Spoken Word Messages - Page 81

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.

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.