, and how much of time is used in triviality of talk. On this subject Sir John Lubbock said: “One is thrown in life with a great many people who, though not actively bad, though they may not willfully lead us […]
Do we speak as well of our friends when they are absent as when they are with us? It would sometimes seem hazardous to be absent from some kinds of company because of gossip or uncomplimentary comments concerning those who aren't there.
Whenever policies or products or principles, or actions or attitudes were under consideration, a certain thoughtful observer often asked this challenging, this compelling question: "What will it do to the man?"1—not what is politic or popular or profitable only, not what is comfortable or convenient only, but what will it do to people?
A very important part of our heritage is the lessons other men have learned and left us. The principles, the experience of prophets, of patriots and others of the past are precious and priceless in their continuing constancy of counsel.
In some thoughtful lines on life, Samuel Johnson said: "Reflect that life, like every other blessing, derives its value from its use alone."1
We have talked before of beginning to be what we want to be, and of the uneasy feelings that linger inside ourselves when we leave what we should have done not only undone, but also unstarted. We all intend well—or most of us do. We sometimes dream well; We usually hope well and wish well. We sometimes plan well, but we don't always do what has to be done to bring our hopes and plans to the point of beginning. Sometimes we simply don't get going.