Читать книгу Faith and Practice - Frank E. Wilson - Страница 8

Millions of dollars for education! It is a common newspaper headline. Year after year towns, villages, cities, and states appropriate huge sums of money from the public funds for schools, colleges, and universities. These are augmented by gifts and bequests from generously-minded individuals until the totals reach impressive figures. Physical property and equipment for educational purposes represent enormous investments; endowments run into hundreds of millions of dollars, and the current operating expenses of the American educational system call for literally billions of dollars annually. From twenty-five to thirty million young people are the beneficiaries. It is one of the world’s largest and most expensive projects.

To all this the public reaction is invariably favorable. Ask the average man-in-the-street and he is likely to respond—“Of course, it has to be done. Anything that makes for the increase of knowledge is to be commended.”

How many of these men-in-the-street have ever thought it out to any logical conclusion? Glibly they assume that the increase of knowledge is a desirable achievement. But why? What is the good of all this knowledge anyhow? Where does it get us? What does it do for us? Are we any better off with it than we would be without it?

Several answers will be promptly forthcoming. Someone quickly replies—“Certainly. Knowledge makes for greater happiness and, therefore, the more we can have of it, the happier we will be.” But does it? How often does knowledge only serve to stimulate discontent? Look about in your own acquaintance, select specific individuals with whom you are on intimate terms, and ask yourself whether it is really true that those who know the most are necessarily happier than those who know less. Possibly there is something in the old adage that “ignorance is bliss.” If so, then why not leave people to be happy in their ignorance?

Comes a more thoughtful answer. The intellectual life is higher than the physical life, and it is obvious that we ought to expend our strongest energies for that which is best. We say so, because we have taught ourselves to think so. In what way is the intellectual superior to any other side of human life? Modern psychology reminds us that the brain has two functions, one intellectual and the other emotional. Diligent research in this field has made it plain that if you develop the intellectual (which means knowledge) to the neglect of the emotional (which means feeling) you will succeed in producing a large crop of high-class criminals.

Still another answer goes a step further. It says that, after all, mind controls matter. The man with knowledge always dominates the man with mere brute strength. Therefore knowledge is more powerful and of a higher order. But we may not be so sure about that either. Pit the muscular man against the intellectual man and the muscular man is quite likely to get what he wants.

Of course, you say, that may be so in certain individual cases, but not when you take the long view. The world of knowledge is always supreme over the world of physical power. Look and see. Men of brains are the ones who make and control the destinies of human life.

Then my thoughts revert to that most interesting science of archeology. Modern archeologists have done wonders in digging up the ruins of ancient civilizations. They have deciphered the hidden meanings of ancient inscriptions and have laid bare whole periods of forgotten history. These discoveries are a magnificent triumph of modern knowledge. But these very victories over the past reveal to us plainly that people of the olden times knew much more than we once gave them credit for. These early civilizations are paraded before us with achievements which we can scarcely parallel today. Just outside the city of Rome stand the famous ruins of the Baths of Caracalla, dating back to the early years of the third century. An English woman took a party of us to see them. She pointed out the various parts of the great structure as it must have appeared in the days of Imperial Rome—here was the entrance and there was the disrobing room, here were the hot baths and there were the cold baths, here was the library, and there was the club room. Then she turned to us and asked—“Can any of you figure out how the water was transferred from the cold chamber to the hot chamber?” We all gaped stupidly in silence. She explained that she always asked that question, sometimes of experienced engineers in the parties she was conducting, and no one was ever able to give a satisfactory answer. The builders of that old ruin had used some principle of hydraulics which is now a mystery.

There are many “lost arts” which the ancients knew but which have not been re-discovered in modern times. The science of archeology proves that knowledge is not an exclusively modern product but that the ancients had it in large quantities. Yet what became of all that knowledge of an earlier day? It was broken, overwhelmed, destroyed, buried under the savage attacks of ignorant barbaric tribes. The modern knowledge which lays bare ancient knowledge thereby proves conclusively that knowledge itself is not necessarily supreme. If it were, the ancient knowledge would have survived. As a matter of fact, it succumbed to brute force. What reason have we to think that the treasured knowledge of our own enlightened time has any better chance of surviving than that of long ago?

Perhaps the pessimistic Old Testament preacher was right when he said, “In much wisdom is much grief: and he that increaseth knowledge increaseth sorrow.”¹ He was right from his point of view. But one must remember that the preacher in Ecclesiastes was contemplating the vanity of the pursuit of earthly interests. If you read Ecclesiastes alone, you will get the blues. Read it with its New Testament supplement and you will see how the vanities of this world dissolve into the realities of eternity. Knowledge begins to acquire true value only in the light of eternal life. Apart from eternity knowledge becomes mere curiosity.

If you are preparing here for an eternal destiny, then of course, you will make the best possible use of your intelligence. The more you can learn of this world, the better you will be able to use it in the perfecting of that Christian character which carries beyond this world into the realm of eternity. Take, then, another text from the sayings of our Lord to qualify the doleful observations of Ecclesiastes—“This is life eternal, that they might know Thee, the only true God, and Jesus Christ, whom Thou hast sent.”² There you begin to get a sound reason for the accumulation of human knowledge. God gives it validity by making it a contributing factor in the preparation for eternal life. Knowledge divorced from God is a practical absurdity and a spiritual impertinence. When Agassiz, the great scientist, was performing an experiment, he always bowed his head in a moment of silence because, he explained, “I am about to ask God a question.”

All of this should mean something to us Americans with our comprehensive system of compulsory education, our enormous school population, and the cataracts of money we pour out every year in support of the program. If it is merely for the pursuit of this world’s knowledge, then we are chasing expensive rainbows. For the plainest thing about this world’s knowledge is that one day it will vanish.

At this very point may be found the solution of the fictitious conflict between science and religion. Properly speaking there is no such conflict at all because they are both meant to collaborate in a common purpose. The Christian religion sets the course toward that larger life which follows the completion of our human experience. Science provides some of the instruments with which we prepare ourselves for that greater future. The Christian is placed in the world to use it, and he needs to use all of it by the most intelligent methods he can devise. Every scientific discovery is therefore an asset in his onward march to eternity. The more we can learn of natural laws, the better equipped we shall be to pass out of the natural world into that which is over-natural. For this life is a training school for more life to come. Such a purpose dignifies science far beyond any mechanical interpretation which ignores man’s spiritual qualities. Religion has nothing to fear from science. Science has no cause to shun religion. If in times past religion has sometimes been timidly suspicious of scientific achievement, it is equally true that science has sometimes misconstrued religion and disparaged a straw man of its own invention. Fortunately a better day has come and such occasions of friction are rapidly disappearing while each learns to esteem the other more highly.

Even so one still meets, here and there, the superficial rejoinder that after all we know something about this world while we know little or nothing about any other; therefore the sensible course is to devote ourselves to what is here and decline to be concerned with any possible hereafter. If that were really the case, there is only one logical conclusion. Moral values promptly become extinct. Mercy, sympathy, self-control, good-will—all these become so many sentimental oddities. The practical mode of life is to seize all you can before someone else beats you to it. Gather the rose-buds while they are fresh because soon we will all be dead, sunk in an oblivion of endless nothingness.

The trouble is, there is something within us which shouts an emphatic No! Try as we will to be hard, and merciless, and indifferent to the claims of others, we cannot escape the innate conviction that there is a real difference between right and wrong. The worst men have their tender moments when they simply cannot be entirely selfish. The more thoughtful materialist will say it is because of future generations. We must maintain ideals, practice self-control, adhere to certain moral principles in order to make the world better for our children. We are beneficiaries of our fathers and we are thereby under obligation to improve what we have received for the sake of those who come after us. That is our future life. We must cultivate a long-range perspective and consider our descendants for whom we are literally responsible.

But there again our reason emerges into unreason. There is something appealing in the idea of self-sacrifice for the benefit of those who come after us until we are brought up abruptly to face the fact that someday nobody will be coming. It is all well enough to labor for future generations, but what about the time when there will be no future generations? Let us go in for a really long-range perspective. The day arrives when this world comes to an end. Just when or how is a matter of no consequence. It may be next week or a million years hence. Some scientists think the earth will eventually be absorbed into the sun and vanish in vapor. Others suggest that it is more likely to cool off and become a dead world incapable of sustaining life. Either way the conclusion is the same. Some day this world ends and there will be no future generations. Then what becomes of our carefully-guarded ideals and principles? What is the good of our labors and sacrifices if finally they all end in nothing? We are simply pyramiding futilities.

Christ’s way is more credible to our intelligence and more creditable to our efforts. We may die but we shall not perish. “God hath given to us eternal life.”³ The best efforts we can put forth here will never be lost because there is a hereafter. Human life is not a temporary illusion. It has a meaning which outstrips time. That is why the faith and practice of a Churchman becomes of paramount importance. The Christian Gospel offers a way of life in this world which finds its bloom in the world-to-come. How we live now determines how we shall be prepared to live then. If this be not true, there is no sense in submitting to the injustices, trials, and indignities which our daily experience visits upon us. We might better call the whole thing off, turn out the light, and be decently obliterated. But “now is Christ risen from the dead,”⁴ and “thanks be to God, which giveth us the victory through our Lord Jesus Christ.”⁵

¹ Ecclesiastes 1:18.

² St, John 17:3.

³ I John 5:11.

⁴ I Corinthians 15:20.

⁵ I Corinthians 15:57.