Spoken Word Messages - Page 86

We sometimes hear of parents, and others responsible for the guidance of youth, who defer or indefinitely postpone the religious education of children. This attitude is often defended as being modern, liberal, and broadminded, and the explanation usually given is that "We'll wait for the children to grow up and let them make their own decisions with respect to these matters. We won't urge our opinions or convictions upon them."

Today America is closely examining her past and earnestly contemplating her future. The Sunday that comes between birthday anniversaries of two of our great patriots would seem to be an appropriate time for the restatement of some fundamentals. Because George Washington spoke more than a century and a half ago, there are those who would contend that the principles he laid down have outlived their usefulness.

We hear many appraisals and opinions as to what constitutes the most critical period of a man's life. What are the critical years? Of course any answer to this question would depend upon what particular kind of crises we have in mind. For some things, especially as to physical well-being, the years of early infancy are critical; in many ways, the years of childhood are critical; in some vital respects adolescence is a critical period; for some things and for some people, adulthood, middle age, and old age are critical. But if by the question we mean to ask when is a man safe, mentally and morally, physically and spiritually—at what point can he let down his guard and relax his vigilance and cease constructive activity—if this is what we mean, then the answer is that all the years are critical years.

There are many forces these days, which, for their own convenience and purposes, seek to deal with men en masse—as groups rather than as individuals—to type them and to classify them. But, quite apart from this, we ourselves have a way of classifying ourselves more definitely than any artificial classification that may be imposed upon us. It is a common human characteristic for men to seek their own element, to associate with the type of people they themselves are. Granted freedom, humankind gravitates to congenial surroundings and to congenial associations. We find those of common interests gathering together to speak their common language.

Under the tension of these days there are those who wonder why it fell to their lot to live in this particular troubled time and generation—those who feel perhaps that if they had chosen their time of life they could have chosen better—back in some golden age, whenever that might have been, or in some golden age of the future, whenever that might be. Well, to begin with, it is possible that men did have some choice as to the time of their birth—or at least a voice in the making of that decision—but regardless of that, there are good reasons for saying that perhaps it doesn't matter so much when people are born, so far as genuine happiness and usefulness are concerned. There are both happy and unhappy people in every generation; in every generation there are both misfits and those who adapt themselves to the circumstances of the day in which they find themselves. And this has nothing to do with time or the material conveniences of life. Cellophane and neon lights haven't made our generation happy—and they haven't made it unhappy.

One of the distinguishing attributes of intelligence in men is the faculty of thinking and planning for the future. It is this that causes us to plant so that we may harvest—that gives us the wisdom to preserve a part of our harvest for seedtime so that we may plant and harvest again. It is the assurance of a future that induces us to work beyond the point of satisfying our immediate needs.

Nations at war are repeatedly called upon for a definition of their war aims. In our own history, of course, the most frequent answer to the question "What are we fighting for?" is that we are fighting for freedom, for democracy, for the American way of life, for the rights of man, for security, for peace. These are good words, it is true, and they have deep meaning for each of us; but certainly they don't mean the same thing to all people.

The beginning of a New Year is conceded to be a good time to look critically at —some of the factors that make up our lives, at some of the things we do, and at some of the thinking, both true and false, that we indulge in. One of the fallacies that often appears under this critical scrutiny is the old and unimpressive excuse that we must do certain things merely because "everybody is doing them"—which of course is threadbare and untenable.

With the breathless passing of many days, we come again upon the changing of the year, which acutely reminds us of the passing of our lives and of the pace at which we are all moving toward whatever eventualities await us.

It had been our hope, with yours, that we could greet you this Christmas with the world at peace. But this cherished blessing is not yet ours. Perhaps more longing thoughts for the absent, and more prayers, spoken and unspoken, are in the hearts of men than ever before. Perhaps so many never yearned so fervently for peace, and perhaps so few ever had it. Never, perhaps, were so many groping for some meaning and purpose and plan in the events they see before them. But notwithstanding many things to the contrary—notwithstanding vacant chairs and hearts heavy in their loneliness—the spirit of Christmas moves in, and takes over. Time does not dissipate it.

Those who are discouraged, and especially those who are both young and discouraged, are sometimes heard to ask why they were born. Many who have encountered disappointments from which they think for the moment they cannot recover—young people whose dreams have been shattered, whose ambitions have been indefinitely postponed, who breathlessly have expected much from life and find that it has not fulfilled their expectations—are sometimes heard despondently to ask the question.

The pattern of history would seem to indicate that the moment a despot thinks he has stamped out all independence of thought he is due to find that he likely hasn't stamped it out at all—but has merely driven it under ground, as has been dramatically demonstrated in many countries within our own recent times.

Using the term in its broadcast meaning, history has produced many non-conformists. Every generation produces many non-conformists. And, indeed, every community, and perhaps almost every family, produces its quota of those who fail to conform—those who don't go along with their associates and contemporaries; those who want to be different; those who, for one reason or another, have their own ideas and reserve the right to express them—or to live them. Now, non-conformity does not necessarily imply either a desirable or an undesirable quality.

A much-quoted thought, recorded by the pen of Victor Hugo, has come down the years for our pondering: "There is one thing stronger than all the armies in the world; and that is an idea whose time has arrived." We are so accustomed to think and to speak in terms of money and lands and goods that we may lose sight of the fact that behind all tangible forces is the greater force of intangibles—the thoughts of men, the forces beyond men, and the ideas and motives and principles that put tangibles to good or evil purposes.

All of us at times deplore mistakes we have made in the past and ask why we couldn't have known the future and thereby have avoided our mistakes. Of all the reasons given by men for their desire to know the future, this one would seem to be the most valid—to help us avoid mistakes. But even this reason might readily be ruled out when we remind ourselves how often we ignore even those things we do know—both about the present and the future and how often we ignore those things, which the past has taught us about the future. We already know the future in principle. Causes which have once produced specific effects may again be expected to produce the same effects.

Among the frequent and persistent questions concerning the future are these: "Why can't we know the future?" and "Why shouldn't we know the future?" There are a number of possible answers, perhaps none of them fully satisfying—but all of them very much in point—and one possible answer would seem to be that oftentimes we can't know more about the future, because oftentimes it doesn't exist. By this we mean that many things that will happen in the future will depend upon what we do and upon what others do, and since neither we nor they may yet have made decisions in these matters, the results that are to follow those decisions may not now be known.

Men, it would seem, have in common an urgent desire to know more about the future—a desire which demonstrates itself in many ways, and for many reasons. And in some respects and to some extent the future may and should be known, For example, a science has grown up to help us forecast something as to the future of weather conditions, which is of much value to all of us. To know something concerning the future of private wants and needs, helps the manufacturer and the merchant to avoid some of the hazards of chance—and to this end we have our business forecasts.

One reason for progress is the fact 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 a greater or lesser 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, is also subject to its 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.

No matter when men live, and no matter what kind of society they live in, they always find themselves with some kind of leadership in matters pertaining to the common welfare. In some types of society a leader is a leader as long as he chooses to be, or until some undeniable circumstance displaces him. In other types of society a leader is a leader only so long as the majority of the people he serves, desire him to be, in accordance with established laws and procedures.

The question of expediency frequently arises to plague us—the question as to whether or not, under pressure of circumstances, to accomplish seemingly desirable ends, we should resort to things which, ordinarily, we would not do—the question as to whether or not evil is to be condoned in some people, and some places, and under some circumstances, and not under others. There have been much written and spoken in justification for employing evil devices with allegedly good motive. But the fact is that evil is where you find it, and making an alliance with it is hazardous even when it would seem to serve good purpose.

"Children's children are the crown of old men; and the glory of children are their fathers." (Proverbs 17:6.) This, from Proverbs, suggests comment on a law of privilege and responsibility, established in the wisdom of God. Every man born of woman has the right to be taught wisely, to be nurtured and sustained, loved and cherished, and provided for until he, himself, is able to assume his own obligations and support. He then in turn has the obligation to rear children of his own, to make a good home for them, to nurture and counsel and instruct, until they shall grow in wisdom and arrive at the age and ability to do for themselves the needful things of life. But beyond what a man may rightfully expect to receive from his parents, and beyond what he may be privileged to give his children, he has also an obligation to the home in which he was born and nurtured and to those who have reared him.

For quite some time now, the war has been, and still is, our greatest immediate worry. The world is waiting prayerfully, solemnly, hopefully, for any news which will indicate the end in sight. Indeed, so absorbed have we become with this one great emergency, that it has overshadowed all else—to the point where we have more or less forgotten what were our worries before the war began. War takes so much of our attention and effort that there is seemingly little time to prepare for peace, but to prepare for peace is a grave and urgent obligation, because war is merely a symptom of a disease, the germs of which are already at work in times of peace.

The institutions of men confer an infinite variety of honors, titles, degrees, and awards of one kind or another. Almost every organization of any description that has brought two or three or more together in a common purpose, issues its credentials, its recognition’s, its citations, to which often much publicity is given, and for which there is much demand and much acclaim. From the highest honors conferred by the most exclusive of learned societies, from the most sought-after titles, to Simple certificates of merit and commendation—all are in one form or another recognition’s from one man to another of some degree of excellence, or supposed excellence, in some field of thought or action.

Someone has said that those who speak or write have a grave responsibility in wartime. This is profoundly true—but it is also true without its limiting clause of time, because those who speak or write have a grave responsibility at any time, and at all times. If we may judge things to come by the past, during days which precede the deciding of public issues, we may expect considerable heat to be generated through the medium of ill-chosen words.

The annual return to school of millions of our youth has become an oft-repeated routine, now more or less taken for granted. Indeed, so accustomed have we become to the procedure, that in answer to the question "What is Johnny doing these days?" we think it sufficient merely to reply that "Johnny is going to school."

"What is there illustrious that is not attended by labor?" (Cicero). Thus spoke truly the ancient philosopher. History does not record, nor does scripture, that the Lord God excepted anyone when he said: "Six days shalt thou labor, and do all thy work." (Exodus 20:9). In short, honest work is the rightful lot of all men, and there is little satisfaction to those who do not earnestly labor according to their talents and their physical and mental abilities. And since to labor is a God-given command, it may well follow that no man is beholden to another for the right to labor. This is one of the freedoms that must not be overlooked—freedom to work. But men differ as to the kind of work they want to do and are able to do.

One of the most difficult tasks that confront provident parents is to pass on to their children an appreciation of what has gone into the making of the home they enjoy. Driven by necessity, and through the virtues of work and of thrift, ofttimes a man acquires the means of comfortable existence. His children, in turn, reared in comparative plenty, and not driven by the same necessity, often become more dependent and less able to cope with the difficulties and adversities of life. A man in comfortable circumstances may tell his son a thousand times over how difficult it was to earn a dollar when he was a boy, how people worked for what they got, saved part of what they earned, went without, labored long, and, finally, by hard and sure steps, achieved self-dependence and self-respect— and to this off told story children sometimes listen respectfully, and sometimes shrug and wonder what it has to do with them and their lives.

We are often inclined to assume that if we can only dispose of our present pressing problems, the future will take care of itself. The famous line from Shakespeare, "My kingdom for a horse," has far-reaching implications in the pattern of human behavior. When a man wants a horse, or needs one right now, or thinks he does, a kingdom may seem like a more or less trivial thing. Immediate worries, sometimes even inconsequential ones, often crowd out disproportionately, matters of greater concern. A hungry man will pay an exorbitant price for a sandwich—if he has the price and if he can find the sandwich.

Not infrequently one sees the spectacle of a bewildered dog running loose in a crowd, harassed by numerous strange calls and whistles coming from all directions, in response to which the animal dodges here and there in utter confusion, responding first to one and then another, beckoned from every direction, and finding assurance in no direction. Comparisons are seldom apt in all details, but there are some points of likeness in such a plight and in the perplexity of people whose thoughts and loyalties and time and attention are being constantly bid for from many sources and in many confusing ways. Perhaps our generation has been exposed to more disturbing voices, to more frightening print, to more misleading information than any generation in history, because the facilities for doing such things are greater now than ever before.

Frequently when we become aware of conditions which need correction, we are led to wonder why those responsible for such things do not correct them. In a home or 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 such conditions do not exist, and we are led to wonder why they are permitted to continue uncorrected.