Religion

Prologue-JungleDoctor.pdf

Prologue

During the spring semester of 2005, thirteen juniors and seniors in a college seminar pondered the following question: "What is the difference, if any, be- tween a good life and a significant one?" Some students argued that a good life is a matter of character, having to do with the kind of person you are. A significant life, on the other hand, is simply a consequential life, they thought, a life that influences a great number of people. A person does not have to be morally good to be significant or influential.

Others strongly disagreed. A significant life, they insisted , must change the world for the better. Thus, Joseph Stalin , though he cha nged the lives of millions , did not lead a significant life, because the results of his often brutal and arbitrary actions were terrible, not beneficial, for humankind. Besides, Stalin was, so these students insisted, an ignoble human being, someone of bad character, perhaps mentally deranged, and therefore not worthy of ad- miration. A significant life must be a good life, and it must change the world for the better.

The students expressed other views, of course, but these were the two ex- tremes. Students at one extreme thought significance is a purely quantitative measure: the more people influenced by someone, the more significant his or her life is. Students at the other extreme thought of significance as a mostly qualitative matter: people must lead good lives and change the world substan- tially for the better in order to lead significant lives. Students at both extremes agreed that significance had something to do with "making a difference," but

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here again matters quickly grew complex. Who could tell how many lives a lo- cal high school teacher might touch? The instructor quoted Henry Adams: "A teacher touches eternity, for he never knows where his influence stops." Per- haps significance cannot be measured after all, unless we arbitrarily say that it pertains only to the number of people whose lives are changed for the better by a person during the course of his or her lifetime. Even so, measurements would be hard to make. How many lives did Dwight David Eisenhower change for the better during his lifetime, first as a general in the army during World Warn, later as a two-term president of the United States?

Questions that forever elude precise answers are not for that reason trivial or · merely academic." On the contrary. Most of the students who were thinking and writing about the kind of life that is worth living were soon to graduate. They wanted to gain some clarity about what makes for a significant life, because most of them longed to make a difference in the world. Yet they hoped to do so in a way that would honor other aspirations as_ well. And_ they worried that endeavors to lead a good or virtuous life rrught sometJJlles conflict with efforts to lead a significant one.

Almost exactly a century ago, both William James and Albert Schweitzer te authirs:: the two texts that follow, worried over the same question; ~e:~t: : ? sh~ld d_o and who they should be that perplexed the stu- Willi J e c ass. ore important, both of them "lived" these questions

am ames endured a long "vocati I . . " . almost ten years and . h ona cns,s, extending over a period of

spanning t e most terrible · u · d tory, the Civil War of the 186 Alb war m rnte States his-

] os. ert Schweitzer ch d h. .

era times over the course of h· i·c ti . ange 1s vocation sev- d IS ue o ten m the fac f · h an even opposition from fa .1 <l f . e o mcompre ension James's case the fruits ofh· m, y an nends. The writings that follow are in

record of them. is quest'0 ns 3nd struggles; in Schweitzer's case, a

William James eventually becam psychologists as well as one of ·t e one of America's most distinguished to these achievements was not ' s most beloved philosophers. But his road ~m,Iy. His sister Alice was a tr:i~r-:~ grew up in a large and accomplished

enryb became one of America's fie ut very gifted writer. And his brother were y and Iarg oremost novelists ff [; h in their ch"ld permissive and indulgent . is at er and mother Henry Jam~ ;n s decisions about what th~are~ts; !~hey seldom in terfered liam could r; r., ;•de an exception in wrnt s. au do for a living. But bered him .. tem er, he wanted to be an arti:~Hs _cabse. For as long as Wil- l rawmg draw; 1 · is rother H pans for William . ' . . ng, a ways drawing " B h· enry remem-

' ms,stmg that he should b . ut is father had other ecome a scientist.

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Though the reasons for William's father's efforts to manipulate his son's choice of career are far from clear, much of the evidence points to a motive that is not uncommon among parents. Henry James, Sr., had once hoped to be a scientist himself, but he gave up the effort. Instead, he tried to arrange matters so that his son William might realize Henry, Sr.'s, own ambitions. He therefore removed William , during the early 1860s, from the studio where he was learn ing to paint and transported him to Germany, where he exposed William to some of the most advanced scientific study in Europe at the time. Yielding to his father's wishes , William abandoned painting, a move he was to regret for at least ten years, and enrolled in the Lawrence Scientific School at Harvard in 1861.

The manifold conflicts between paternal expectations and William's own longings led to painful academic and psychological experiences. In to- day's parlance, we would say that William was a college student who was constantly changing his major. He enrolled in chemistry, soon changed to comparative anatomy and physiology, then resolved to study medicine , then decided that he preferred research to medicine, then took a trip to the Ama- zon on a specimen-collecting expedition to see whether he might pursue a career in natural history, then took another trip to Germany where his inter- es ts broadened to include literature and philosophy.

He had also gone to Germany to seek relief from a variety of physical and psychological symptoms - insomnia, digestive disorders, eye trouble, and acute back pains. But the various treatments he received had little posi- tive effect. By the late 1860s, William James was deeply depressed, often un- able to find the energy to work or to care about life. He grew to believe that his life was completely determined by physical and social forces beyond his control. On the verge of suicide, James happened to read works of poetry and philosophy that defended human freedom , and he came to believe that he was after all free to make his own choices. Or, as he put it, his first act of free will was to believe in free will, to believe "in my individual reality and creative power." James always believed that his "vocational crisis'" was at one and the same time physical, psychological, philosophical, and spiritual. His essay below, originally delivered as a lecture to college students, shows many traces of his own struggles as a college student, given its emphases upon freedom, ideals , individual energy and initiative, and the belief tha t people can make a difference in the world.

Albert Schweitzer led a life that William James might have envied in certain respects . Like James, Schweitzer was a gifted artist, though his art was music, not paint ing. But unlike James, Schweitzer spent many years studying music, was recognized as one of the leading organists of his time,

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d b 'Id organs. Throughout a long and varied life, and later learne to u, . d • . I h' love for great music, and he contmue to wme Schwenzer never ost IS •. 1 d "

about the compositions of/. s. Bach even while serving as a J~ng e octo_r. • 1-k J Schweitzer studied philosophy, and he contmued to write Again , ·e ames, . d 1 d

philosophical works throughout his life. Both Schweitzer an !ames o~e both abstract speculation and practical affairs, though Schweitzer, unlike James, did finally decide to become a physician. . .

By comparison to James, Schweitzer was relatively free of ~ental 111- ness. lndeed, he often gave thanks for his even temperament and his mental health , because these gifts enabled him to undertake the demanding work he loved. According to his own recollections, however, Schweitzer was not an especially strong student in his early years. And though he always ap- plied himself diligently to his studies, he sometimes disappointed his exam- iners. In spite of minor setbacks, however, Schweitzer decided quite early upon a plan for his life that would include music , philosophy, theology, and humanitarianism. Remarkably, he stuck to that plan and carried it forward with great nobility and success.

The two men together represent, as well as any two people could, vital points of intersection between the two traditions that largely inform this an- thology and that we discussed briefly in the general introduction - Democ- racy and Christianity. Although both James and Schweitzer remained deeply interested in and formed by religious concerns for their entire lives, they were _suspicious of institutionalized religion, especially of most forms of msmuuonalized Christianity. Both of them , in different ways were pro- foundly "spiritual" or • 1• • • • h b . ' reug1ous wn out emg conventionally Christian . James was never a regular churchgoer, but Schweitzer was. His father was a Protestant pastor in c h 1· . a at O ,c region of Europe, and Schweitzer himself spent many years studving a d h' h h

1 J 1 • n preac mg t e C ristian faith. From a very ear Y age, •mes became deeply· t d • 1. . tions , and he always b 1. d hm ereS te m re ,g,ous experiences and affec-

e ieve t at our own liv d larger universe of reli . . es were suspen ed within a gious meanmg and purpo h

powers that we possess" S h . . se t at was "congenial to th h · c weitzer remamed fa'thf I h e et ical core of Christ' . . 1 u tow at he took to be i h ianny, Its emphasis up If • or 1 ose who are sufferi A d h on se -giving love and care tia h d ng. n t ough he rem · d n, e eveloped a view of!'' h ame very much a Chris- gre t 1· · lie t at resulted i f • re ,g,ons of the world f . n part rom a synthesis of the

Boch James and Sch : manby o which he studied in depth enme t d we,tzer elonged as m h .

n an . Democracy as they did to Ch . . uc to traditions of Enlight- :;~\::~1c1sm, and disciplined inquiry i:;:

1 :~~ity. ?ought, reason, argu-

JUst as important to both of th reams of nature and cul- cm as reverence, devotion, and

Prologue

prayer. As such, they are very much the contemporaries of millions of Americans who are committed at one and the same time to democratic principles of equality and freedom, to Enlightenment ideals of rationality, and to spiritual ideals of humility and sacrificial love. Schweitzer put it this way in the book from which the excerpt below is taken:

To become aware of its real self, Christianity needs thought. For cen- turies it treasured the great commandments oflove and mercy as tra- ditional truths without opposing slavery, witch burning, torture, and all the other ancient and medieval forms of inhumanity committed in its name. Only when it experienced Enlightenment was Christianity stirred up to enter the struggle for humanitarian principles .. ..

Just as a stream is kept from gradually drying up because it flows along above underground water, so Christianity needs the under- ground water of elemental piety that issues from thinking. It can only attain real spiritual power when men no longer find the road from thought to religion barred.

I know I myself owe it to thought that I was able to retain my faith in religion.

In an era of religious fanaticism and violence, many today are struggling to harmonize the same sometimes conflicting loyalties that shaped the lives of James and Schweitzer. Seeking to lead lives that matter, they want to think carefully about the world even as they retain their faith in ultimate and often mysterious powers to which they are obedient, which sometimes summon them to noble tasks , and which nurture within them aspirations that they do not fully understand. They want to remain faithful to their own religious traditions, even as they continue to honor and to learn from other religious traditions and from secular traditions like Democracy as well.

A LB ERT S C HWEI TZ ER "I Resolve to Becom e a }ut1gle Doctor "

ALBERT SCHWEITZER

"I Resolve to Become a Jungle Doctor"

Albert Schweitzer (1875-1965) was an organist, organ-builder, philosopher, theologian, and, for many years, a doctor in equatorial Africa. An interna- tionally famous lecturer and humanitarian, he wrote on subjects ranging from the music of J. S. Bach to the quest for the historical Jesus to world religions. Over time he developed a distinctive ethical and religious credo that he called simply "A Reverence for Life." In 1953 , he was awarded the Nobel Peace Prize. His work below is chapter 9 from what he regarded as his most important work, the autobiographical Out of My Life and Thought, published in 1931. People of all ages and many nations still find this telling of his own story both instructive and inspiring.

Young people who say they hope to become doctors or missionaries in equatorial Africa or some other challenging and remote locale are often met with deep suspicion, today no less than in Schweitzer's time. Many people view such aspirations as stereotypicall y romantic or hopelessly ide- alistic or suspiciously paternalistic, even condescending. In this passage Schweitzer describes some of the arguments people made aga inst his plans. Notice the reasons he gives for h is decision, th e steps he took in ar- riving at it, and the exchanges he had with those who criticized it. At what points do you agree or disagree with his critics? Wha t do you make of the fact that Schweitzer almost always discouraged others from embarking on risky and e xceptional ventures like the one he himself u ndertook?

On October 13 , 1905, I dropped in to a letter box on the avenue de la Grande Armee in Paris letters to my parents and to some of my closest friends tell-

From Alb ert Schweit ze r, Dul of My Life and Tl1ough1 (Balii more: The Johns Hopkin s University Press, 1998), pp . 81 -9 5; originally in Engli sh from (New York: Henry Holt an d Company, 19 33), pp. 10 2-11 8.

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. . of the winter term I would embark on the ing them that at the_beg,hnmdng of later going out to equatorial Africa as a

d f 1edicine with l e I ea h f stu Y O n b . t d my resignation from t e post o principal of d t Jnonelerterlsu mtt e fS Th oc or. . h 1 . m (the theological seminary o t. omas) be. he Collegium Wt! e m1tanu h d I 1

. d' would require. The plan I ope to rea ize had ause of the time my stu ,es ' d d h d

c . . d , t' me. Long ago in my stu ent ays I a though t been m my mm ,or some I d b II d I d

k · nceivable that I shoul ea owe to ea such a about it It struc me as mco 1· . !:, h'I I so many people around me strugg mg with sorrow happy ue w I e saw .

d ffi • E at school I had felt stirred whenever I caught a glimpse of an su ermg. ven d the miserable home surroundings of some of my classmates an compared them with the ideal conditions in which we children of the parsonage at Giinsbach had lived. At the university, enjoying the good fortune of study- ing and even getting some results in scholarship and the arts, I could not help but think continually of others who were denied that good fortune by their material circumstances or their health.

One brilliant summer morning at Giinsbach, during the Whitsuntide holidays - it was in 1896 - as I awoke, the thought came to me that I must not accept this good fortune as a matter of course, but must give something in return.

While outside the birds sang I reflected on this thought, and before I had gouen up I came to the conclusion that until I was thirty I could consider myself justified in devoting myself to scholarship and the arts, but after that I would devote myself directly to serving humanity. I had already tried many times to find the meaning that lay hidden in the saying of Jesus: "Whosoever would save his life shall lose it, and whosoever shall lose his life for My sake and the Gospel's shall save it." Now I had found the answer. I could now add outward to inward happiness.

What_ the character of my future activities would be was not yet clear to me. 1 left tt to chance to guide me. Only one thing was certain, that it must be direct human service, however inconspicuous its sphere.

I naturally thought first f • . . ki O some acuVJty m Europe. I formed a plan for

:~g ie:aprdof andhelducating abandoned or neglected children, then mak- e ge to e p children lat · · •1 . way Wh • . er on m a s1m1 ar situation in the same

· en m t9o3, as director of the th I · I . roomy and sunny offi . 1 eo ogica seminary I moved into my tcta quarters on the s d fl f Thomas, I was in a position to be in t eco~ oor o the College of St. one place, now in anoth 6 1

g he expenment. I offered help now in • h er, ut a ways to no av ·1 Th h zations t at looked aft d . at · e c arters of the organi- . . er estnute and aba d d h

PfOVISions for accepting v I n one c ildren had made no phan b o unteers. For exampl h h

age urned down I offer d k . e, w en t e Strasbourg or- ' e to ta e m a few b

oys temporarily, but the

ALBERT SCHWEITZER "/ Resolve to Become a Jungle Doctor"

superintendent did not even let me finish my sentence. I made similar at- tempts elsewhere also in vain.

For a time I thought I would someday devote myself to tramps and dis- charged convicts. To prepare myself for this I joined the Reverend Augustus Ernst at St. Thomas in an undertaking he had begun. Between one and two in the afternoon he remained at home ready to speak to anyone who came to him asking for help or a night's lodging. He did not, however, give the appli- cant money, nor did he make him wait until the information about his cir- cumstances could be confirmed. Instead he would offer to look up the appli- cant in his home or shelter that very afternoon and verify the information he had been given about the situation. After this, he would give him all neces- sary assistance for as long as was needed. How many bicycle rides did we make into town or the suburbs, and quite often only to find that the applicant was unknown at the address he had given. In many cases, however, it pro- vided an opportunity for giving appropriate help, with knowledge of the cir- cumstances. I also had friends who kindly contributed money to this cause.

As a student, I had been active in social service as a member of the stu- dent association known as the Diaconate of St. Thomas, which held its meetings in the St. Thomas seminary. Each of us had a certain number of poor families assigned to him, which he was to visit every week, taking some aid and then reporting about their situation. The funds we thus dis- tributed we collected · from members of the old Strasbourg families who supported this undertaking, begun by earlier generations and now carried on by ourselves. Twice a year, if I remember correctly, each of us had to make a fixed number of financial appeals. For me, being shy and rather awk- ward in society, these visits were a torture. I believe that in this preparatory experience of soliciting funds, which I had to do much more of in later years , I sometimes showed myself extremely unskillful. However, I learned through them that soliciting with tact and restraint is better appreciated than any sort of aggressive approach, and also that correct soliciting meth- ods include the friendly acceptance of refusal.

In our youthful inexperience we no doubt often failed , in spite of our best intentions, to use the money entrusted to us in the wisest way. The ex- pectations of the givers were, however, fulfilled with respect to their pur- pose - that young men should devote themselves to serve the poor. For that reason I think with deep gratitude of those who met our efforts with so much understanding and generosity, and hope that many students may have the privilege of working as recruits in the struggle against povert y.

As I worried about the homeless and former convicts it became clear to me that they could only be effectively helped if many individuals devoted

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h same time however, I realized that in many cases h mselves to them. At t e ' I b . . h t e Id I complish their tasks in col a oratton wit official individuals cou on )' ac I I I d · d . . 8

h t I wanted was an abso ute y persona an m epen- orgamzattons. ut w a dent activity. d. I f Although I was resolved to put my services at the 1sposa o some or-

. • ·f · hould become really necessary, I nonetheless never gave up gamzaaon I Its . If • . . the hope of finding an activity to which I could devote myse as an md1v1d- ual and as a wholly free agent. I have always considered it an ever renewed grace that I could fulfill this profound desire. . . .

One morning in the aurumn of 1904 I found on my writing table m the seminaryoneofthegreen-<:overed magazines in which the Paris Missionary Society (La Societe Evangelique des Missions a Paris) reported on its activi- ties every month. A Miss Scherdlin used to pass them on to me. She knew that in my youth I had been impressed by the letters from Mr. Casalis, one of the first missionaries of this society. My father had read them to us in his mission services.

Without paying much attention, I leafed through the magazine that had been put on my table the night before. As I was about to turn to my studies, I noticed an anicle with the headline "Les besoins de la Mission du Congo" ("The needs of the Congo Mission ," in the Journal des Missions Evangeliques, June 1904). It was by Alfred Roegner, the president of the Paris Missionary Soaety, an Alsatian , who complained in it that the mission did not have enough people to carry on its work in the Gaboon, the northern province of the Congo colony The write d th h . . · r expresse e ope that his appeal would b_nng so':e of those "on whom the Master's eyes already rested" to a deci- s10n to ouer themselves for th· k

d 15 urgent wor . The article concluded: "Men

an women who can r j · I h those are the people th:PJ~~:;; :e tot. e M~ster's call, 'Lord , I am coming,' gan my work My sea h eds. 1 fimshed my article and quietly be-

. re was over I spent my thirtieth binhda ;few .

able who, "desiring to b ·rd y . months later like the man in the par- h h u, a tower first cal I h w et er he has the mea ' . cu ates t e cost of completion

I ns to complete it "Th I my Pan of direct human serv· . · e resu twas a resolve to realize Aside from one tr tee 10 equatorial Africa.

h ustworchy f · d W en it became known throu nen ' no one knew of m intention ~::t;:~o fitht With my relativ!~

1 ;r~:er~ I sent from Pari~ I had hard

than th;gdt.de~ into my confidence and:. s. ey reproached me more for y ' ,or the e iscussmg the d ..

mented me b nterprise itself With th· ec1s1on with them eyond me d · 1s second ·

friends should outd asure uring those difficul ary issue they tor- o the others in their t weeks. That theological

protests struck me as all the more

ALBERT SCHW EIT Z ER "I Resolve to Become a Jungle Doctor"

absurd because they had no doubt all preached a fine sermon - perhaps a very fine one - that quoted Paul's declaration in his letter to the Galatians that he "did not confer with flesh or blood" before he knew what he would do for Jesus.

My relatives and friends reproached me for the folly of my enterprise. They said I was a man who was burying the talent entrusted to him and wanted to trade in false currency. I ought to leave work among Africans to chose who would not thereby abandon gifts and achievements in scholar- ship and the arts. Widor, who loved me as a son, scolded me for acting like a general who, rifle in hand, insists on fighting in the firing line (there was no talk about trenches at that time). A lady who was filled with the modern spirit proved to me that I could do much more by lecturing on behalf of medical help for Africans than I could by the course of action I contem- plated. The aphorism from Goethe's Faust, "In the beginning was the Deed," was now out of date, she said. "Today propaganda is the mother of events."

In the many adversarial debates I had to endure with people who passed for Christians, it amazed me to see them unable to perceive that the desire to serve the love preached by Jesus may sweep a man into a new course of life. They read in the New Testament that it can do so, and found it quite in order there.

I had assumed that familiarity with the sayings of Jesus would give a much better comprehension of what to popular logic is not rational. Several times, indeed, my appeal to the obedience that Jesus' command of love re- quires under certain circumstances earned me an accusation of conceit. How I suffered to see so many people assuming the right to tear open the doors and shutters of my inner selfl

In general, neither allowing them to see that I was hurt nor letting them know the thought chat had given birth to my resolution was of any use. They thought there must be something behind it all, and guessed at disappoint- ment with the slow development of my career. For this there were no grounds at all, in that, even as a young man, I had received as much recogni- tion as others usually get only after a whole life of toil and struggle. Un- happy love was another reason alleged for my decision. .

The attitude of people who did not try to explore my feelings , but re- garded me as a young man not quite right in the head and treated me w1th correspondingly affec tionate ridicule, represented a real kindness.

I felt it co be quite natural in itself that family and friends should chal- lenge the rationality of my plan. As one who demands that idealists should be sober in their views, I was aware that every venture down an untrodden path is a venture that looks sensible and likely to be successful only under

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unus ual circumst ances. In my own case I held the venture to be justified, be- cause I had considered it for a long time and from every point of view, and I thought that I had good health , sound nerves, energy, practical common sense, toughness, prudence, very few wants, and everything else that might be necessary for the pursuit of my idea. I believed, further, that I had the in- ner fo rtitude to endure any eventual fail ure of my plan.

As a man of independent action, I have since that time been approached fo r my opinion and advice by many people who wanted to risk a similar ve ntu re. Only in comparatively few cases have I taken the responsibility of givi ng th em encouragement. I often had to recognize that the need "to do someth ing special" was born of a restl ess spi rit. Such people wanted to dedi- cate themselves to larger tasks because those that lay nearest did not satisfy them. Often , too, it was evident that they were motivated by quite second- ary considerations. Only a person who finds value in any kind of activity and who gives of himself with a full sense of service has the right to choose an exce ptional task instead of following a common path. Only a person who feels his preference to be a matter of course, not something out of the ordinary, and who has no thought of heroism but only of a duty undertaken with sober enthusiasm, is capable of becoming the sort of spiritual pioneer the world needs. There are no heroes of action - only heroes of renun cia- tion and suffering. Of these the re are plenty. But few of them are known and even they not to the crowd, but to the few. Carlyle's On Heroes and ~ero- Worship is not a profound book.

T~e maj~ri~y of those who feel the impulse and are actually capable of devotmg their lives to independent action are compelled by ci rcumstanc es IO renounce that course. As a rule they have to provide for one or more de- pendenlS, or they have to stay 'th th · r . 0 1

WJ e,r pro, ess1on in order to earn a living f n yf a person wh o, thanks 10 his own efforts or the devotion of fr iends i~ ;;;so~oa~t:~~erial needs can nowadays take the risk of undertaking su ch a

Th is was not so much the case in ea rlier . b up remunerative wo rk could 'll h limes ccause anyone who gave but anyone thinking of d . sn hope to get through life somehow or other tions oftoday runs th . komfg sue _ a thing in the difficult economic condi ~

I k e ns o com mg to grief both . JI now not only by what I h b matena y and spiritually. Lhe re are worthy and ca bl avl e o served but also by experience that id d pa epeop e whohaveh d n epen em ac tion that wou ld h b a to re nounce a course of cause of circumscanccs th at m d a~e. een ~f great value to the world be- . Those who are given the c~a~/ 1mposs1ble.

t1 on must acce pt their good fortun ee.to em~~rk on a life of ind ependent ac- m a spmt of humility. They must oft en

ALBERT SCHW EITZ ER • ~, Resolve to Become a Jungle Doctor~

think of th ose who, though equall y willing and ca pable, were not in a posi- tion to do the same. And as a rule, they must 1emper their own strong deter- mination with humility. Almost always they must search and wait un1il they fi nd a path 1hat will permit the ac1ion 1hey long to take. For1 unate are those who have received more years of creative work than years of searching and waiting. Fortunate those who succeed in giving themselves genuinely and completely.

These favored souls must also be humble so as not to get irritated by the resistance they encounter, but to accept it as inevitable. Anyone who pro- poses to do good must not expect people to roll any stones out of his way, and must calmly accept his lot even if they roll a few more into it. Only force that in the face of obstacles becomes stronger can win. Force that is used only to revolt wastes itself.

Of all the will toward the ideal in mankind only a small part can mani- fest itself in public action. All the rest of this force mu st be content with small and obscure deeds. The sum of these, howe ver, is a thousand times stronger th an the acts of those who receive wide public recognition. The lat- ter, compared to the fo rmer, are like the foam on the waves of a deep ocean.

The hidden forces of goodness are alive in those who serve humanity as a secondary pursu it, those who cannot devote thei r full life to it. The lot of most people is to have a job, to earn their living, and to assume for them- selves a place in society through some kind of nonfulfilling labor. They can give little or nothing of their human qua lities. The problems arising from progressive specialization and mechanization of labor can only be partly re- solved through the concessions society is willing to make in its economic plann ing. It is always essential that the individuals themselves not suffer their fate passively, but expend all their energies in affirming their own humanity through some sp iritual engagement, even if the conditions are unfavorable .

One can save o ne's life as a human being, along with one·s professional existence, if one seizes every opport un ity, however unassuming, to act hu- manly toward those who need another human being. In this ~vay we se~ve both the sp iritu al and the good. Nothing can keep us from this second Job of direct human servi ce. So many opportunities are missed because we let

th em pass by. . • Everyone in his own environment must strive to prawce true humanity

toward others. The fu ture of the world depends on it. .. Great values are lost at every moment because we miss opportu mues,

but the values ih at are turned into will and action constitu te a rich_ne.ss .that must not be und ervalued. Our huma nity is by no means as matenaltS[IC as

people cl aim so co mplacen tly.

111111

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Judging by what I have learned about men and women 1 that far more idealistic aspiration exists than is ever evide t •

1 am convinced

n • ust as th we see are much less numerous than the underground strea e rivers ism that is visible is m inor compared to what men and wo ms, so the ideal.

men carry· h hearts , unreleased or scarcely released. Mankind is waiting and Ion mt eir those who can accomplish the task of untying what is knotted and :mg for the underground waters to the surface. ringing

What to my friends seemed most irrational in my pla d f . . . nwasthatI wa n te to go to A nca, not as a mtsswnary, but as a doctor Al d h'

• rea y t irty years of age, I would burden myself with long and laborious stud 1

doubted for an ins tant that these studies would require an imme~~ .;:er and I anticipated the coming years with anxiety. But the reasons that ma~: me determined to enter into the service I had chosen as a doctor weighed so heavi ly that other considerations were as dust in the balance and counted for nothing. ·

I wanted to be a doctor so that I might be able to work without having to talk. For years I had been giving of myself in words, and it was with joy that I had followed the calling of theological teacher and preacher. But this new form of activity would consist not in preaching the religion of love, bu1 in practicing it. Medical knowledge would make it possible for me to carry out my intention in the best and most complete way, wherever the path of service might lead me .

Given my choice of equatorial Africa, acquiring this knowledge was es- pecially appropriate because in the district to which I planned to go a doctor was, according to the missionaries' reports, the most urgent of all its needs. In their reports and magazines they always regretted that they could nt provide help for the Africans who came in great physical pain. I was greai Y

h d horn these motivated to study medicine and become, one day, t e octor w 1 d c I h t the years unhappy people needed. Whenever I was temple to ,ee t a . d

If h t Hamilcar an should have to sacrifice were too long, I reminded myse t a d di·ous b h · slow an te Hannibal had prepared for their march on Rome y t eir

conquest of Spain . . destiny 10 be· There was still one more reason why 1t seemed to be my .

1 could

come a doctor. From what I knew of the Paris Missionary Sooery, .. missionary. · not but feel very doubtful that they would accept me as a

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