Old dogs; old truths
One of the men who greatly influenced my life, Elton Trueblood, said on his 70th birthday, "Education is too wonderful and valuable to limit it to the young." I was not quite 33.
Decades later I still remember his words. Maybe not the exact words, but certainly the idea. The idea that advancement in years ought not to bring an end to learning is more and more at the core of things I really believe.
Not to believe this truth is, frankly, impossible. In my case, even though I may be too old to negotiate schoolhouse stairs and too old to run the halls with youngsters, learning is routinely forced on me. My learning is as persistent as my sinning. An old woman who willingly confessed being guilty of the sin of gossiping, said, "I know I don't have to sin; but I just can't help it." That was more than forty years ago and I still remember her words.
Friends, you don't have to keep learning in your approach to the golden years; you just can't help it.
Come along with me as I follow the road to truths newly recognized.
When I wrote a newspaper column, I knew the limits of my audience. No one in Illinois read my musings that appeared in Jackson, Michigan's newspaper. No one I knew in Michigan subscribed to the Nashville (Illinois) News. This limited circle of readers tempted me with subject possibilities. Since my in-laws in Illinois never read Jackson Michigan's Citizen-Patriot, I could tell Michigan readers about the silly ways of my in-laws without fear of retribution from anyone but my wife. In a similar way, I could tell newspaper readers in Illinois about some of the foibles of parishioners in Michigan without eating those words. Laughing at the antics of people one will never meet is not only permissible, but can be good for one's mental health. Shaking one's head in disgust at wrongs in a distant community can scratch the itch of self-righteousness without exposing one's own hubris.
Blogging, on the other hand, doesn't tolerate limited readership. Folks in Michigan can read the same stuff and at the same time as folks in Illinois or Freeport, Maine for that matter. I am learning how to be more discreet and more timid, two traits that have been neglected in my life.
Although the lesson has not yet been forcefully made, I have learned there might be unintended and uncomfortable consequences if I ignore the need for discretion and tact as I "blog.".
More importantly, I am learning whom I have been.
As I search for a topic to write about that will be received kindly by every potential reader, whatever their location, relationship, political philosophy, prejudices, and level of tolerance for the irrelevant and irreverent, the list of topics is quite small.
I am learning that the best escape from this nagging lack of subject matter is to adopt a policy of authenticity. To the degree that I write with integrity and in a voice that is authentic, responses and reactions to my words and ideas shrink in importance. Shakespeare, using the mouth of a less than admirable character in Hamlet, recognizes some level of wisdom in the advice "… to thine own self be true."
That idea brought me another learning experience.
For most of my life, I have not been very proficient in originality. Every good idea, every Church doctrine, every article of faith, every position on every issue, and even every imagination I have espoused or called my own have not actually been mine. Rather, those beliefs, doctrines, understandings, teaching points, and opinions have been someone else's. I have been a master at taking another person's position, chewing it as a cow does her cud, and then passing it along as my own. I have discovered that knowing one has never been original is not original.
Although I am not ashamed of being the echo of another's wisdom and originality, I think I should at least make a diligent effort to be creative, original, and authentic. I suspect that those traits are especially respected in heaven.
How do you learn whom you have been? Or want to be?
Decades later I still remember his words. Maybe not the exact words, but certainly the idea. The idea that advancement in years ought not to bring an end to learning is more and more at the core of things I really believe.
Not to believe this truth is, frankly, impossible. In my case, even though I may be too old to negotiate schoolhouse stairs and too old to run the halls with youngsters, learning is routinely forced on me. My learning is as persistent as my sinning. An old woman who willingly confessed being guilty of the sin of gossiping, said, "I know I don't have to sin; but I just can't help it." That was more than forty years ago and I still remember her words.
Friends, you don't have to keep learning in your approach to the golden years; you just can't help it.
Come along with me as I follow the road to truths newly recognized.
When I wrote a newspaper column, I knew the limits of my audience. No one in Illinois read my musings that appeared in Jackson, Michigan's newspaper. No one I knew in Michigan subscribed to the Nashville (Illinois) News. This limited circle of readers tempted me with subject possibilities. Since my in-laws in Illinois never read Jackson Michigan's Citizen-Patriot, I could tell Michigan readers about the silly ways of my in-laws without fear of retribution from anyone but my wife. In a similar way, I could tell newspaper readers in Illinois about some of the foibles of parishioners in Michigan without eating those words. Laughing at the antics of people one will never meet is not only permissible, but can be good for one's mental health. Shaking one's head in disgust at wrongs in a distant community can scratch the itch of self-righteousness without exposing one's own hubris.
Blogging, on the other hand, doesn't tolerate limited readership. Folks in Michigan can read the same stuff and at the same time as folks in Illinois or Freeport, Maine for that matter. I am learning how to be more discreet and more timid, two traits that have been neglected in my life.
Although the lesson has not yet been forcefully made, I have learned there might be unintended and uncomfortable consequences if I ignore the need for discretion and tact as I "blog.".
More importantly, I am learning whom I have been.
As I search for a topic to write about that will be received kindly by every potential reader, whatever their location, relationship, political philosophy, prejudices, and level of tolerance for the irrelevant and irreverent, the list of topics is quite small.
I am learning that the best escape from this nagging lack of subject matter is to adopt a policy of authenticity. To the degree that I write with integrity and in a voice that is authentic, responses and reactions to my words and ideas shrink in importance. Shakespeare, using the mouth of a less than admirable character in Hamlet, recognizes some level of wisdom in the advice "… to thine own self be true."
That idea brought me another learning experience.
For most of my life, I have not been very proficient in originality. Every good idea, every Church doctrine, every article of faith, every position on every issue, and even every imagination I have espoused or called my own have not actually been mine. Rather, those beliefs, doctrines, understandings, teaching points, and opinions have been someone else's. I have been a master at taking another person's position, chewing it as a cow does her cud, and then passing it along as my own. I have discovered that knowing one has never been original is not original.
Although I am not ashamed of being the echo of another's wisdom and originality, I think I should at least make a diligent effort to be creative, original, and authentic. I suspect that those traits are especially respected in heaven.
How do you learn whom you have been? Or want to be?
posted by John | 5:14 PM
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