Quiet Talks by Samuel Dickey: Gordon, Samuel Dickey - Quiet Talks on Personal Problems: 15. The Spirit of Search.

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Quiet Talks by Samuel Dickey: Gordon, Samuel Dickey - Quiet Talks on Personal Problems: 15. The Spirit of Search.



TOPIC: Gordon, Samuel Dickey - Quiet Talks on Personal Problems (Other Topics in this Collection)
SUBJECT: 15. The Spirit of Search.

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The Spirit of Search.

The searcher for the truth should mark keenly that the result of his thinking and study will depend wholly upon two things: the way he goes at it, and the reason he has for going at it at all. The way he goes at his study will very largely decide what he will get. He needs to have a candid, open spirit. He should try to be unbiased as far as possible, neither for nor against. Indeed he must go a bit further than this; there should in fairness be a spirit of sympathy with that which he is investigating or judging.

This is the true critical spirit. The expert in sculpture in examining a bit of work seeks to discern the purpose of the chiseling artist. He tries to put himself at one in spirit with the workman, so as to see the thing from his standpoint and judge accordingly as to the success and skill shown. He may find faults and lack of skill and finish, crudeness of conception and of workmanship, but he approaches his criticism from the artist's standpoint.

The same is true of all proper criticism, whether of a painting, of a book, or of a piece of art needlework. The critic approaches not to quibble nor find fault but to get in touch with the artist's conception and ideal and then judge of his work. This must be the spirit here. One should be not disposed favorably nor unfavorably, but seeking to put himself in warm, sympathetic touch with the subject and its ideals to judge accordingly. Now I do not suppose that anyone ever filled out fully such requirements, but if he faithfully, honestly tries to he will get just that much nearer to the truth.

Then the reason why a man goes at such study will determine largely what he will get. And there is just the one great purpose worth while, and that is to have the life made true and strong and beautiful. Life is too serious for one to be satisfied with less than this, or to spend time for a less high ambition. There is satisfaction in getting to understand truth and the reason of things, a mental satisfaction, but this is incidental. The great, throbbing passion of a true man is to have his life true and pure, strong and fragrant. To know more than we weave into the daily fibre of life is to add to our own self-reproach in the coming days. It does but brew a bitterer drink for the later years' drinking.

But if a man ring true here, if there be the simple strong purpose to put every truth to the test of living, and to test the life mercilessly by whatever truth comes, and hold it up to that standard, then—let me say it very deliberately— that man may throw away all his old teachings, his mother's Bible and all that goes with it, if he can trust himself to hold steady to this purpose as he examines what comes up.

Our searching friend can go a step further yet. Let him begin by believing nothing. But let him suppose there is a God. And all the innermost, deepest yearnings of his soul within and all the marvels of the universe without make that a very easy and natural supposition. The simplest philosophy would argue that there is no power apart from personality. Power may be plainly seen and felt without the personality behind it being seen. But in all the world of research, so far as men have been able to sift through to the very bottom, there never yet has been found power of any sort without a person being behind it somewhere. And all around us in life, in nature, is tremendous, immeasurable, incalculable power being seen. So that from the inner yearnings, the swing of the worlds, the workings of nature, it is easy and natural and philosophical to suppose a marvelous being back of all that we see and feel.

Suppose then there be a God. What sort of a God would we prefer Him to be? Well, at least five things can be said of the God we would prefer to have: He would be pure, and powerful; He would be just, and loving; He would have a plan for His creation and for my life. How would such a God feel towards the men He had made? He would surely want to communicate with them, and tell His plan, and take great pleasure in their affairs, and in their realizing in their lives His plan for them.

Well, here is a Book that is distinct from all other books, that from end to end claims to contain just such a communication. And here is a Man, the central figure of this Book, before whom all men have instinctively bowed in reverence, who said that He came from God for the one purpose of letting men know about God. This clears the ground for the man who wants to know for himself. He will set himself to examining this Book, and this Man.

As he takes up the Book how shall he feel towards such a God as there may be? What should his attitude be towards Him? It would surely be one of reverence, loving reverence, of intense desire to be like Him, and to have His plan of one's life made fully real. And more, there would be an intense longing that He would reveal things personally. In such search I would naturally want to communicate with Him and ask Him to reveal Himself to me, and help me to come into such contact with Him that I could receive His revelation of Himself.

But how can I communicate with Him? Well, how do I communicate with others? In two ways: by words telling what is in my mind, and without words. I look in the face of my familiar friend, with whose spirit I am in full sympathy, and I know very often the thoughts of his mind before he utters them. I can glance at my wife in a group of friends and let her know without speaking a word what I am thinking and get her answer. We are all constantly communicating with each other without using words. We are revealing our inner thoughts to others in words, and without words.

Then we are getting accustomed to distant communication without any material thing, even such as a wire, to connect the two talking. There is a certain sympathetic contact expressed through mechanical contrivances that are in touch. Persons completely out of sight of each other, with miles between separating them, can intelligently communicate and exchange their thoughts with each other without any material connection between them. So we have grown accustomed to communicate with those we cannot see, and to receive replies.

With such a God and such men desiring to know Him, it would be quite natural for them to speak to Him in words, and to speak when no words can express the thoughts; and, more, to be conscious of His sympathetic response. The common word for this sort of thing is prayer. With this to be said, that very many who pray have not become skilled in receiving the sympathetic responses.

It would be natural therefore in beginning the examination of this Book, and this Man, to bow in reverence, and ask such a God as there may be to reveal Himself and His truth, and all the study and thinking would naturally be done in this reverential, prayerful spirit.

A word of caution should be put in here. There is a very common tendency with all of us to get to a conclusion too quickly. We are all apt to form judgments before all the facts attainable are in. The common fever of life affects us here as elsewhere. We are quite apt to make up our opinions too quickly, without a broad enough outlook on the facts, and without weighing each fact duly. Facts are like men, their true worth cannot be told by counting; they must be weighed. And weighing always takes more time. It is easy to keep tab on the statements that come along; but to sift them thoroughly so that the non-essentials fall away, and leave the essential element standing alone, takes more time; indeed more time than many seem disposed to give. And then to put the essential element, this real nut-heart of truth, into the scale and hold steady and quiet enough, so the scale can balance accurately—that takes time and steadiness of temper. And it takes isolation too. There is so much jarring of trains overhead, and electric cars on the level, and tunneling beneath the surface, that a man has to get insulated and isolated so as to get quiet enough to keep the balances within himself steady. Yet all this is itself an immense advantage, for it tends to increase the inner quiet, which is man's true spirit.