Courage

Once upon a time, a King sentenced two dear friends to death. The King really wished to pardon them, but could not do so because he was obliged to uphold the laws of his realm, and they were guilty. The sentence was, therefore, that a long and tight rope be stretched out across a fierce river and if the men were able to cross the river on the rope, their lives would be spared. The first man succeeded in the crossing, whereupon his friend called out to him from the other side, “Dear friend! Please tell me how you managed to achieve such a hazardous crossing on the tightrope so that I, too, shall do likewise.” The friend replied, “I really do not know. I know only that as I was crossing on the rope, whenever I felt myself going over to one side, I leaned in the opposite direction.”

I once read about a scientific experiment involving white mice in which several were placed into a water tank and made to tread water until on the verge of drowning. The instant each was about to sink he was scooped up, returned to his cage, and fed. This process was repeated several more times with the same mice; each time, just before they would have otherwise perished, they were rescued.

The second stage of the experiment utilized new mice who were unfamiliar with the procedure. These new mice were cast into the same tank alongside the previously conditioned ones and all were left to tread water, this time until each became exhausted and drowned. Appalling though this experiment sounds, one incontrovertible fact revealed itself: Without exception, the mice who were preconditioned to believe they would eventually be saved lasted many minutes longer than the mice who had no reason to hope anyone would come for them.

In the same sense, perception of hope is not only a life preserving force, but also a life enriching one. It has been said that human consciousness is the psychological representation of that which has not yet happened, but which is sensed in anticipation. This built-in expectation is like “dreaming ahead” or “dreaming forward.” The point here is that whether one looks at the thing from the scientific or philosophical perspective, either discipline is essentially telling us the same thing: that in hope there is fuller and longer life than in its absence. The question remains, of course, is on what (or whom) will one stake one’s hope.

We have seen in the world of late a tendency toward despair. There seems to be a universal perception these days that times have truly changed and that no one is on safe ground. Our leaders appear to be politicians instead of statesmen; our heros, opportunists rather than champions; and our educators, failed doers not inspired teachers. Everywhere one turns, disillusionment swallows up dreams. Everyone and everything seem transient and without staying power.

And yet, in spite of all this, I cannot help but recall the 19th century opening words of the novel, A Tale of Two Cities, by Charles Dickens, 1812-1870: “It was the best of times, it was the worst of times.” Well in reality it is all of the times. The bottom line for every generation remains the same: Nobody gets out of life alive. The questions that our ancestors faced as they fleetingly toiled within the wonder and terror of creation are the same questions which now face us: How will we live, what will we stand for, and whom will we love?

No teacher possesses greater inherent wisdom about this than his student. He can only offer advice that involves a crossing on a tightrope and that no one is really secure. In spite of this, if the teacher is a good one, he has somehow managed to cross successfully himself and is now out of danger. He can give counsel to his pupils, but is ever aware of how truly limited this counsel is.

Many years of living, playing the horn, and teaching have convinced me that so-called neuroses, even psychoses, are only manifestations of a fundamental loss of courage, and that this loss of courage originates from a morbid fearfulness about living well or dying badly. In any and all circumstances, I can only conclude one thing: that one must take courageous action. Inert grief must give way to hopeful endeavour. To do is to live. Anything else is just Samuel Becket’s “Waiting for Godot.”

Other than this, dear friends, what more can I say? I can only advise you to endeavour to strive always to keep the correct balance as you move forward across the tightrope. Try not to surrender to the fear of falling which will always be present. Never look down, seldom back, but always beyond.

If it helps to know that I and others have passed this way before you, then know that this is so. If it comforts you to know that we are with you, then know that, in spirit, this will forever be so. Most of all, if it will spare you to know, in truth, that we were all, each of us who made this journey, carried the final steps by God and by no man, then despair not, but instead rejoice in this faith, and,

“Let your light shine before men in such a way that they may see your good works and glorify your Father who is in heaven.”–(The Bible, KJV, Matthew 5:16)

May you walk in green pastures.