Spoken Word Messages - Page 79

Sometimes people want to do things that they don't want to seem to be personally responsible for. They want the result without the responsibility. And so they resort to various devices by which they attempt to impersonalize their actions. Sometimes, for example, when people want to say something that they hesitate to say in person, they resort to the questionable practice of writing an anonymous letter.

At times we may be disposed to conduct our lives carelessly and indifferently, on the assumption that when it is convenient or necessary, we will settle down and give a more favorable account of ourselves. However, always there comes a day when we have reason to learn how great is the importance of the record—all the record—not only the parts we are proud of, but also the parts we wish weren't there. Many records are kept in life, all of which add up to the complete picture.

Most men resist sudden change. But there are ways in which tremendous changes can come, almost without our being aware of it. By small steps we may arrive at the same destination, which if we had suddenly been brought there, we would ruggedly have resisted. A step at a time is a well-known technique,. And often those who advocate objectives which they know would meet with determined resistance if they should attempt to go all the way at once, are content to arrive at the same result, step by step.

With a limited amount of money, we can't buy everything. With a limited amount of life, we can't be everything. Much as we may wish it were otherwise, whenever we decide to do one thing, we decide not to do other things. If a man has more than one talent, he is constantly faced with a decision as to which talent he wants to give his time to. When lack of talent doesn't limit his choice, lack of time does. No man can know all there is to know, not even in one profession—and perhaps not even in one part of one profession. Everything takes time. Even active friendship takes time.

Sometimes in looking at the lives of others we may suppose that there, are those who lead an untroubled existence—free from the heartaches, from the reverses, free from the causes for worry and anxiety that beset the rest of us. The less we know about others, the more likely we are to make this error. We can't tell on casual acquaintance what another man may be carrying around in his heart, but we can know with almost infallible certainty that, whoever he is and whatever he is, life has dealt with him—or will before he is through with it. We decide in the glorious and optimistic promise of our youth what we would like life to give us.

It is probable that all of us are sensitive to the opinions of other people. And yet it is not uncommon to hear those who say that they don't care what others think. But in saying this, perhaps they are not quite stating the truth; and if they are, perhaps they are not so wise as they might be. It is of first importance, of course, to be right. But even when we are right, it is also of great importance to have other people think we are right. And he who ignores prevailing opinion, right or wrong, does himself and his cause an injustice.

One of the ever-startling things about humankind is the quality that sometimes permits us to be so sure about things we don't know ... to be so utterly positive in our opinions, and yet so wrong. History has given us many examples of uncompromising declarations which the verdict of succeeding generations has found to be in error. Things which only yesterday were dogmatically declared in the classroom and elsewhere are being replaced by other theories, which in our day are sometimes taught with equal dogmatism—and some of which will also later be discarded. Constantly there are being challenged, discredited, and abandoned theories and suppositions, postulates and hypotheses that have heretofore been said to be the last word on the subject.

Reputations are built on many factors—some of them seemingly unpredictable. Many men have become known for things for which they would never have chosen to be known. Men of many talents sometimes become best known for the talents which they themselves esteem the least. It has sometimes happened, for example, that actors who would like to be known as great dramatic artists, have come to be typed as comedians. Likewise, there are those whose hobbies catch the public fancy, whereas their professional pursuits are all but unnoticed.

"Are you surprised ... that after such long travel and so many changes of scene you have not been able to shake off the gloom and heaviness of your mind? You need a change of soul rather than a change of climate."1 There are many to whom this might have been written at this very hour. But Seneca wrote it to a friend some nineteen centuries ago. It would seem that almost all the people in the world could be divided into two classes: those who are running after something, and those who are running away from something. Some have definite objectives, and diligently pursue them. Some are fugitives from false fears. Some are fugitives from their own thoughts. Some are just running without knowing what they are running after or what they are running away from. But the peculiar thing about this restless world is that we so often fail to recognize the source of our difficulties.

From the time of their earliest understanding, we wisely assure our children that there is no reason to fear the dark. We tell them of the need we have for the nighttime to bring us quiet and refreshing sleep. And it is true that a friendly darkness is a welcome and necessary relief to the glaring light. But darkness is only friendly when we know what lies within it. If we have any apprehension that there is something unknown there, it can be anything but reassuring. And there are other kinds of darkness that cause concern besides the darkness that comes with lack of physical light.

As we look back on a year, almost always we wonder where the time has gone, and almost always we wonder what we have done with it. Sometimes we may feel that we have done something really worth while. But often we feel that we have done very little. We know that we've been working; we know that we've been moving; we know that we're tired; we know that we've been busy. But so often we don't actually feel that we have done what we would like to do—or even what was expected of us. Some days seem wasted; some years seem unsatisfying; and sometimes we feel frustrated.

Behind the scenes of this time and season is this insistent thought: There must be much more than mere materialism to make life worth living. What this world needs beyond all these material marvels is what civilization itself needs—the spiritual counterpart of the material progress that men have made. Perhaps we could put into words partly what we have in mind by going back to the story of Scrooge, which Dickens has left for our reading. The marvel was not that a man suddenly began to spend some of his misered money—the marvel was that there was a transformation in the man himself, inside.

We hear many opinions as to what constitutes the most critical period of life. Of course, any answer to this question would depend upon what particular kind of crisis we have in mind. For some things, especially as to physical wellbeing, the years of early infancy are critical; in some ways, the years of childhood are critical; in some ways, adolescence; and for some things and for some people, middle age and old age are critical. But if by the question we mean to ask when is a man safe in letting down his guard, in relaxing his standards, or in becoming inactive—if this is what we mean, then the answer is that all the years are critical years.

One reason why progress is possible is that there are always living among us those who are never content with what they know or with what other men know those wholesomely restless spirits who are always searching for what lies beyond the obvious.   To some extent this is a common characteristic of humankind. Somehow, we like to pry out the secrets and search out the mysteries and try the untried. This quality, like all other useful qualities, may also be subject to abuses and excesses. Sometimes in looking for what lies beyond the obvious, we overlook what is obvious. Sometimes in our search for the mysteries, we ignore the plain and simple truth.

The questions of children are seemingly interminable, and every answer seems only to suggest another question. As children we ask "why?" to many things which as adults we accept as a matter of course. We ask "why?" because what is obvious to others is not obvious to us. And those whose responsibility it is to teach and to train us in our youth rightly expect us to accept some answers which are beyond our understanding because wisdom and experience have found them to be good. In other words, as children we are asked to accept some things on faith. And so it continues to be throughout all our days.

It was Thomas Fuller who said, "You may believe anything that is good of a grateful man." We have no present way of knowing how prevalent is the family practice these days of offering gratitude to God for food and for every other blessing. But it is earnestly to be hoped that prayer is still a widely practiced part of the daily procedure in our homes, and that children grow up learning the source of their blessings—and aren't left to suppose that everything comes automatically from the corner store. If we need to be reminded how completely dependent, we are upon Providence, we need only contemplate what could happen if one expected harvest did not arrive in the world. Our thanks should ever be to Him who has given us life, and except for Whom we should want for food and for all else that makes life livable.

Often when we wish we might be something other than what we are, we don't seem to know where to begin or how. We fix our eyes upon far goals and sometimes assume that they may be approached only by roads that lie beyond our reach. We look at the distance between where we are and where we want to go, and become discouraged. And often we may wish that we were suddenly somewhere else—that we could eliminate time and space, and working and waiting. But this we cannot do. He who wants to go somewhere, must begin where he is, simply because there isn't anywhere else to begin.

As we go about living our lives from day to day and from year to year, the passing of time is mechanically marked off by clocks and chronometers and calendars. But time means much more than a mere mechanical measure. It is the dimension within which we now live. And its passing moves us through many changing patterns—some of which we understand and some of which are deeply perplexing. Gradually yet so quickly do we grow older, that while we feel ourselves to be still young, we may come to be looked upon as being old in the eyes of those who are yet younger. In youth, we look far ahead and dream great dreams, and while we still suppose we have our youth, there are others yet more youthful who begin to number us with those who have left youth behind.

When someone sets out to deceive someone else he is more likely to be successful if he deceives with similarities rather than with obvious differences. If falsehood were not sometimes so subtly like the truth, if imitations were not sometimes so skillfully like the real thing, it wouldn't be so difficult to stamp out false philosophies and fictitious values. But the whole theory and practice and technique of deception is to play on likenesses.

We hear much in the affairs of men of the use of moral force. It is a force to be reckoned with now, as it always has been. It is one of the few weapons that does not become obsolete. It is the first and last line of defense. Without it men lose heart and give up. With it they often hold out against great odds. There is something about the nature of man that makes it necessary for him to justify himself—to want to seem to be right both in his own eyes and in the eyes of others—before he can effectively sustain his position.

Perhaps most of us at times cherish the thought that we would like to go back—back to try over—or back to enjoy once more the reality of some of our memories. But places long unseen often loom larger in memory than they really are. That haystack on the old farm was surely much higher than now it seems. That green lane was surely longer and lovelier than this. And that high fence in the back yard and the tree we climbed to look over it—surely they were an important part of the universe. And the old house had yawning eaves in the closets, and untold mysteries in that deep cellar and up in that beckoning yet forbidding attic. Why, that house couldn't have been as small as now it seems. Surely it couldn't be I who have changed!

In our efforts, to find a solution for our perplexing problems, we sometimes appoint people to various positions, give them credentials, and send them off to their assignments, earnestly hoping that, without much more effort on our part, they will find a safe and sure solution to the problems that plague us. We often expect much of men. And there is much that sincere and able and honest men can do. But we would do well to remember that men, after all, are men. And to emphasize this fact, suppose that all of you ask yourselves this question: If the world's pressing problems were in your hands waiting to be set right, just what would you do? What would be your answer to all of the unanswered questions of our time?

People who write plays often pull themselves out of predicaments by the use of "exit lines." With a good exit line an actor can extricate himself from the most difficult dilemmas. But the need for exit lines is by no means confined to the theatre. In real life exit lines may save many situations also; for example, we could often use one for the person who has time to waste, and who wants to waste our time while he is wasting his—for the person who supposes that his leisure is everyone's leisure. But there are numerous needs for exit lines in more serious circumstances. Often young people are faced with unpleasant alternatives, such as a choice between principles and so-called popularity.

Frequently when we become aware of conditions that need correction, we wonder why the people who are responsible don't correct them. In a home or a family, in a community or a commonwealth, usually it will be found that there is someone whose moral or legal responsibility it is to see that questionable conditions do not exist, and we are led to wonder why they are permitted to continue. There could be many answers to this line of questioning, and to ascribe any one cause would be to oversimplify the problem.

Within the week we of America have seen another anniversary of great significance in our history come and go, the anniversary of the Constitution of the United States. It would not be wholly correct to say that this event was passed over without notice, because here and there it was referred to—but to say that it was passed by, unnoticed by many Americans, is conservatively within the facts. We have other days of special designation which mean much less to us in reality, to which we give much more attention, for it is by the very existence of this inspired document and its Bill of Rights that we are guaranteed freedom of speech, freedom of the press, freedom of worship—indeed, freedom itself.

There is a familiar scene in the drama of human affairs that is played over and over again through the years—a scene that has often been known to move through a sequence something like this: a group of people combine for the accomplishment of certain questionable ends. It may be for the exploitation of some unfair advantage; it may be for the defrauding of unsuspecting people; it may be for any questionable purpose or pursuit—even for the domination of' a country or the subjugation of a world.

A trend that has always caused concern among far-thinking men is the trend toward encroachment upon the processes of justice, whereby various non-judicial agencies or officers accuse, try, convict, and impose penalties without what we have come to call "due process of law." But there is another type of poaching upon the judicial process which is even more prevalent and persistent—and that is the judgment which malicious and irresponsible people sometimes presume to pronounce upon the character and qualifications of other people. Often in whispers, cowardly accusers try and condemn a man without any evidence except gossip or hearsay or their own prejudiced opinions, and often without the accused ever having known that he was on trial.

When someone has succeeded someone else in some place or position, people sometimes make it unreasonably difficult by expecting him to do just as his predecessor has done. We may in a measure perform the functions of someone else. We may take over an office that someone else has had. We may acquire the titles and the tenure or sit in the chair that someone else has occupied. We may win the affection of people who have lost someone they love. But literally no man ever completely takes the place of anyone else, nor must we expect anyone to. It is quite natural that we should make comparisons among people. But sometimes we may want to make others over unreasonably, as we find ourselves wishing that one person were more like another person in some things, and less like him in others.

It is sometimes said that the world would be a peaceful place except for the confusion caused by humankind. To a great degree this is no doubt true. While there is still violence in nature, we have learned to control much that is essential to our comfort and convenience, and for us the earth is a relatively peaceful and provident place except where man meets man in misunderstanding and in unbecoming conduct. Our most pressing problems are concerned with the appetites, the personalities, and the perversities of men. All through life it would seem there are some whom we fear, some against whom we feel we have to protect ourselves.

There is a prevalent practice from which few men are wholly immune, and that is—wishful thinking. Wishful thinking as defined for our present purpose is the practice of deciding what we would like to believe, what we hope might be true, and then settling down and complacently supposing that what would serve our comfort or convenience is true. Choosing to believe what we would like to believe regardless of the facts, makes final shocks all the harder to meet and reality all the more difficult to face.