Part 18

Possibly the majority of people dream, as some have long done, of some day making this a peaceful planet. If we ever achieve such an end, we shall have to do it through the establishment of a peaceful philosophy. The thinkers of a nation sow the seeds. The people sooner or later harvest the fruit. One of the most vital problems now confronting the philosopher is that of giving to the world a sane basis for peace. This involves a system of right human and international relationships. It involves also an adequate plan for social reconstruction.

These are things for which the world must depend upon its thinkers. Fortunately, its thinkers realize their duty and are already busy at their task. Philosophical writing in books and periodicals indicates a common tendency to emphasize the forward look in a spirit of genuine concern for social progress. This is the normal result of a social unrest which seeks the realization of a safe and dependable international ideal.

Philosophy has entered very largely into the making of the life of the various nations. Social life is, however, a sort of chambered nautilus which one by one outgrows the barriers of earlier customs and conceptions. The time seems now to have arrived when national ideals can be best realized through co-operation in some form of international union. This new social life, organized according to a world plan, Philosophy is struggling to help actualize.

The fact that this is one of the supreme concerns of present-day thinking is indicated in the general theme for discussion at the meeting of the American Association held in December of 1917. It was: “Ethics and International Relations.”

Nor is America the only country in which this leavening process of philosophical inquiry has been in progress. It is also very noticeable in the trend of French thought. Indeed the burden of contemporary French Philosophy is largely to the effect that the proper goal of the French Nationalism of yesterday is to be found in the dawning Internationalism of tomorrow.

If it continues long enough, the thinking of any nation or group of nations crystallizes into definite and actual form. The material result of the internationalistic trend of thinking and agitation of the various countries involved will have been an inciting cause. The present ideal will remain dominant until a larger and more adequate one is found.

It is interesting to note how the general recasting of philosophical thought is reflected in the new nomenclature which has now grown familiar to the philosophical pen. In the vocabulary of the modern philosopher, such words as democracy, humanity, fraternity, and liberty are apparent. The modern idea is, moreover, not merely to discuss these things but also to apply them.

A great nation or a great race is dependent upon the performance of great actions proceeding from great motives. The fact that Philosophy is more and more a program of action is indicative of our future. Not all the questions of Philosophy are political or social, either. It has taken a fresh hold upon the equally vital problems of Ethics and Religion. Lately, men have been obliged to face serious questions. The trend of Philosophy indicates that they are trying to answer them and to gauge their actions by the truth arrived at. The result will be a more satisfactory, adequate, and serviceable idea of such facts as those of God, Right, Religion, and Providence. Each fiber of the social structure will reveal the effects of the new enthusiasm now evident in the field of the Philosophy of Religion.

Psychology, closely related as it is to Philosophy, presents much the same present-day aspect. It reveals what is called a behavioristic turn. Pragmatism seems to be having its day. In this busy, exacting, problematic time, the world wants results, and it means to cling only to that which can produce them.

We must not forget, however, that Realism is never wholly at its best when unmixed with Idealism. The physical and the metaphysical are not only mutually dependent, but they are two different phases of the same thing. The basis of the new order will not be exclusively material. In it, both the seen and the unseen world will have their place and consideration.

Mind and matter will not be rivals. Hope and achievement will be partners. The things of the spirit and those of sense will be jointly supreme.

The Sense of the Human (1920)

In his book, “What Men Live By,” Dr. Richard C. Cabot makes what might be called a plea for the sense of the human. In speaking of the peril of looking on individuals in terms of sex rather than in terms of personality, he carries the matter a little farther. He says the physician should not look on a patient as merely a sort of walking disease, that the teacher should not think of the student as merely a piece of raw material for the educative process, and that the lawyer should see more in his client than a case at law.

The point is clear. It is that we need to treasure the sense of the human, to keep alive a proper estimate of the human values, and to fulfil our obligation to the thinking, toiling, feeling people about us. People are the one great concern for one’s mind. Humanity is the center of all creation, and the proper object of all our striving.

There is much in the world about us that is more or less negligible. We have to do with it. It plays its part in our daily round of life. It seems necessary in the scheme of things that we have established. Yet there is nothing permanent or supremely vital about it.

These negligible things, however, do not include the human beings with whom we associate and with whom we have to deal. They belong to an altogether different class of interests. Humanity is one of the few everlasting things in the swiftly changing picture of this world’s temporary landscape. Moreover, it is the one thing which reacts with suffering when it is wronged, and is thrilled with joy at the deed of kindness. Humanity, therefore, is our great concern. We need to keep the sense of it very clear and responsive.

It is important that we look further than the cheap and often sordid glare which surrounds us. Beyond it we can always behold a sea of human faces. Each represents a person who shares the common lot of humanity. Each has his hopes, joys, fears, struggles, and anxieties. There are among them many unwritten stories of heroism, many unvoiced pleadings of need, many unsuspected opportunities for service. There is no measuring the possibilities hidden in that circle of faces.

Daily we see people about us without realizing their presence and what it means. This is altogether possible, for seeing and realizing are two entirely different things. One may see a rose by his path every morning for days or every summer for many seasons, and yet never be really impressed with its beauty. One morning he stops and notes its form, and color, and perfume. His soul reaches out in answer to its silent message. On this particular morning he has not only seen, but he has also realized the presence of the rose.

In the same way we need to realize the presence of people about us. If we did so, we would see that we have with them a great mutuality of interest and need. We would realize the tenderness of their hearts, the worth of their lives, the presence of the immortal image upon them.

The sense of the human must be kept uppermost in our relation to money and money-making. If it is not, one soon gets into the wrong relation to his money, and it becomes a curse when it might as well have been a blessing.

This is a point at which many make a serious mistake. They enter life with the right viewpoint and understand that money is only a means to the happiness and well-being of people. As time goes on, however, their plans and purposes get out of adjustment. They become guilty of the fatal assumption that people are a means to the making of money. Accordingly, they keep wages at too low a level; sacrifice the lives of men to bad air, poor working conditions, and dangerous machinery; and subordinate the interests of living human beings to the declaring of dividends.

Not only do they assume this perilous attitude toward others, but they also assume the same attitude toward themselves and their families. They have simply allowed money to get into the position of an end instead of that of a means. It has become a fetish instead of a convenience.

The trouble is largely a lost sense of the human. The man who succumbs to this common temptation takes love, hope, kindliness, and human appreciation from the high pedestal which they should by right occupy, and puts a golden idol in their place.

The value of a dollar is measured by its power to make life more worth living for some human being. The more people it can make comfortable and happy the more valuable it is. When it is appropriated to any other purpose, it is removed from its right relationship to the general scheme of things. As an end within itself, it is not worth the struggle it costs in the acquiring. Its one business is to purchase comfort for and render service to people.

The sense of the human is also necessary in the administration of government. Throughout the ages, there have been two dominating ideas of empire. One is the autocratic idea, and the other is the democratic idea. The former has held that the state exists for the sake of itself and its rulers. The latter has held that the state exists for the good of its population. The former has steadily lost ground. The latter has as steadily gained it.

A certain French monarch is said to be the author of the declaration: “I am the state.” Whether he said it or not, there have been plenty of national leaders in history whose deeds would indicate their faith in such a governmental philosophy. From the first, such a race has been destined to perish. There is no place in the modern conception of government for any regime which does not strive to better the condition of the people within its scope of power. In these times we see with increasing clearness that there is but one worthy conception of kingliness, and that it is the kingliness of service. Incidentally, against such there are no revolutions.

A good public official thinks often of the eyes that are turned in his direction to see what he is going to do, of the lives that depend upon his action for much of their peace and contentment, of the children who must have food, of the aged who must have shelter, and of the struggling who must have encouragement. To him, the people are not simply something to govern. They are human beings, the mission of whose government is to see that each of them has his complete opportunity in life.

Nowhere in these days do we need more to have the sense of the human keen and operative than in our industrial system. It is a question worth asking whether we would have our present industrial turmoils if the men who buy labor and the men who sell it would make a serious effort to know and understand one another. It seems that most of the trouble and strife of this world is the result of a lack of mutual human understanding. Capitalists and laboring men segregate themselves in different neighborhoods, churches, lodges, and social circles. They need to mingle on a common basis, be in one another’s homes, know one another’s families, and enter into the spirit each of the others’ joys and troubles.

One is certainly not religiously heterodox when he contends for such a principle. Nothing stands out more clearly in the philosophy of the Man of Galilee than this particular ideal. The emphasis of Jesus was upon the human being. He held all men in much the same esteem, for to Him a human being was inherently worthy of respect and honor. His friends were a varied group. He could meet a tax collector, a fisherman, an erring Samaritan woman, a rich host, a conscience-stricken tradesman, an afflicted sufferer, a sinful woman, or a little child, and make each one feel that they had found a friend. When we learn to be like Him, we shall possess the same viewpoint.

The Holy Spirit and Social Viewpoint (1922)

It is the idea of some that the old Methodist standard of personal experience is a mere individualistic viewpoint, and that it is inadequate because it sounds no social note. They feel that the visitation of the Divine Spirit will do well enough for the man, but that it has no provision for the group. It will do for a personal experience but not for a mass movement, they say. This is one of the mistakes that has led to the present lack of emphasis on the person and work of the Holy Spirit. That it is a mistake is easy to see on second thought.

The salvation of the group can only be accomplished by the salvation of the individuals who compose it. One by one we must come to the throne of grace. One by one we must confess our sins and seek pardon. One by one we must have our hearts transformed. One by one we must go back to the ways of existence and live anew. A righteous community, state, or nation is only a group of individuals wearing, each for himself, the clean, white garments of right living.

However, the Holy Spirit can possess the mind of the group as well as that of the individual. It was so on the Day of Pentecost. Those present entered into that great spiritual experience as one person. They were gathered with one accord in one place. These are the two conditions to any such manifestation of divine power. They felt the experience more keenly and profited from it more largely because their minds were fused into a common consciousness.

The social gospel needs the Holy Spirit element in it just as much as the individualistic gospel ever did. As we once tried to have the Holy Spirit transform hearts, and still must, so too we must now endeavor to have the Holy Spirit cleanse and exalt social relationships. What it once did for the man, and still does, we must also seek that it shall do for the mass.

Civilization (1929)

A visitor from Mars found his way to the planet Earth. Needless to say, he found plenty of things here to interest him. Many questions occurred to him. Some of them he asked. Others, being a gentleman, he kept in the silence of his own thoughts.

He noticed that the earth people had a haggard and hunted look. On the street he looked in vain for happy faces. Eyes were dull and tired. Features were drawn and hard. Steps were either quick with nervous ambition or slow with lagging weariness.

He asked about it, and was told that these people were working very long hours. Many of them had very exacting positions to fill during the regular working hours of the day, performing the duties incident to some other line of work evenings, odd hours, and holidays. Those who did not do this had to work hard all day, then help themselves along in business by seeking profitable and advantageous social contacts in the evening. They were often too tired, yet they and their families had to force themselves to it.

The visitor from Mars asked why people punished themselves in such a way, struggling to get in another hour, earn another dollar, see another prospect, or sell another customer, before quitting for the day; denying themselves and their families the joy of companionship; driving on when they longed for blue skies, green fields, laughing waters, and roses.

“They must make money,” was the answer. “There is a standard of living to be kept up, family position to maintain, children to push along. The country is developing. Skyscrapers are going up. Science, invention, and discovery are putting all kinds of new and wonderful things at our disposal. Its weight is upon us. It increases, for each year we think we must do better and have more. The competition is keen and fierce. It drives us hard.”

“I see,” said the visitor from Mars. “And what do you call this giant thing you have built up with which to crush yourselves?”

“Civilization,” was the reply.

The Road Uphill (1929)

One day in the year 520 B. C., Zechariah was preaching in Jerusalem. He had been in Babylon during the great captivity, and had returned with some other Jews in the hope of rebuilding the ruined capital and beginning anew their broken national life. He asked the younger people to avoid the sins which in their fathers had wrought all this ruin. He meant that in successively better generations is the road uphill for the race.

One day I met a father who was some twelve inches shorter than his accompanying son. The difference was the more conspicuous in that they were close companions. Some one referred to it, and the father replied that he considered it was as it should be—each generation a little taller than the preceding one. I knew what he meant. He had seen where lies the road uphill.

In 1714, in a little English tavern, a boy was born who was destined to affect the history of religion. George Whitefield was brought up cleaning floors and selling drink to the rough frequenters of his father’s tavern. He worked his way through Oxford since his parents were little concerned with such matters. He lived to make hearts tremble with his prophetic voice and to plant undying works of Christian service and benevolence. He pushed a little ahead of what his parents were. That is the road uphill.

During the presidency of General Grant, an old sailor went to the White House to object that the naval department had promoted his son to a place of authority above him, saying that it would not look right to be taking orders from his own son. The President replied that he had just appointed his father, Jesse Grant, postmaster in a little town in a distant state, and that he did not seem to mind taking orders from his own son. Jesse Grant had seen the road uphill.

One day in a Nazarene synagogue, Mary’s Son stood up and read from the Book of Isaiah His own commission to proclaim the kingdom of God. His human heritage was a long line of choice ancestors, but He had surpassed all those behind Him in the line. He was traveling and leading His race along the road uphill.

Some Stories About Beethoven (1915)

The world of art remembers two figures which are especially pathetic, and for similar reasons. One is that of Homer, the bard, living in a world the beauties of which he loved but could not see. The other is that of Beethoven, the musician, living in the midst of harmonies which he loved but which were denied to his unhearing ears. A great soul may be better able than others to fortify itself against the terrors of misfortune, but it is at the same time more keenly sensitive to them. Blindness is more of a tragedy to one who would more especially love and appreciate beauty, could he see it. Deafness is more of a tragedy to one whose ears feel a special hunger for the harmonies of sound.

Ludwig van Beethoven was not only the greatest master of the classical school in music. He was also one of the strong and unique personalities of his day. He was not a puppet who fell a slave to usage and custom. The outlines of his nature were clear and bold. He acted with no uncertain meaning and spoke with no uncertain sound. That he was wholly original and self-reliant is shown in many incidents, the record of which has been preserved from among his busy and eventful years.

For him mere conventionalities had no terrors. When the law of established custom seemed just and sufficient, he observed it. When it did not, he became a law unto himself. He placed the claims of life, right, and truth in a place of supremacy over all other claims. One of his pupils, Ferdinand Ries, once attempted to convince him of the impropriety of certain use he had made of consecutive fifths in one of his compositions. During the discussion Ries called attention to a number of composers who had forbidden their use in the manner under discussion. When Ries had finished, Beethoven replied with spirit, “And they have forbidden them! Well, I allow them.”

As has been said, self-reliance was one of the strongest elements in his nature. At one time, Moscheles, the Austrian composer, prepared a piano arrangement of Beethoven’s “Fidelio” and sent it to him with the inscription “With God’s help” written upon it. When it came back to the hand of Moscheles, he found that the master had written upon it the reply, “O man, help thyself.”

He possessed of a genial nature and a happy sense of humor. When a music student in Vienna, he had three teachers at the same time, each one of whom was a great name in music. Under one of them, Schuppanzigh, he studied violin. His relations with this instructor were especially pleasant—more so than those which prevailed between him and at least one of the others. As time passed, the teacher revealed an increasing tendency to corpulence, whereupon Beethoven took up the habit of addressing him as “My Lord Falstaff.”

A high appreciation of purely personal qualities was a part of Beethoven’s makeup. To him these constituted the only true fortune. He had a brother, Johann, who had become wealthy, and whose worldly success had acted so unfortunately upon his nature that his pride and arrogance had become somewhat unduly swollen. One day this brother called on the composer and did not find him at home. He left a card bearing this inscription, “Johann van Beethoven, Land Proprietor.” Upon returning home and receiving the card, the musician promptly returned it to his brother with the added words, “Ludwig van Beethoven, Brain Proprietor.”

On another occasion, a stranger mistook the word Van in his name for the common sign of nobility. When addressed as a nobleman, he revealed his true spirit of democracy by laying his hand first upon his head and then upon his heart and replying that whatever claim to nobility he had lay at those two points.

His temper was strong but not unjust. When his heart was touched rightly, it rose in great pity and devotion. When touched wrongly, it flamed up like a meteor of wrath. On one occasion, at least, he threw aside all restraint for the moment. One evening at a rehearsal, Beethoven’s patron, Prince Lobkowitz, ventured an assertion which grated very severely upon the composer’s sensibilities. At the end of the performance Beethoven is said to have run into the yard of his patron’s palace and to have shouted insult and ridicule at the man who, in his opinion, had committed so great an impropriety.