FREEDOM
I have often wondered what conjunction of the stars caused me to
become a schoolmaster, if, indeed, the stars, lucky or otherwise, had
anything to do with it. It may have been the salary that lured me,
for thirty-five dollars a month bulks large on a boy's horizon.
Possibly the fact that in those days there was no anteroom to the
teaching business may have been the deciding factor. One had but to
exchange his hickory shirt for a white one, and the trick was done.
There was not even a fence between the corn-field and the
schoolhouse. I might just as easily have been a preacher but for the
barrier in the shape of a theological seminary, or a hod-carrier but
for the barrier of learning how. As it was, I could draw my pay for
husking corn on Saturday night, and begin accumulating salary as a
schoolmaster on Monday. The plan was simplicity itself, and that may
account for my choice of a vocation.
I have sometimes tried to imagine myself a preacher, but with poor
success. The sermon would bother me no little, to make no mention of
the other functions. I think I never could get through with a
marriage ceremony, and at a christening I'd be on nettles all the
while, fearing the baby would cry and thus disturb the solemnity of
the occasion and of the preacher. I'd want to take the baby into my
own arms and have a romp with him--and so would forget about the
baptizing. In casting about for a possible text for this impossible
preacher, I have found only one that I think I might do something
with. Hence, my preaching would endure but a single week, and even
at that we'd have to have a song service on Sunday evening in lieu of
a sermon.
My one text would be: "Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall
make you free." I do not know how big truth is, but it must be quite
extensive if science, mathematics, history, and literature are but
small parts of it. I have never explored these parts very far
inland, but they seem to my limited gaze to extend a long distance
before me; and when I get to thinking that each of these is but a
part of something that is called truth I begin to feel that truth is
a pretty large affair. I suspect the text means that the more of
this truth we know the greater freedom we have. My friend Brown has
an automobile, and sometimes he takes me out riding. On one of these
occasions we had a puncture, with the usual attendant circumstances.
While Brown made the needful repairs, I sat upon the grassy bank.
The passers-by probably regarded me as a lazy chap who disdained work
of all sorts, and perhaps thought of me as enjoying myself while
Brown did the work. In this they were grossly mistaken, for Brown
was having the good time, while I was bored and uncomfortable. Why,
Brown actually whistled as he repaired that puncture. He had freedom
because he knew which tool to use, where to find it, and how to use
it. But there I sat in ignorance and thraldom--not knowing the truth
about the tools or the processes.
In the presence of that episode I felt like one in a foreign country
who is ignorant of the language, while Brown was the concierge who
understands many languages. He knew the truth and so had freedom. I
have often wondered whether men do not sometimes get drunk to win a
respite from the thraldom and boredom of their ignorance of the
truth. It must be a very trying experience not to understand the
language that is spoken all about one. I have something of that
feeling when I go into a drug-store and find myself in complete
ignorance of the contents of the bottles because I cannot read the
labels. I have no freedom because I do not know the truth. The
dapper clerk who takes down one bottle after another with refreshing
freedom relegates me to the kindergarten, and I certainly feel and
act the part.
I had this same feeling, too, when I was making ready to sow my
little field with alfalfa. I wanted to have alfalfa growing in the
field next to the road for my own pleasure and for the pleasure of
the passers-by. A field of alfalfa is an ornament to any landscape,
and I like to have my landscapes ornamental, even if I must pay for
it in terms of manual toil. I had never even seen alfalfa seed and
did not in the least know how to proceed in preparing the soil. If I
ever expected to have any freedom I must first learn the truth, and a
certain modicum of freedom necessarily precedes the joy of alfalfa.
Thus it came to pass that I set about learning the truth. I had to
learn about the nature of the soil, about drainage, about the right
kinds of fertilizer, and all that, before I could even hitch the team
to a plough. Some of this truth I gleaned from books and magazines,
but more of it I obtained from my neighbor John, who lives about two
hundred yards up the pike from my little place. John is a veritable
encyclopedia of truth when it comes to the subject of alfalfa. There
I would sit at the feet of this alfalfa Gamaliel. Be it said in
favor of my reactions that I learned the trick of alfalfa and now
have a field that is a delight to the eye. And I now feel qualified
to give lessons in alfalfa culture to all and sundry, so great is my
sense of freedom.
I came upon a forlorn-looking woman once in a large railway-station
who was in great distress. She wanted to get a train, but did not
know through which gate to go nor where to obtain the necessary
information. She was overburdened with luggage and a little girl was
tugging at her dress and crying pitifully. That woman was as really
in bondage as if she had been in prison looking out through the
barred windows. When she had finally been piloted to the train the
joy of freedom manifested itself in every lineament of her face. She
had come to know the truth, and the truth had set her free.
I know how she felt, for one night I worked for more than two hours
on what, to me, was a difficult problem, and when at last I had it
solved the manifestations of joy caused consternation to the family
and damage to the furniture. I never was in jail for any length of
time, but I think I know, from my experience with that problem, just
how a prisoner feels when he is set free. The big out-of-doors must
seem inexpressibly good to him. My neighbor John taught me how to
spray my trees, and now, when I walk through my orchard and see the
smooth trunks and pick the beautiful, smooth, perfect apples, I feel
that sense of freedom that can come only through a knowledge of the
truth.
I haven't looked up the etymology of _grippe_, but the word itself
seems to tell its own story. It seems to mean restriction,
subjection, slavery. It certainly spells lack of freedom. I have
seen many boys and girls who seemed afflicted with arithmetical,
grammatical, and geographical grippe, and I have sought to free them
from its tyranny and lead them forth into the sunlight and pure air
of freedom. If I only knew just how to do this effectively I think
I'd be quite reconciled to the work of a schoolmaster.