Spoken Word Messages - Page 80

It sometimes seems that we are inclined to expect much more of other people than we expect of ourselves, and that we make less allowance for imperfections in other people than we do for our own imperfections. What is ours, we are disposed to defend—even our own faults. We sometimes seem to feel about our faults, somewhat as we feel about our children. We may defend them against an outside criticism, and yet reserve the right to criticize them ourselves.

When the Lord God gave the Ten Commandments to Moses, "Remember the Sabbath day, to keep it holy"1 was considered of sufficient importance to be numbered as one among the ten. And surely whatever is included among the commandments should not be looked upon lightly: "Thou shalt have no other gods before me . . . Thou shalt not make unto thee any graven image . . . Thou shalt not take the name of the Lord thy God in vain ... Honor thy father and thy mother . . . Thou shalt not kill . . . Thou shalt not commit adultery . . . Thou shalt not covet—these are basic principles of inestimable importance. And numbered among them is the one concerning the Sabbath. But why be concerned about the Sabbath?

Sometimes we bear someone shrug off a puzzling or disappointing situation with the comment, "What will it matter a hundred years from now?" This may be just a casual way of by-passing facts that we don't want to face, but it's a good question if we will ask it seriously: "What will it matter a hundred years from now—or fifty, or ten, or tomorrow?" In many ways our lives would be very different if we would ask this question before we do some of the things we do, before we say some of the things we say, and before we pursue some of the objectives we pursue.

There is one characteristic that many of us have in common, and that is our unwillingness to believe what we do not understand. It requires a man of considerable faith to believe what he does not or cannot understand. Lack of understanding ofttimes causes men of primitive mind to doubt or distrust the operation of anything that is not easily apparent. For the same reason—lack of understanding—often men of superior learning in the ways of this world are inclined to question the purposes of God, His judgments, His decisions with respect to life and death, because His ways are past their understanding and their faith is not sufficient to go beyond the limits of their factual knowledge.

The institutions of men confer a great many and a great variety of honors, titles, degrees, and awards of one kind or another. Almost every organization that has brought men together in a common purpose issues its credentials, its recognition’s, and its marks of merit, for some of which there is much demand and much acclaim. From the most sought-after honors to the least—all are in one form or other recognitions from one man to another or from many men to one man of some degree of excellence, or supposed excellence, in some field of thought or action.

Freedom is always a timely topic. When we have it, it may sometimes seem commonplace—which it isn't. And some among us may look over the fence and wonder if some other way of life might be more effective than freedom—which it wouldn't. In a free land we may sometimes become annoyed with error and inefficiency. And we may hear many high-sounding proposals that are offered in exchange for freedom. But freedom isn't something that you give up for anything else. And if you do, you have made a bad bargain. Many millions of unfortunate men know this now. We may complain at times, and we may have cause for complaining. But before we look longingly at any other way of life, we should remember that there are many men who can't complain without penalty. Freedom to criticize and complain is one of the precious privileges of freedom. Certainly it shouldn't be overdone. But neither should it be suppressed.

Sometimes we wonder what makes men act the way they act and do the things they do. But it is difficult to know what goes on inside another person. And because we don't know, it is exceedingly easy to misjudge other men. We often see the outward effect, but frequently we fail to see the inward cause. Sometimes we observe a man who gives evidence of being embittered, who is persistently unpleasant, and we may wonder how he got that way. But unless we know his whole life, the factors and influences that have shaped him, we cannot fairly judge him. And we cannot know how we ourselves would act if we had been through similar circumstances.

Sometimes young people in a venturesome spirit seek to acquire an acquaintance with questionable practices, questionable places and questionable people not with the idea of becoming involved in any unsavory situation, but just to "see" another side of life. Sometimes they suppose themselves to be immune to the taint of the things they only lightly touch, and sometimes they justify themselves in seeking unseemly sights, in frequenting unwholesome places, and in "sampling" questionable things on the ground that such pursuits "widen" their experience and "broaden" their knowledge of life. But, if this be logic, may we not then ask: Wouldn't we likewise be justified in robbing a bank for experience? Or in starting a forest fire for experience?' Or in jumping off a building for experience?

There is a proverb from The Persians that reads: "When a man takes the road to destruction, the gods help him along."1 Certainly tearing things down is easier than building them up. "Rome wasn't built in a day," but it could easily be destroyed in a day. Almost anyone can pull things to pieces, but it requires time and patience and purpose to put the pieces in place. Nevertheless, there are those who are persistent in pulling things down—not only physical things, but also ideals and principles, and even the foundations of faith—and not only the present, but there are those who seem to be set on pulling down the past also.

There is an exceedingly important question that parents repeatedly ask young people: "Where are you going?" And even though a youngster may become impatient, it is important that parents ask it, and it is important that they receive a straight and open answer. An evasive answer is often an introduction to trouble. Sometimes people have definite destinations in mind, which they don't object to discussing. Sometimes people, young and old, simply don't want to account for their intended course. And sometimes they don't really know where they are going; they are just drifting. "Where are you going?" is an important question every time we venture forth from the family fireside, every time we undertake any activity, every time we travel with any crowd or company.

In a letter to a friend, Thomas Jefferson once wrote: "There is a fullness of time when men should go." This may be easy to understand when men have reached an age that is old and have become weary of walking the ways of this life. But death is more difficult to accept when it makes what seems to us to be an untimely call—when it takes children who have not lived a fullness of years—when it takes the young, the vigorous—when it takes beloved companions, friends, and close kin. Seldom, if ever, are we ready for it when it visits those we love.

Quite frequently we hear people who express themselves as wanting to do something for the great mass of mankind, perhaps for their further enlightenment, or their physical comfort, or their political well being. Sometimes the motives of these would-be benefactors are sincere and unselfish. Sometimes they may not be. But any person whose purpose it is to improve all mankind en masse should not overlook this point: Fundamentally speaking, there is no such thing as, a mass of humanity.

It is often easy to be pleasant when we have no responsibility. This is a profound fact that young people often overlook. Friends and strangers and casual acquaintances may sometimes seem to them to be more pleasant than parents. Other people don't restrict them as do their parents. Other people don't tell them where they can go and where they can't go. Other people don't tell them what to eat and what not to eat. Other people don't plague them to practice. Other people don't pester them to pick up their clothes and to get their homework done. Other people don't tell them to go to bed and to get up. Other people don't tell them when to go out and when to come in. And if a youngster really wants to make a case of it, he may at times have some cause to conclude that other people are more pleasant than his parents.

It is difficult for those who are, young to understand the loneliness that comes when life changes from a time of preparation and performance to a time of putting things away. In the eager and active years of youth it is difficult to understand how parents feel as their flock, one by one, leave the family fireside. To be so long the center of a home, so much sought after, and then, almost suddenly to be on the sidelines watching the procession pass by—this is living into loneliness.

Few of us actually know our own strength until we, are faced with situations that test us, to the last limit. We often underestimate our power to endure hardships. And we sometimes overestimate our power to resist temptation. There is an oft-told tale of the boys who were seeing who could lean farthest out of a window. The boy who "won" did what too many people do: he leaned so far that he fell. A man must have wisdom and judgment as well as courage and ability and strength. And wisdom would suggest that we stop somewhere short of testing our strength to the last degree of endurance. Wisdom would suggest that we refrain from getting into things that might carry us beyond where we want to stop.

One of the methods of determining the truth or falsity of any theory is by "trial and error"—which is to say, if you want to prove something, try it, put it to the test. If it works, it is true; if it doesn't, it is false. In the physical world such experimentation has led to many great factual discoveries, but every man cannot always prove all things by trial and error—nor is it necessary. For example, a long time ago we learned that if we explode a bomb near people and property, injury, and destruction and even death follow. This, having been demonstrated, becomes an accepted fact.

"He who imitates an evil example generally goes beyond it; he who imitates a good example generally falls short of it."1 These words from a sixteenth century philosopher suggest some further observations. One of the most common excuses that we make for ourselves when we want to do something we shouldn't do is that others are doing it. We are very sensitive to the example of others, especially when we want to be.

Sometimes in the confusion with which we live, we find ourselves longing for quiet places. The intensity of everything we do leaves us breathless from day to day, and before we have emerged from one whirlwind, we find ourselves in the midst of another. The acceleration of all things leaves us little time to pause, to linger, to think. For some these things are so because they would have them so.

It has often been observed that a little learning is a dangerous thing. But if a little learning is dangerous, surely a little ignorance is dangerous also. And then think how great must be the danger of a lot of ignorance? If we want some idea of how little we know of what there is to know, to begin with we need only look into a large library and see the almost endless shelves of books that no man in this life will ever have time to read. We sometimes marvel that all the men who ever lived, ever found time or reason to write them.

As our thoughts are turned again to the issues of Fife, and death, and immortality, we think of those whom we have cherished in life and who have already departed from us—where are they and when shall we again behold them? These, and many other questions, come to call for answer. There are some who feel they have the answer. There are others who deny all possibility of immortality, and still others who accept it with many limitations and qualifications. Those who profess the greatest doubts are often most disposed to talk about the subject. Those who have a quiet assurance of their own personal continuance seem little disposed to raise the issue.

There is no denying the fear that sometimes takes hold of the hearts of men when unwelcome shapes and shadows appear on the horizon. We have all known the wilting of spirit and the feeling of futility when the prospect of the future is not just as we would have it.

We all do some wise things in life, and we all do some foolish things. We are constantly facing critical decisions, some of which we recognize as such, and some of which seem to be of relatively little importance, but which may have far reaching effects. And it is quite characteristic of humankind that whenever we pass up an opportunity or make a bad decision, there is always something of a secret hope in our hearts that our mistakes are not conclusive—that we will have another chance to make other choices that will offset the ones on which we have defaulted. In a sense this is true.

Admittedly with all of us, there are some people in the world whom we like better than others. And if we were always to follow our personal preferences, quite likely we would see more of those we like more and less of those we like less. But it isn't always possible to isolate ourselves from those we like less. In the complexity of our living we are dependent upon many kinds of people. Furthermore, where freedom is a reality, men move about in pursuit of their own purposes, and the atmosphere and environment we live in is determined only partly by us, and partly by others.

To quote an expressive comment: "If you want to forget your other troubles, wear a pair of shoes that pinch." It would seem that we often permit immediate annoyances to divert our attention from things that are much more important. A toothache, for example, can seem to be about the most important thing in the world to the man whose tooth is aching. This, no doubt, is natural, but there is danger in it if we merely look for ways to relieve the symptoms rather than correct the condition that caused them.

George Washington is remembered for many things too numerous to mention, but among them is this: That he was one of the men of history who declined to assume all the power that was proffered him. This is not unique, perhaps, but certainly it would be safe to say that it is unusual. And in his farewell address he indicated his attitude on this and on other important principles. We commend the reading of Washington's Farewell Address to every American and to every man who loves his freedom and wants to keep it.

Many men and many movements, many reputations and many public and private ventures are made and unmade by desirable or undesirable publicity. And since publicity and propaganda so intimately affect our lives and since the personalities who are in the public parade become so much a part of the pattern of our thinking, it may be well to look for a moment at the part publicity plays—It is quite common, of course, for people to be employed to paint word pictures of other people to suit every passing purpose. Many titles, earned and unearned, have been created for publicity purposes for people who were bidding for public approval.

It is good to be self-reliant and to feel within ourselves the power to make our lives conform to the blueprints of our dreams and worthy ambitions. But there are times when all of us are confronted with circumstances and situations which are beyond our power to control or understand, for which we must seek help and answer beyond ourselves. There are times when life deals roughly with us. And at such times men who have learned to pray—who have made an earnest practice of it—find comfort and courage and confidence beyond their own strength and understanding.

Sometimes we see people who seem to be "getting away" with violations of law, violations of conscience, violations of every code of right conduct. Often, they seem to enjoy the fruits of their false living and false dealing. And we may wonder in our hearts when blind justice is going to open her eyes and do something about it. But the reason we feel this way is because we see only part of the picture.

In the communiqués of the recent war we often read of armies retreating "according to plan." Of course we received such reports with some reservations, for armies aren't likely to retreat before reaching their objectives—except as the second of two choices. But it has often happened that armies that have retreated, whether "according to plan" or otherwise, have later come back to redeem the day. This pattern has its parallel in life.

Some time ago someone coined a popular phrase: "Fifty million Frenchmen can't be wrong". This is one way of saying that what many people think must be true. Superficially this might sometimes seem to be a safe rule. But let's look a little deeper: In the history of warfare hundreds of millions of men have fought hundreds of millions of other men. With some exceptions and reservations, both sides have thought they were right. On every major issue that has ever come before the world as far back as the record goes, millions of men have opposed other millions of men in their opinions. Among the interesting devices of our day are the polls of public opinion.