Spoken Word Messages - Page 76

There is another phase of this question of saving and conserving the seed, and of being prepared to face the future—a question which in its ultimate implications has to do with adults as well as with youth.  If we would fortify ourselves for the future as well as meeting matters of the moment, we must learn to deal with young people so as not to keep them constantly in a state of ever—shifting uncertainty. 

The question of saving and conserving is always a matter for serious consideration.  The basic virtue of thrift for the future has been taught from time immemorial, and the wisdom of it has been providently and repeatedly proved. 

Besides the more or less "normal" reasons for restlessness, we are all well aware of the added causes of uncertainty and indecision that now confront our young people and of the reasons they have to wonder what they should do as they are faced with the future. 

As we send our children off to school to spend a large and important part of their time there, perhaps many, if not most parents are sighing something of a sigh of relief. 

On this question again of people who seem to receive more or less from life than they deserve: We sometimes see honest and able men who seem unsuccessful, and we see unscrupulous and unethical men who are seemingly successful. 

Perhaps we are all acutely aware, and somewhat troubled at times, at the seeming injustices and unexplained adversities and unanswered questions of life. 

One question that constantly presses itself upon us is the question as to what kind of world we shall live in tomorrow—what kind of world we shall find for ourselves and leave for our children's children. 

There is a problem perennially before us, acute and increasing.  No matter how widely differing may be the laws and leanings toward divorce, we must admit that in our time there has been an alarming laxity of attitude toward broken marriages, broken homes, broken families. 

There is a tale told of a lad who had hiked to the eminence of a high hill in the company of a companion.  The long effort upward had wearied the boy, and he thought longingly of the comfort of his home, which now seemed so far away.  He turned to his companion, asking: "How do we get home?" and was answered with sweeping words and gestures that took in miles at a moment: "Just over the ridge and along the river and across the valley—and there we are,"

Occasionally we see pictures of stars with their stand-ins.  To the camera they may look remarkably alike.  And no doubt they have many qualities in common.  But the one is the "real thing" and the other isn't.  Sometimes differences between the real thing and an imitation are obvious and unmistakable, but sometimes the differences are subtle and difficult to detect.  And sometimes when we don't know the difference we don't care.  But as long as there is any difference, when we pay for the "real thing" and get something else, we have cause for complaint.  And this is true whether we know it or not. 

The line that Shakespeare had Richard III say, "My kingdom for a horse," has far-reaching implications in the pattern of human behavior.  When a man needs something, or thinks he does, or sets his heart on having something, a kingdom may seem like a more or less trivial thing at the moment.  Immediate wants, immediate worries, small annoyances often crowd out matters of much greater moment. 

"Rip Van Winkle, in Jefferson's Play, excuses himself for every fresh dereliction by saying, 'I won't count this time!' Well, he may not count it; and a kind heaven may not count it, but it is being counted nonetheless.  Down among his nerve cells and fibers, the molecules are counting it, registering and scoring it up to be used against him when the next temptation comes.  Nothing we ever do is in strict scientific literalness wiped out."1  These are the words of the celebrated psychologist and philosopher, William James.  And he adds: "Could the young but realize how soon they will become ... walking bundles of habits, they would give more heed to their conduct …. We are spinning our own fates, good or evil . Every smallest stroke of virtue or of vice leaves its never so little sear ... We are ... imitators and copiers of our past selves."1 

A century and some seventy-five years ago, fifty-six Americans signed what has since become a symbol of our legacy of liberty: the Declaration of Independence.  Now, because these men of liberty have become legend, we may sometimes suppose that what they did was not so difficult a thing to do in their day.  But they were men, even as other men, loving their families, their friends, their freedom. 

Since Paul the Apostle wrote of it—since then and long before—the spirit and the letter of the law have long come in for comment.  Certainly, we cannot get along without either the spirit or the letter of the law.  There must be both.  The law is dead without the spirit, and it may be weak without the letter.  But one difficulty with overemphasizing the letter of the law is that men may use it without wisdom, without discretion, without taking into account individual situations and circumstances. 

We well remember those years—the years when we had definitely passed our childhood but had not yet quite definitely "arrived" as adults.  Our problems, which often seemed deeply serious to us, were not always considered so by others. 

Have you ever walked out of your way, to avoid speaking to someone?  If you have, no doubt you remember that you weren't quite comfortable.  The more people you feel you have to avoid, the more ill at ease you are. 

With the closing of each academic season, young people are faced with many decisions—and sometimes when they are working their way up through the various processes of preparation and apprenticeship, they become discouraged by the long look ahead.  They see those who have "arrived," and they sometimes suppose that the finest satisfactions in life come with having gotten where one is going.  But going places can be as thrilling, and often more so, than merely having gone places. 

When we have lost those who have meant much to us in the past, and when we have lost with them a pattern of life that we have lived and loved in the past, there is often also a loss of interest in the future, and often a tendency to let down in discouragement and doubt.  In short, the person who does not feel sure that there is going to be an acceptable tomorrow, does not usually trouble himself to plan too much for tomorrow.  And so, in time of disappointment and sorrow and uncertainty, there is a tendency to live from day to day, mentally and physically and spiritually, and creative interests and activities seem to slow down, and when they do, the world and all who live in it are losers.  Furthermore, the loss is permanent. 

On this question again of personal integrity, as one of the ancient philosophers observed: "Where we wish to judge of weights, we do not judge at haphazard; where we wish to judge what is straight and what is crooked, we do not judge at haphazard."' We use standards.  And if we wish to judge honesty, including our own, we must not judge haphazardly. 

It is amazing how much we expect of mothers, and how much they are of all that we expect.  There is no career so demanding, no profession so filled with diverse duties, first of all they offer themselves as sacrifice to bring us into the world.  We expect them then to nurse and nurture us, to be our first teacher, to tell us of life and of its moral and spiritual and material truths. 

We are deeply grateful for all our material blessings and for the personal freedom which is so essential to human happiness.  But in all that we are or have or hope to be, there is one essential element without which all else would be as nothing, without which there can be no peace, no protection, no permanence.  And this indispensable element is individual integrity.  To paraphrase the old proverb, "Pride goeth before a fall," we offer another one, less euphonious, but equally true: "Dishonor, dishonesty, and immorality go before a fall." And one of the greatest threats to freedom and to individual enterprise is indifference to dishonor and dishonesty, both in public and private places. 

Literally, no man ever sees himself as others see him.  No photograph or reflection ever gives us the same slant on ourselves that others see.  It has often been proved on the witness stand that no two people ever see the same accident precisely the same way.  We see through different eyes and from different angles.  But if we could see things as other people see them, we could come closer to knowing why they do what they do and why they say what they say. 

There is much more to be said concerning the power and purpose of prayer.  The fact that we pray doesn't mean that everything we pray for will immediately be ours, or that everything we pray against will immediately be wiped away. 

Some men live blessedly long, and richly round out a fullness of years.  Some are taken sooner.  But no matter how long we are allowed to live in this life, we are all faced with some uncertainties, and we are none of us free from some troubles, some sorrows, some problems and disappointments. 

With the recent revision of a certain encyclopedia the statement was made that scientific and other subject must frequently be reviewed and modified to keep abreast of the newest and latest knowledge—which again brings before us the fact that the field ' of man's knowledge is ever being broadened, and that the minds of men must ever be open. for further facts and findings, and for reevaluating, and even for abandoning, if necessary, some of the theories and suppositions that have heretofore sometimes been accepted.  Theories are useful as scaffolds in the building process; they are means to an end.  But scaffolds must not be mistaken for the structure itself.

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.  Perhaps the world never needed more a reassurance against what sometimes seems to be fleeting futility.  Perhaps it never needed more the assurance that men are immortal, that justice is inevitable, that there is a personal perpetuation of the human soul, and that truth and intelligence continue eternally beyond time. 

We live in a day when every standard of value is being challenged, and the faith of our fathers has not escaped the challenge.  This may be because men have asked too much of religion and too little of themselves. 

We should like to say something today concerning a very old theme that is always new and always needed: something concerning "enduring unto the end." One of the most pressing problems of the present unsettled scene concerns the perplexities of young people. 

In the days when there seemed to be more mottoes and philosophical sentences found framed and hanging on our walls, we remember seeing one which read: "Today is the tomorrow you worried about yesterday." It is profoundly simple, and it is always so: Today is the tomorrow we worried about yesterday. 

If we make a mistake, upon sincere repentance we may reasonably expect forgiveness.  But there may be some who seem to expect to be forgiven an unlimited number of times simply by saying they are sorry.  There may be some who seem to expect to have all manner of errors corrected and canceled merely by a statement of regret.