Spoken Word Messages - Page 82

There are times in the lives of all of us when someone has to see that we do what we should do, and that we don't do what we shouldn't do. In our early years we become accustomed to having parents make many decisions for us, and to having teachers tell us what to do from day to day Before we are fully accountable, such assuming of responsibility by others would seem to be essential to the process of growing and learning. But sooner or later we find ourselves in circumstances when neither parents nor teachers are near-by to hedge us about and to tell us what to do and what not to do. And for such times we must know for ourselves right from wrong and must decide for ourselves which is which.

The month of June is traditionally a month of beginnings and endings. For many it is the end of school and the beginning of the serious pursuits of life, and many students come forth from their years in the classroom wondering what they can expect of their education and what the world expects of them.

There is an old and well-worn proverb which says that "one man's meat is another's poison"1—thus giving recognition to the fact that men have many points of difference. Food that is agreeable to some is injurious to others. Clothes and colors that are liked by some, are unbecoming or distasteful to others. Medicine that is beneficial to some reacts negatively on others. People and personalities who are attractive and entertaining to some are unattractive and boring to others. And so, we might go through the whole list of human likes and dislikes, of preferences and prejudices, of compatibility and incompatibility—all pointing to the proposition that what may be true of one man may be untrue of another. But there is almost always danger in generalization, even in the generalization which says that there are exceptions to every rule.

There are few of us but who have been touched somehow by death. We may or not have been touched closely by it nor yet have kept vigil with it, but sooner or later along our lives, most of us are bereft of someone near and deeply cherished—and all of us will some day meet it face to face. Perhaps most of us feel that we could accept death for ourselves and for those we love if it did not so often seem to come with such untimeliness. But we rebel when it so little considers our wishes or our readiness. Yet we may well ask ourselves: When would we be willing to part with or to part from those we love? And who is there among us whose judgment we would trust to measure out our lives? Such decisions would be terrible for mere men to make.

We have heard much of such words as arbitration, negotiation, and conciliation. They have come to be technical terms, with many shades of meaning, but their over-all sense implies the settling of disagreements without physical force or open warfare. Such proceedings often involve important organizations or powerful nations. But something similar may also be needed in dissolving private difficulties, both with children and with adults. There are many ways of handling children even as there are many ways of handling grown men.

On excellent authority we may say that "there is ... a time to every purpose under . . . heaven."1 And we should like to consider this a time for remembering. Looking forward from our youth and looking back after youth has passed, present two vastly different pictures. As parents we see the future in our children. But as children we see the future in ourselves. When we are young, parents may look very old to us, even as we look very young to them. And all of us change so gradually that we may not know when it is that we are looked upon as being old by others. The generations come and go, with time moving all things on their way, with children becoming parents, parents becoming grandparents, and youth growing up to take their places, while others move on, as life endlessly unfolds.

All of us at times are disappointed in the actions of others. Perhaps there is no one who doesn't disappoint someone some time by something he does or fails to do. But it should not be thought so strange that we should sometimes have cause to be disappointed in others, because, being honest, we must admit that there are also times when we have cause to be disappointed in ourselves. All of us do, unintentionally, and perhaps intentionally at times, things of which we are not especially proud. We say things that we later regret; we give way to thoughtlessness, carelessness, neglect. We often fail to live as well as we know how to live. But it is not so much in our disappointment in people that danger lies, but in our failure to distinguish between people and principles.

Despite all adverse elements, the past century or so has been one of profound unfoldment of glorious truths. The mind of man has been permitted by the Almighty to penetrate what to us have heretofore been unknown realms. But amid all this there is much need for man's humility. Because we have learned a little of what happens and a little of why it happens, we may make the mistake of supposing that we know more than we do. Knowing a little something of the laws and using a little something of the forces of the universe, we would do well to remember always that we are but the timid discoverers and not the creators thereof.

There is a statement accredited to Benjamin Franklin which says, "Sin, is not hurtful because it is forbidden, but it is forbidden because it is hurtful."' Perhaps few truths are more important for youth to learn than this. Young people sometimes profess to feel that instructions and counsels and restrictions are arbitrarily imposed upon them; that there is no basic reason for such precautions except that parents and other elder advisers seek to saddle the standards of their generation on the succeeding generation.

The needs of our lives are many—but they are perhaps not so many as we sometimes permit ourselves to suppose. Like the children we are, we are often inclined to pray for things we think are essential to our happiness, but which, in fact, may have little to do with our happiness. As do some children, we sometimes seem to want what we want regardless of the consequences to us and regardless of who else has to go without to give it to us.

There is no compromising with death. We may differ much in our preparedness to meet it but not in our ability to avoid it. And the prospect would be dark indeed except for the event which this day commemorates: the return from death to life of Jesus the Christ, the son of God, the "first-fruits of the resurrection," by whose triumph over death all mankind are assured a like coming forth from the grave.

We often see men of much promise who move ahead in life so far and then seemingly fail to fulfil their promise. We often see men who, from all outward indications, would seem to have much that makes for happiness, incentive, and purpose, but who nevertheless lapse into listlessness, unrest, and even into deep despondency. Something happens, the cause of which may not always be apparent to the casual observer, but the retarding results of which are unmistakably apparent.

Sometimes we permit ourselves to assume that everything we call by the same name has the same qualities of character. It is almost as if knowing one man whose name is John, we conclude that all men named John are like him. Consider for example, the word "efficiency." Its various shades of definition all boil down to getting things done with the least expenditure of time, effort, energy, money, material, or whatever it takes to do whatever it is we want done.

Perhaps most of us at times feel a wholesome dissatisfaction with ourselves, but it would seem that we more often feel dissatisfaction and impatience with the failures and faults of others. When we set about to have someone do something for us, it often annoys us if it isn't done as well as we think it should be. We are perturbed when others make what seem to us to be wrong decisions. We are annoyed when we see someone else miscarry an opportunity, or miss the mark in any activity. Most of us are inclined to do our share of sideline coaching and to be critical of those who are doing the playing. It isn't easy to sit by and watch someone else fumble, when we are convinced that we could do what they are doing in less time, with greater skill.

In dealing with the problems of men there are two approaches that might be made. One is that all men are alike; the other, that all men are different. Both together are true; either without the other is false. All men are alike in many things, and all men are different in many things. Men are different partly because of differences in environment and experience, partly because of differences in opportunities; but beyond all this they are different because of differences at birth, and before birth, concerning which we know little, but the results of which we see dramatically and unmistakably.

It is sometimes cynically said that every man has his price—by which it is intended to imply that there is no honor or honesty, no virtue or verity, no patriotism or principle that will not be violated or compromised, provided a sufficient amount is offered. It is regrettably true that many men have been known to change their views, and even their so-called convictions for various considerations at various times. It is regrettably true that men have been known to sell their influence, to barter their votes, and even to perjure themselves, for profit or preferment.

The phrase "defense in depth" has often been used as descriptive of a broad and flexible system of multiple strength, as contrasted with a thin and rigid line of fortification.- There is another source of multiple strength that is a safeguard to any nation or people that has it, and that is "thinking in depth." Few if any great discoveries and few if any great developments come solely through the efforts of any one man—even though history sometimes accredits them to one man. And in the urgency of war, many minds moving toward a common purpose accomplished what would seem to have been the scientifically impossible. Neither one mind, nor a few minds, nor many regimented minds could have done so much.

Perhaps all of us have been embarrassed when we have been asked questions we could not answer. But we need not be, necessarily, because anyone can ask questions that no one can answer. And very often the best answer is the frank admission that we don't know. Surely there are many times when it would be better to say this than it would be to fumble in confusion. If we admit we don't know, our frankness may increase the confidence of others in us, but if we pretend we do when we don't, it doesn't take long for others to discover it, and their confidence drops accordingly. This isn't true only with adults; it is true also with children.

Truth and facts can be very stubborn and inconvenient at times. And with all of us, there are perhaps some things we wish were true and some things we wish were not true. And so, by a process of rationalization, so-called, we often talk ourselves into or out of many things, admitting all the evidence that would take us where we want to go, and excluding all the evidence that would not.   In other words, we sometimes first decide what we would like the answers to be, and then work back to make them seem to be what we would like.

Often quoted, and ascribed to various sources, is this doubtful declaration: "I don't care what you say about me so long as you mention my name." This statement, however we may disagree with it, gives recognition to the basic fact that we are attracted to the things we know. A name heard often enough, even though unfavorably, attracts attention, whereas an unknown name may not. What we know nothing about has no part in our thinking. But if we know a little about something, we may want to know a little more, and if we know much about it, we may want to know all about it.

No doubt there have been times when all of us have speculated as to what we would do with the world if we were running it. Not infrequently we hear people who are outspoken on the subject and who confidently say: "If I were running things, I would do it differently!" And it often happens that people with least responsibility for a particular problem seem to have the greatest profusion of opinions concerning it. A doctor with a serious case on his hands is inclined to say little—while almost every casual caller has a tried treatment to offer. And if a man with an ailment were to take all the counsels of his friends, he may well be killed by well-intention cures.

There are those who disavow belief in God, because the world in which He is omnipotent does not always seem to us to be managed as well as it might, and because the children of whom He is the Father have so frequently misconducted themselves. No doubt many who take this position are earnestly sincere. They ask questions for which they find no answers, and they choose therefore to assume that the only One who could answer them does not exist.

A characteristic common to humankind is a compelling curiosity, for which we may well be grateful. Of course, like all other attributes, curiosity may become excessive or perverted. But a wholesome curiosity moves us to learning and impels us to progress. Indeed, when eagerness for learning leaves, it is evidence of a lagging interest in life. Curiosity is especially acute in children and may become exasperating to puzzled parents because there are some questions which we may not be prepared to satisfy with readily available answers.

We frequently hear people speak of making good resolutions, but not so frequently do we hear them speak of repenting. And yet, is not the sincere resolve to do better in the future, like unto repenting of the past? There are many kinds of repentance and many things to repent of, both in moral and material matters.

In the pungent phrasing of Benjamin Franklin: "Experience is a dear school, but a fool can learn in no other." These words suggest two ways by which we learn the lessons of life: by our own experience and by the experience of others. They suggest also that the experience of others is a great heritage, and the more we learn from it the less of life we waste. For example, if every scientist insisted on going back to the beginning to perform all the experiments that all his predecessors had performed, there would be little or no progress in science. Life would be wasted in proving what had already been proved. If every explorer were to discard all maps and ignore all previous exploration, there would be little or no new discovery. Life would be wasted in finding what has already been found. Men of old have left us comparatively little that is tangible, but they have left us much that is profitable: the great treasure of their experience, the great heritage of revealed and discovered truth. Jesus of Nazareth, for example, left us no tangibles. History does not record that he owned any. But he left us a way of life that has within it the answers to the human problems that beset this and every other generation. But, to speak in the vernacular, in many things we seem to insist on "starting from scratch" again and again. And often in bruised belligerency we beat our way through life, extravagantly proving what multitudes of men have proved myriad times before, foolishly fumbling and faltering where others have fumbled and faltered. If we don't actually throw away the maps, at least it would often seem that we choose to ignore them. We look with puzzled pity upon the prodigal son who wantonly wasted inherited property. But deliberately throwing away experience from reliable sources is of' the same cloth and color as deliberately throwing away tangibles. And if children were always to disregard all that parents have learned—all that all men have proved about life —it would but mean the needless multiplying of many mistakes. 'The Spoken Word," heard over Radio Station KS L and the nationwide Columbia Broadcasting System, from the Tabernacle, Temple Square, Salt Lake City,, Sunday,, December 29, 1946, 11:30 a.m. to 12:00 noon, EST. Copyright 1946.

This is the second such season that we have enjoyed since war formally ceased. And the measure of peace that has since been ours, and the progress that has been made toward prolonging peace, we count among our highest blessings. It would be pleasant to record that all differences had died, but this cannot, in truth, be done. And although it may seem to be an over-simplification to say so, peace is a personal problem. It is a personal problem, because keeping peace among families and friends and neighbors is a necessary prelude to keeping peace among strangers.

Attitudes toward life change with age and experience. As children there may have been times when we confidently believed that the world was ours, that we were the center of the universe, that our convenience and desires were all determining factors. But with increasing years and the discipline of experience we come to learn that life is a schooling—and not a holiday. We come to learn also that some of the required courses are not to our liking, and that some of the lessons are difficult to take. And some of us make the discipline seem harder than it needs to be. In the bitterness of disappointment, or in the wake of some unwanted experience, we sometimes rebel against life, and fight it all the way, resisting everything that is, and murmuring against every circumstance, with feelings of resentment because of lessons that we think are too severe, and because of burdens that we feel are too heavy to be borne. And yet we do find ourselves somehow bearing them as they come, and learning how, to get along with our own troubles.

There is a principle of common law to the effect that a privilege, freely and unrestrainedly continued, may come to be looked upon as a right. For example, if we permit a man to walk over our property once, we have granted him a privilege. But if we permit him to walk over it as often as he wishes, as long as he chooses, without warning of trespass, we may, in time and under some circumstances, have granted him a perpetual right-an easement, as it is legally referred to. And thus, by neglect or indifference, we may have lost the ability to control what is ours. Rights are frequently acquired and perpetuated by making persistent use of them, and frequently lost or forfeited by failure to use them. Often we take them for granted.

Sometimes we are puzzled by the apparent ineffectiveness of some of our teaching. Surely, we may think, we have told our youth often enough what to do and what not to do. But often we make the mistake of supposing that merely telling them is teaching them. And often we forget that their ideas of life are formed by all of the impressions that pass before them—and not merely by our formal instruction. We may tell them what is right, but if they are constantly exposed to impressions that are contrary to what we tell 'them, much shall have been done to void our verbal teaching.

There are times, no doubt, when all of us are moved by gratitude, and there are times when all of us become careless and indifferent to our blessings. A favor that someone does for us the first time is almost always appreciated. But a favor received a number of times may soon become a matter of commonplace expectancy or even a source of disgruntled complaint if it fails to be repeated or is slow in arriving. Blessings which have been showered upon us, often come to be looked upon as a continuing right.