ILLUSTRATIO S, HUMOR, POETRY A D QUOTATIO S VOL 9

ILLUSTRATIO S, HUMOR, POETRY A D
QUOTATIO S VOL 9
COMPILED A D EDITED BY GLE PEASE
A
APPLAUSE
Recently my wife and I sat charmed at an outdoor performance by young
Suzuki violin students. After the concert, an instructor spoke briefly on how
children as young as two, three and four years old are taught to play violin. The
first thing the children learn, he said, is a proper stance. And the second thing
the children learn--even before they pick up the violin--is how to take a bow. "If
the children just play the violin and stop, people may forget to show their
appreciation," the instructor said. "But when the children bow, the audience
invariabley applauds. And applause is the best motivator we've found to make
children feel good about performing and want to do it well." Adults love
applause too. Being affirmed makes us feel wonderful. If you want to rekindle
or keep the flame of love glowing in your marriage through the years, try
showing and expressing your apreciation for your mate. Put some applause in
your marriage and watch love grow. Dr. Ernest Mellor, in Homemade, ov
1984
APPLICATIO
1. It is not what men eat but what they digest that makes them
strong; not what we gain but what we save that makes us rich; not
what we read but what we remember that makes us learned; not what
we preach but what we practice that makes us Christians. Francis
Bacon.
2.Unused truth becomes as useless as an unused muscle. A.W. Tozer,
That Incredible Christian
3.Booker's Law: An ounce of application is worth a pound of
abstraction. The Official Rules, p. 16.
4.While D.L. Moody was attending a convention in Indianapolis on
mass evangelism, he asked his song leader Ira Sankey to meet him
at 6 o'clock one evening at a certain stret corner. When Sankey
arrived, Mr. Moody asked him to stand on a box and sing. Once a
crowd had gathered, Moody spoke briefly and then invited the
people to follow him to the nearby convention hall. Soon the

auditorium was filled with spiritually hungry people, and the
great evangelist preached the gospel to them. Then the
convention delegates began to arrive. Moody stopped preaching
and said, " ow we must close, as the brethren of the convention
wish to come and discuss the topic, 'How to reach the masses.'"
Moody graphically illustrated the difference between talking
about doing something and going out and doing it.
APPLICATIO
It is not what men eat but what they digest that makes them strong; not what we
gain but what we save that makes us rich; not what we read but what we
remember that makes us learned; not what we preach but what we practice that
makes us Christians. Francis Bacon.
During the time of slavery, a slave was preaching with great power. His master
heard of it, and sent for him, and said: "I understand you are preaching?"
"Yes," said the slave. "Well, now," said the master, "I will give you all the time
you need, and I want you to prepare a sermon on the Ten Commandments, and
to bear down especially on stealing, because there is a great deal of stealing on
the plantation." The slave's countenance fell at once. He said he wouldn't like to
do that; there wasn't the warmth in that subject there was in others.
I have noticed that people are satisfied when you preach about the sins of the
patriarchs, but they don't like it when you touch upon the sins of today. Moody's
Anecdotes, Page 91
An English preacher of the last generation used to say that he cared very little
what he said the first half hour, but he cared a very great deal what he said the
last fifteen minutes. I remember reading many years ago an address published to
students by Henry Ward Beecher, in which he gave a very striking account of a
sermon by Jonathan Edwards. Beecher says that in the elaborated doctrinal part
of Jonathan Edwards' sermon the great preacher was only getting his guns into
position, but that in his applications he opened fire on the enemy. There are too
many of us, I am afraid, who take so much time getting our guns into position
that we have to finish without firing a shot. We say that we leave the truth to do
its own work. We trust to the hearts and consciences of our hearers to apply it.
Depend upon it, gentlemen, this is a great and fatal mistake. Dr. Dale, quoted in
Preaching, G. Campbell Morgan, p. 89
"If I profess with the loudest voice and clearest exposition every portion of the
truth of God except precisely that little point which the world and the Devil are
at the moment attacking, I am not confessing Christ, however boldly I may be
professing Christ." Martin Luther
Unused truth becomes as useless as an unused muscle. A.W. Tozer, That
Incredible Christian
Booker's Law: An ounce of application is worth a pound of abstraction. The

Official Rules, p. 16.
While D.L. Moody was attending a convention in Indianapolis on mass
evangelism, he asked his song leader Ira Sankey to meet him at 6 o'clock one
evening at a certain street corner. When Sankey arrived, Mr. Moody asked him
to stand on a box and sing. Once a crowd had gathered, Moody spoke briefly
and then invited the people to follow him to the nearby convention hall. Soon the
auditorium was filled with spiritually hungry people, and the great evangelist
preached the gospel to them. Then the convention delegates began to arrive.
Moody stopped preaching and said, " ow we must close, as the brethren of the
convention wish to come and discuss the topic, 'How to reach the masses.'"
Moody graphically illustrated the difference between talking about doing
something and going out and doing it.
A gray-haired old lady, long a member of her community and church, shook
hands with the minister after the service one Sunday morning. "That was a
wonderful sermon," she told him, "-- just wonderful. Everything you said
applies to someone I know." Bits and Pieces, ovember, 1989, p. 19
APPOI TME T
Given the many details which a presidential inaugural committee must cope
with, mistakes are inevitable. So it was that Franklin Delano Roosevelt received
an invitation to his own January 20, 1937 presidential inauguration! Through
the White House social bureau, he solemnly sent word that the press of official
business would keep him away. Then, relenting, he sent a further note in his
own handwriting: "I have rearranged my engagements and think I may be able
to go. Will know definitely January 19. F.D.R." Today in the Word, April 12,
1992
Unfaithfulness in the keeping of an appointment is an act of clear dishonesty. You
may as well borrow a person's money as his time. Horace Mann
APPRECIATIO
1. Corrie Ten Boom wrote, "Once when I wa in the cell, I heard the bolt on the
outside of my door being undone. A guard opened the door and commanded,
"Follow me!" I was being called out to be questioned. It was the first time I had
left the cell during that lonely imprisonment. Yes, lonely--night and day I was
alone. First we had to go through long corridors with cell doors on both sides, then
through a door which opened onto the outside. I breathed deeply. I was in a
courtyard. The walk was almos ttoo short to the small barracks where people were
questioned. I looked up to the sky, then around me, and then down and saw blades
of grass and some tiny white flowers. The little flower "Shepherd's purse" was
growing between the bricks used to pave the courtyard.

When the guard who accompanied me looked the other way, I quickly bent down
and picked some of those little flowers and hid them inside my dress. When back in
my cell, I took a broken medicine bottle, arranged my bouquet, and put it behind
my cup so that the guards could not se it when they looked through the peephole in
my door. Tht tiny bouquet was my garden, and I enjoyed it as the only nice thing in
my cell.
2. " ot too long ago, on one of my lecture tours I met a Protestant minister who had
suffered for years from a deep depression that no drugs or shock treatment had
been able to alleviate. After reading Born Only O ce he had decided to concentrate
on doing nothing but simply being present to what he called all the little things
around him. This he did in a spirit of praise adn gratitude to God who had created
those little things for his happiness. Proceeding from inanimate objects to flowers,
pets and little children, he gradually lost his loneliness, fears and depression. The
children especially made him feel that he belonged and that he was loved by them
and God. From there it was only a small step to feel at ease and happy with the
people who made up his parish and with his work.
3. Recently my wife and I sat charmed at an outdoor performance by
young Suzuki violin students. After the concert, an instructor
spoke briefly on how children as young as two, three and four
years old are taught to play violin. The first thing the
children learn, he said, is a proper stance. And the second
thing the children learn--even before they pick up the violin--is
how to take a bow. "If the children just play the violin and
stop, people may forget to show their appreciation," the
instructor said. "But when the children bow, the audience
invariabley applauds. And applause is the best motivator we've
found to make children feel good about performing and want to do
it well." Adults love applause too. Being affirmed makes us
feel wonderful. If you want to rekindle or keep the flame of love
glowing in your marriage through the years, try showing and
expressing your apreciation for your mate. Put some applause in
your marriage and watch love grow. Dr. Ernest Mellor, in
Homemade, ov 1984
4. Chinese legend:
A group of elderly, cultured gentlemen met often to
exchange wisdom and drink tea. Each host tried to find the
finest and most costly varieties, to create exotic blends that
would arouse the admiration of his guests.
When the most venerable and respected of the group
entertained, he served his tea with unprecedented ceremony,
measuring the leaves from a golden box. The assembled epicures
praised this exquisite tea. The host smiled and said, "The tea
you have found so delightful is the same tea our peasants drink.
I hope it will be a reminder to all that the good things in life
are not necessarily the rarest or the most costly. --Morris
Mandel in Jewish Press

5. apoleon's genius had been attributed to many things, but, above
all, he was a superb natural leader of men. Like any wise leader
he was aware that his own success would have been nothing had his
men not been willing, even eager, to follow him. Obviously he
could not know and personally inspire every man in his vast army,
therefore he devised a simple technique for circumventing this
difficulty. Before visiting a regiment he would call the colonel
aside and ask for the name of a soldier who had served well in
previous campaigns, but who had not been given the credit he
deserved. The colonel would indicate such a man. apoleon would
then learn everything about him, where he was born, the names of
his family, his exploits in battle, etc. Later, upon passing
this man while reviewing the troops, and at a signal from the
colonel, apoleon would stop, single out the man, greet him
warmly, ask about his family, compliment him on his bravery and
loyalty, reminisce about old campaigns, then pin a medal on the
grateful soldier. The gesture worked. After the review, the
other soldiers would remark, "You see, he knows us--he remembers.
He knows our families. He knows we have served." Bits and
Pieces, Oct 17, 1991
6. Carlyle had a very devoted wife who sacrificed everything for
his sake, but he never gave her a single expression of
appreciation for which her heart yearned. she came to regard
herself as the most miserable woman in London and evidently died
of heart hunger. After her death, Carlyle, reading her diary,
realized the truth. A friend found him at her grave suffering
intense remorse and exclaiming, "If I had only known!"
7. It may be that praise, like gold and diamonds, owes its value to
its scarcity, as Samuel Johnson said, but most of us would prefer
to err on the side of giving too much praise than too little.
One who would agree was the wife of an old Vermonter named Eb.
Old Eb was, like many of his breed, rather stingy with words. He
said very little, and then rather grudgingly. One evening he was
sitting on the front steps with his wife. The long day's work,
the good supper, and the peaceful sights and sounds of dusk must
have softened him up. He took his pipe out of his mouth and
said, "When I think of what you've meant to me all these years,
Judith, sometimes it's almost more than I can stand not to tell
you."
8. "In expressing appreciation we, in essence, say to someone, "you are a person of worth and
dignity. I am interested in you, and am aware of your positive qualities." That is a powerful
message.
"When we are appreciated by others, our self-worth is enhanced.
As Dr. Don Clifton, a Lincoln, eb. psychologist, puts it, we're getting our bucket of self-esteem
filled. But our bucket is harder to fill than it is to empty. It's a precariously balanced bucket, and
tips over easily, and can be emptied quickly by other people. "If somebody puts you down," Clifton
says, "They've got their dipper in your bucket. By my estimate, it takes about ten positive strokes to
repair the damage of one negative."

APPROPRIATE your resources
It was 1916, and Hattie Green was dead. Hattie's life is
a sad demonstration of what it is like to be among the living
dead. When Hattie died, her estate was valued at over $100
million; yet Hattie lived in poverty. She ate cold oatmeal
because it cost money to heat it. When her son's leg became
infected, Hattie wouldn't get it treated until she could find a
clinic that wouldn't charge her. By then, her son's leg had to
be amputated. Hattie died arguing over the value of drinking
skim milk. She had money to meet her every need, but she chose
to live as if it didn't exist. Turning Point, March, 1993
A poor old widow, living in the Scottish Highlands, was called
upon one day by a gentleman who had heard that she was in need.
The old lady complained of her condition, and remarked that her
son was in Australia and doing well.
"But does he do nothing to help you?" inquired the visitor.
" o, nothing," was the reply. "He writes me regularly once a
month, but only sends me a little picture with his letter."
The gentleman asked to see one of the pictures that she had
received, and found each one of them to be a draft for ten
pounds.
This is the condition of many of God's children. He has given us
many "exceeding great and precious promises," which we either are
ignorant of or fail to appropriate. Many of them seem to be
pretty pictures of an ideal peace and rest, but are not
appropriated as practical helps in daily life. And not one of
these promises is more neglected that the assurance of salvation.
An open Bible places them within reach of all, and we may
appropriate the blessing which such a knowledge brings. Moody's
Anecdotes, Page 115
Vivian H., for 2 and a half years lived in a home without
running water. She had to drive to a spring and load up five
gallon jugs to haul back home. All the while there was a
perfectly good well with a 600 gallon reservoir on her property.
The water was there, she didn't know it could be used.
In a seminary missions class, Herbert Jackson told how, as a
new missionary, he was assigned a car that would not start without
a push.
After poundering his problem, he divised a plan. He went to
the school near his home, got permission to take some children out
of class, and had them push his car off. As he made his rounds,
he would either park on a hill or leave the engine running. He
used this ingenious procedure for two years.
Ill health forced the Jackson family to leave, and a new

missionary came to that station. When Jackson proudly began to
explain his arrangement for getting the car started, the new man
began looking under the hood. Before the explanation was
complete, the new missionary interrupted, "Why, Dr. Jackson, I
believe the only trouble is this loose cable." He gave the cable
a twist, stepped into the car, pushed the switch, and to Jackson's
astonishment, the engine roared to life.
For two years needless trouble had become routine. The power
was there all the time. Only a loose connection kept Jackson from
putting that power to work.
J.B. Phillips paraphrases Ephesians l:19-20, "How tremendous
is the power available to us who believe in God." When we make
firm our connection with God, his life and power flow through us.
Ernest B. Beevers
One foggy night in London, many years ago, a ragged unkempt man
shuffled into a little music ship, owned by a Mr. Betts.
Clutched under the man's arm was a violin. "Will you buy this
old violin from me?" the man muttered. I'm starving. I need
money to buy something to eat." "Well, I already have several
violins," Mr. Betts replied. "But I don't want to see you go
hungry. Will a guinea ($5.00 at the time) help you out?" "Oh,
yes," said the man. "Thank you. Thank you." He took the money
and disappeared into the night. Mr. Betts picked up the violin,
took the bow and drew it across the strings. The violin gave
forth a deep mellow tone. Surprised, Mr. Betts took a light and
peered into the inside of the violin. He could hardly believe
what he saw. There, carved into the wood were these words:
"Antonio Stradivari...1704." Mr. Betts ran out into the street
to find the old man, to pay him more for the violin. But he had
gone.
Morris Siegel was a street person in Los Angeles. He lived like
most street people--roaming about in back alleys, sleeping out-
of-doors, carrying everything he owned in an old shoppping cart.
He was found in an alley, dead of natural causes, perhaps heart
trouble. The interesting thing about Morris is that he had
$207,421 in the bank at the time of his death. It seems that
Morris' father died and left him the money ten years earlier.
When Morris did not claim it, the Division of Unclaimed Property
tracked him down, and his family forced him to accept it. He
took only enough of the money to buy an old car, where he slept
in bad weather. Relatives rented an apartment for him, but he
never went there. He died December 14, 1989, with three dollars
in his pocket and an untouched fortune in the bank.
ARGUME T
Years ago, a large statue of Christ was erected high in the

Andes on the border between Argentina and Chile. Called "Christ
of the Andes," the statue symbolizes a pledge between the two
countries that as long as the statue stands, there will be peace
between Chile and Argentina.
Shortly after the statue was erected, the Chileans began to
protest that they had been slighted -- the statue had its back
turned to Chile. Just when tempers were at their highest in
Chile, a Chilean newspaperman saved the day. In an editorial
that not only satisfied the people but made them laugh, he simply
said, "The people of Argentina need more watching over than the
Chileans.
2. A horse can't pull while kicking.
This fact we merely mention.
And he can't kick while pulling,
Which is our chief contention.
Let's imitate the good old horse
And lead a life that's fitting;
Just pull an honest load, and then
There'll be no time for kicking.
3. The most important thing in an argument, next to being right, is
to leave an escape hatch for your opponent, so that he can
gracefully swing over to your side without too much apparent loss
of face. Sydney J. Harris, Field ewspaper Syndicate
4Any argument has two sides, and they're usually married to each other.
Family councils often lead to fair solutions of problems between members. Draw
up a list of rules for family council meetings that are agreeable to all, such as: 1.
Anyone can tell parents how he/she feels, and ask for a meeting. 2. At the
meeting, everyone can say what he/she thinks about a situation. 3. Instead of
fixing blame, the council must try to understand why there's a problem. 4. The
council will try to create a solution that's fair to all. Purpose: To encourage
family participation in rule making and problem solving. Paul Lewis,
Homemade, Vol. 11, o. 2
Maxwell Perkins, the famous book editor, once wrote, "One of my deepest
convictions is that the terrible harms that are done in this world are not done by
deliberately evil people, who are not numerous and are soon found out. They are
done by the good--by those who are so sure that God is with them. othing can
stop them, for they are certain that they are right. quoted by Father Henry
Fehren in U.S. Catholic, May 1986
ARMI IA ISM
When a Calvinist says that all things happen according to
the predestination of God, he speaks the truth, and I am willing
to be called a Calvinist. But when an Arminian says that when a

man sins, the sin is his own, and that if he continues in sin,
and perishes, his eternal damnation will lie entirely at his own
door, I believe that he speaks the truth, though I am not willing
to be called an Arminian. The fact is, there is some truth in
both these systems of theology. --Charles Spurgeon, quoted in
Credenda Agenda, Volume 5 umber 2, Page 3, from Tom Carter,
Spurgeon at His Best, Baker, 1988, p. 14
ARROGA CE
In 1969, in Pass Christian, Mississippi, a group of people were preparing to have
a "hurricane party" in the face of a storm named Camille. Were they ignorant of
the dangers? Could they have been overconfident? Did they let their egos and
pride influence their decision? We'll never know.
What we do know is that the wind was howling outside the posh Richelieu
Apartments when Police Chief Jerry Peralta pulled up sometime after dark.
Facing the Beach less than 250 feet from the surf, the apartments were directly in
the line of danger. A man with a drink in his hand came out to the second-floor
balcony and waved. Peralta yelled up, "You all need to clear out of here as
quickly as you can. The storm's getting worse." But as others joined the man on
the balcony, they just laughed at Peralta's order to leave. "This is my land," one
of them yelled back. "If you want me off, you'll have to arrest me."
Peralta didn't arrest anyone, but he wasn't able to persuade them to leave either.
He wrote down the names of the next of kin of the twenty or so people who
gathered there to party through the storm. They laughed as he took their names.
They had been warned, but they had no intention of leaving.
It was 10:15 p.m. when the front wall of the storm came ashore. Scientists clocked
Camille's wind speed at more than 205 miles-per-hour, the strongest on record.
Raindrops hit with the force of bullets, and waves off the Gulf Coast crested
between twenty-two and twenty-eight feet high.
ews reports later showed that the worst damage came at the little settlement of
motels, go-go bars, and gambling houses known as Pass Christian, Mississippi,
where some twenty people were killed at a hurricane party in the Richelieu
Apartments. othing was left of that three-story structure but the foundation; the
only survivor was a five-year-old boy found clinging to a mattress the following
day. -Christian Values Qs Quarterly Spring/Summer 1994 Page 10
ART
· Boris Pasternak, Doctor Zhivago: "...he made a note reaffirming his belief
that art always served beauty, and beauty is delight in form, and form is the
key to organizing life, since no living thing can exist without it, so that every
work of art, including tragedy, expresses the joy of existence."
· Paul Johnson, Intellectuals: "...Hemingway's awareness of his inability to
recapture his genius, let alone develop it, accelerated the spinning circle of
depression and drink. He was a man killed by his art, and his life holds a

lesson all intellectuals need to learn: that art is not enough."
· Mark Twain: "We have not the reverent feeling for the rainbow that a
savage has, because we know how it is made. We have lost as much as we
gained by prying into that matter."
· Charles Kingsley: “There is something very wonderful in music. Words are
wonderful enough; but music is even more wonderful. It speaks not to our
thoughts as words do; it speaks straight to our hearts and spirits, to the very
core and root of our souls. Music soothes us, stirs us up; it puts noble feelings
in us; it melts us to tears; we know not how; -- it is a language by itself, just
as perfect, in its way, as speech, as words; just as divine, just as blessed.”
· Francois Auguste Rodin (1840-1917), response when asked how he made his
beautiful statues: "I choose a block of marble and chop off whatever I don't
need."
· Friedrich ietzsche: "The struggle against a purpose in art is always a
struggle against the moral tendency in art -- against its subordination to
morality. Art for art's sake means, Let morality go to the Devil."
· Ron Merrill: "Any young person who has studied Heidegger; or seen
Ionesco's 'plays'; or listened to the 'music' of John Cage; or looked at Andy
Warhol's 'paintings'-- has experienced that feeling of incredulous
puzzlement: But this is nonsense! Can I really be expected to take this
seriously? In fact, of course, it is necessary for it to be nonsense; if it made
sense, it could be evaluated. The essence of modern intellectual snobbery is
the 'emperor's new clothes' approach. Teachers, critics, our self-appointed
intellectual elite, make it quite clear to us that if we cannot see the superlative
nature of this 'art'- why, it merely shows our ignorance, our lack of
sophistication and insight. Of course, they go beyond the storybook
emperor's tailors, who dressed their victim in nothing and called it fine
garments. The modern tailors dress the emperor in garbage."
· Ayn Rand: "The purpose of all art is the objectification of values."
· Eric Hoffer: "There is perhaps no better way of measuring the natural
endowment of a soul than by its ability to transmute dissatisfaction into a
creative impulse. The genuine artist is as much a dissatisfied person as the
revolutionary, yet how diametrically opposed are the products each distills
from his dissatisfaction."
· Pablo Picasso: "Often while reading a book one feels that the author would
have preferred to paint rather than write; one can sense the pleasure he
derives from describing a landscape or a person, as if he were painting what
he is saying, because deep in his heart he would have preferred to use
brushes and colors."
· David Letterman: "Fall is my favorite season in Los Angeles, watching the

birds change color and fall from the trees."
· Paul Dirac: "In science one tries to tell people, in such a way as to be
understood by everyone, something that no one ever knew before. But in
poetry, it's the exact opposite."
· James Stephens (1882-1950): "Originality does not consist in saying what no
one has ever said before, but in saying exactly what you think yourself."
· Jackson Pollock: "Every good painter paints what he is."
· James Mc eill Whistler: "An artist is not paid for his labor but for his
vision... As music is the poetry of sound, so is painting the poetry of sight and
the subject-matter has nothing to do with harmony of sound or of color."
· Kandinsky: "There is no must in art because art is free."
· Giorgio DeChirico: "To become truly immortal, a work of art must escape
all human limits: logic and commonsense will only interfere. But once these
barriers are broken, it will enter the realms of childhood visions and
dreams."
· Picasso: "Every child is an artist. The problem is how to remain an artist
once he grows up."
· Howard Ikemoto: "When my daughter was about seven years old, she asked
me one day what I did at work. I told her I worked at the college, that my job
was to teach people how to draw. She stared back at me, incredulous, and
said, 'You mean they forget?'"
· Francisco Goya: "Fantasy, abandoned by reason, produces impossible
monsters; united with it, she is the mother of the arts and the origin of
marvels."
· Michaelangelo: "The true work of art is but a shadow of the divine
perfection."
· Vincent Van Gogh: "It is not the language of painters but the language of
nature which one should listen to; the feeling for the things themselves, for
reality, is more important than the feeling for pictures."
· Henri de Toulouse Lautrec: "In our time there are many artists who do
something because it is new; they see their value and their justification in this
newness. They are deceiving themselves; novelty is seldom the essential. This
has to do with one thing only; making a subject better from its intrinsic
nature."
· John Adams (1735 - 1826), letter to Abigail Adams, May 12, 1780: "I must
study politics and war that my sons may have liberty to study mathematics
and philosophy. My sons ought to study mathematics and philosophy,

geography, natural history, naval architecture, navigation, commerce and
agriculture in order to give their children a right to study painting, poetry,
music, architecture, statuary, tapestry, and porcelain."
· Louise evelson, sculptor, painter: "I think most artists create out of
despair. The very nature of creation is not a performing glory on the outside,
it's a painful, difficult search within."
· Abraham Moslow: "A musician must make music, an artist must paint, a
poet must write if he is to be ultimately at peace with himself. What one can
be, one must be."
Mortimer Adler's
Syntopicon Essays
Art
· Editor's 1-minute essay: Art <philos.adler.art.editor.html>
THE word "art" has a range of meanings which may be obscured by the current
disposition to use the word in an extremely restricted sense. In contemporary
thought, art is most readily associated with beauty; yet its historic connections with
utility and knowledge are probably more intimate and pervasive.
The prevalent popular association reflects a tendency in the 19th century to annex
the theory of art to aesthetics. This naturally led to the identification of art with one
kind of art -- the so-called "fine arts," "beaux arts" or "Schone Kunste" (arts of the
beautiful).
· The contraction of meaning has gone so far that the word "art" sometimes
signifies one group of the fine arts--painting and sculpture--as in the common
phrase "literature, music, and the fine arts."
This restricted usage has become so customary that we ordinarily refer to a museum
of art or to an art exhibit in a manner which seems to assume that the word "art" is
exclusively the name for something which can be hung on a wall or placed on a
pedestal.
A moment's thought will, of course, correct the assumption. We are not unfamiliar
with the conception of medicine and teaching as arts. We are acquainted with such
phrases as "the industrial arts" and "arts and crafts" in which the reference is to
the production of useful things. Our discussions of liberal education should require
us to consider the liberal arts which, however defined or enumerated, are supposed
to constitute skills of mind. We recognize that "art" is the root of "artisan" as well
as "artist." We thus discern the presence of skill in even the lowest forms of
productive labor. Seeing it also as the root of "artifice" and "artificial," we realize

that art is distinguished from and sometimes even opposed to nature.
The ancient and traditional meanings are all present in our daily vocabulary. In our
thought the first connotation of "art" is fine art; in the thought of all previous eras
the useful arts came first. As late as the end of the 18th century, Adam Smith follows
the traditional usage which begins with Plato when, in referring to the production of
a woolen coat, he says: "The shepherd, the sorter of the wool, the woolcomber or
carder, the dyer, the scribbler, the spinner, the weaver, the fuller, the dresser, with
many others, must all join their different arts in order to complete even this homely
production."
In the first great conversation on art--that presented in the Platonic dialogues--we
find useful techniques and everyday skills typifying art, by reference to which all
other skills are analyzed. Even when Socrates analyzes the art of the rhetorician, as
in the Gorgias, he constantly turns to the productions of the cobbler and the weaver
and to the procedures of the husbandman and the physician. If the liberal arts are
praised as highest, because the logician or rhetorician works in the medium of the
soul rather than in matter, they are called arts "only in a manner of speaking" and
by comparison with the fundamental arts which handle physical material.
The Promethean gift of fire to men, which raised them from a brutish existence,
carried with it various techniques for mastering matter -- the basic useful arts.
Lucretius, writing in a line that goes from Homer through Thucydides and Plato to
Bacon, Adam Smith, and Rousseau, attributes the progress of civilization and the
difference between civilized and primitive society to the development of the arts and
sciences. "Ships and tillage, walls, laws, arms, roads, dress, and all such like things,
all the prizes, all the elegancies too of life without exception, poems, pictures, and
the chiselling of fine-wrought statues, all these things practiced together with the
acquired knowledge of the untiring mind taught men by slow degrees as they
advanced on the way step by step."
At the beginning of this progress Lucretius places man's discovery of the arts of
metalworking, domesticating animals, and cultivating the soil. "Metallurgy and
agriculture," says Rousseau, "were the two arts which produced this great
revolution"--the advance from primitive to civilized life.
· The fine arts and the speculative sciences come last, not first, in the progress
of civilization.
The fine arts and the speculative sciences complete human life. They are not
necessary -- except perhaps for the good life. They are the dedication of human
leisure and its best fruit. The leisure without which they neither could come into
being nor prosper is found for man and fostered by the work of the useful arts.
Aristotle tells us that is "why the mathematical arts were founded in Egypt; for
there the priestly caste was allowed to be at leisure."
THERE IS A OTHER ambiguity in the reference of the word "art." Sometimes we
use it to name the effects produced by human workmanship. We elliptically refer to

works of art as art. Sometimes we use it to signify the cause of the things produced
by human work--that skill of mind which directs the hand in its manipulation of
matter. Art is both in the artist and in the work of art--in the one as cause, in the
other as the effect. What is effected is a certain ennoblement of matter, a
transformation produced not merely by the hand of man, but by his thought or
knowledge.
The more generic meaning of art seems to be that of art as cause rather than as
effect. There are many spheres of art in which no tangible product results, as in
navigation or military strategy. We might, of course, call a landfall or a victory a
work of art, but we tend rather to speak of the art of the navigator or the general.
So, too, in medicine and teaching, we look upon the health or knowledge which
results from healing or teaching as natural. We do not find art in them, but rather
in the skill of the healer or teacher who has helped to produce that result. Hence
even in the case of the shoe or the statue, art seems to be primarily in the mind and
work of the cobbler or sculptor and only derivatively in the objects produced.
· Aristotle, in defining art as a "capacity to make, involving a true course of
reasoning," identifies it with making as distinct from doing and knowing.
Though art, like science and moral action, belongs to the mind and involves
experience and learning, imagination and thought, it is distinct from both in aiming
at production, in being knowledge of how to make something or to obtain a desired
effect. Science, on the other hand, is knowledge that something is the case, or that a
thing has a certain nature. Knowledge is sometimes identified with science, to the
exclusion of art or skill; but we depart from this narrow notion whenever we
recognize that skill consists in knowing how to make something.
"Even in speculative matters," writes Aquinas, "there is something by way of work;
e.g., the making of a syllogism, or a fitting speech, or the work of counting or
measuring. Hence whatever habits are ordained to suchlike works of the speculative
reason, are, by a kind of comparison, called arts indeed, but liberal arts, in order to
distinguish them from those arts which are ordained to works done by the body,
which arts are, in a fashion, servile, inasmuch as the body is in servile subjection to
the soul, and man as regards his soul is free. On the other hand, those sciences
which are not ordained to any suchlike work, are called sciences simply, and not
arts."
The discussion of medicine in the great books throws light on the relation of art and
science, in their origin as well as their development. Hippocrates writes of medicine
as both an art and a science.
In his treatise on Ancient Medicine, he says, "It appears to me necessary to every
physician to be skilled in nature, and strive to know--if he would wish to perform
his duties--what man is in relation to the articles of food and drink, and to his other
occupations, and what are the effects of each of them on every one. And it is not
enough to know simply that cheese is a bad article of food, as disagreeing with
whoever eats of it to satiety, but what sort of disturbance it creates, and wherefore,

and with what principle in man it disagrees .... Whoever does not know what effect
these things produce upon a man, cannot know the consequences which result from
them, nor how to apply them."
As a science, medicine involves knowledge of the causes of disease, the different
kinds of diseases, and their characteristic courses. Without such knowledge,
diagnosis, prognosis, and therapy would be a matter of guesswork--of chance, as
Hippocrates says--or at best the application of rule-of-thumb in the light of past
experience.
But the scientific knowledge does not by itself make a man a healer, a practitioner of
medicine. The practice of medicine requires art in addition to science--art based on
science, but going beyond science in formulating general rules for the guidance of
practice in particular cases. The habit of proceeding according to rules derived from
science distinguishes for Galen the artist in medicine from the mere empiric.
· The antithesis of artist and empiric -- suggesting the contrast between
operation by tested rule and operation by trial and error -- parallels the
antithesis between scientist and man of opinion.
IT HAS SELDOM, if ever, been suggested that an art can be originally discovered
or developed apart from some science of the subject matter with which the art deals.
This does not mean that an individual cannot acquire the habit of an art without
being taught the relevant scientific knowledge. An art can be learned by practice;
skill can be formed by repeated acts. But the teacher of an art cannot direct the
learning without setting rules for his pupils to follow; and if the truth or
intelligibility of the rules is questioned, the answers will come from the science
underlying the art.
According to Kant, "every art presupposes rules which are laid down as the
foundation which first enables a product if it is to be called one of art, to be
represented as possible." In the case of "fine art," which he distinguishes from other
kinds of art as being the product of "genius," Kant claims that it arises only from "a
talent for producing that for which no definite rule can be given." Yet he maintains
that a "rule" is still at its basis and may be "gathered from the performance, i.e.,
from the product, which others may use to put their own talent to the test."
Granting that there is no art without science, is the reverse true, and is science
possible without art? The question has two meanings. First, are there arts peculiarly
indispensable to the development of science? Second, does every science generate a
correlative art and through it work productively?
Traditionally, the liberal arts have been considered indispensable to science. This
has been held to be particularly true of logic. Because they were intended to serve as
the instrument or the art for all the sciences, Aristotle's logical treatises, which
constitute the first systematic treatment of the subject, deserve the title Organon
which they traditionally carry. Bacon's ovum Organum was in one sense an effort
to supply a new logic or art for science, and to institute a renovation of the sciences

by the experimental method.
As an art, logic consists of rules for the conduct of the mind in the processes of
inquiry, inference, definition, and demonstration, by which sciences are constructed.
Scientific method is, in short, the art of getting scientific knowledge. In the
experimental sciences, there are auxiliary arts--arts controlling the instruments or
apparatus employed in experimentation. The experiment itself is a work of art,
combining many techniques and using many products of art: the water-clock, the
inclined plane, and the pendulum of Galileo; the prisms, mirrors, and lenses of
ewton.
The second question--whether all sciences have related arts and through them
productive power--raises one of the great issues about the nature of scientific
knowledge, discussed in the chapters on PHILOSOPHY and SCIE CE.
For Francis Bacon, and to some extent Descartes, art is the necessary consequence of
science. At the beginning of the ovum Organum, Bacon declares that "knowledge
and human power are synonymous since the ignorance of the cause frustrates the
effect; for nature is only subdued by submission, and that which in contemplative
philosophy corresponds with the cause, in practical science becomes the rule." The
distinction Bacon makes here between the speculative and practical parts of
knowledge corresponds to the distinction between science and art, or as we
sometimes say, "pure and applied science." He opposes their divorce from one
another. If science is the indispensable foundation of art and consists in a knowledge
of causes, art in Bacon's view is the whole fruit of science, for it applies that
knowledge to the production of effects.
His theory of science and his new method for development are directed to the
establishment of man's "empire over creation" which "is founded on the arts and
sciences alone."
Just as the present state of the arts accounts for "the immense difference between
men's lives in the most polished countries of Europe, and in any wild and barbarous
region of the new Indies," so further advances in science promise the untold power
of new inventions and techniques.
On Bacon's view, not only the value, but even the validity, of scientific knowledge is
to be measured by its productivity. A useless natural science--a science of nature
which cannot be used to control nature--is unthinkable. With the exception of
mathematics, every science has its appropriate magic or special productive power.
Even metaphysics, in Bacon's conception of it, has its "true natural magic, which is
that great liberty and latitude of operation which dependeth upon the knowledge of
forms."
The opposite answer to the question about science and art is given by Plato,
Aristotle, and others who distinguish between speculative and productive sciences.
They differ from Bacon on the verbal level by using the word "practical" for those

sciences which concern moral and political action rather than the production of
effects. The sciences Bacon calls "practical" they call "productive," but under
either name these are the sciences of making rather than doing--sciences which
belong in the sphere of art rather than prudence. But the significant difference lies
in the evaluation of the purely speculative sciences which consist in knowledge for
its own sake, divorced from art and morals, or from the utilities of production and
the necessities of action.
In tracing the history of the sciences, Aristotle notes that those men who first found
the useful arts were thought wise and superior. "But as more arts were invented,
and some were directed to the necessities of life, others to recreation, the inventors
of the latter were naturally always regarded as wiser than the inventors of the
former, because their branches did not aim at utility. Hence, when all such
inventions were already established, the sciences which do not aim at giving
pleasure or at the necessities of life were discovered, and first in the places where
men first began to have leisure . . . . So that the man of experience is thought to be
wiser than the possessors of any sense-perception whatever, the artist wiser than the
man of experience, the master-worker than the mechanic, and the theoretical kinds
of knowledge to be more of the nature of Wisdom than the productive."
· That the theoretic sciences are useless, in the sense of not providing men with
the necessities or pleasures of life, is a mark of their superiority. They give
what is better than such utility--the insight and understanding which
constitute wisdom.
The Baconian reply condemns the conception that there can be knowledge which is
merely contemplation of the truth. It announces the revolution which, for John
Dewey, ushered in the modern world. The pragmatic theory of knowledge had its
origin in a conception of science at every point fused with art.
THE A CIE TS, trying to understand the natural phenomena of change and
generation, found that the processes of artistic production provided them with an
analytic model. Through understanding how he himself worked in making things,
man might come to know how nature worked.
When a man makes a house or a statue, he transforms matter. Changes in shape and
position occur. The plan or idea in the artist's mind comes, through his
manipulation of matter, to be embodied and realized objectively. To the ancients a
number of different causes or factors seemed to be involved in every artistic
production--material to be worked on; the activity of the artist at work; the form in
his mind which he sought to impose on the matter, thus transforming it; and the
purpose which motivated his effort.
In the medical tradition from Aristotle through Galen to Harvey, there is constant
emphasis upon the artistic activity of nature. Galen continually argues against those
who do not conceive ature as an artist. Harvey consciously compares the activity of
nature in biological generation to that of an artist. "Like a potter she first divides

her material, and then indicates the head and trunk and extremities; like a painter,
she first sketches the parts in outline, and then fills them in with colours; or like the
ship-builder, who first lays down his keel by way of foundation, and upon this raises
the ribs and roof or deck: even as he builds his vessel does nature fashion the trunk
of the body and add the extremities."
Of all natural changes, the one most closely resembling artistic production appears
to be generation, especially the production of living things by living things. In both
cases, a new individual seems to come into being. But upon further examination,
artistic production and natural generation reveal significant differences --
differences which divide nature from art.
Aquinas considers both and distinguishes them in his analysis of divine causation. In
things not generated by chance, he points out that there are two different ways in
which the form that is in the agent is passed on to another being. "In some agents
the form of the thing to be made pre-exists according to its natural being, as in those
that act by their nature; as a man generates a man, or fire generates fire. Whereas
in other agents the form of the thing to be made pre-exists according to intelligible
being, as in those that act by the intellect; and thus the likeness of a house pre-exists
in the mind of the builder. And this may be called the idea of the house, since the
builder intends to build his house like to the form conceived in his mind."
· Thus in biological procreation the progeny have the form of their parents--a
rabbit producing a rabbit, a horse, a horse. But in artistic production, the
product has, not the form of the artist, but the form he has conceived in his
mind and which he seeks to objectify.
Furthermore, in generation, and in other natural changes as well, the matter which
undergoes change seems to have in itself a tendency to become what it changes into,
as for example the acorn naturally tends to become an oak, whereas the oaken wood
does not have in itself any tendency to become a chair or a bed. The material the
artist works on is entirely passive with respect to the change he wishes to produce.
The artistic result is in this sense entirely of his making.
The realm of art, or of the artificial, is then opposed to the natural and
differentiated from it. Kant, for whom art is distinguished from nature "as making
is from acting or operating in general," claims that "by right, it is only production
through freedom, i.e., through an act of will that places reason at the basis of its
action, that should be termed art." Consequently, art is that which would not have
come into being without human intervention.
· The man-made object is produced by man, not in any way, but specifically by
his intelligence, by the reason which makes him free.
Animals other than man are apparently productive, but the question is whether they
can be called "artists." "A spider conducts operations that resemble those of a
weaver, and a bee puts to shame many an architect in the construction of her cells.

· But," according to Marx, "what distinguishes the worst architect from the
best of bees is this, that the architect raises his structure in imagination
before he erects it in reality.
"At the end of every labour-process, we get a result that already existed in the
imagination of the labourer at its commencement. He not only effects a change of
form in the material on which he works, but he also realizes a purpose of his own
that gives the law to his modus operandi, and to which must subordinate his will."
As indicated in the chapter on A IMAL, some writers, like Montaigne, attribute the
productivity of animals to reason rather than instinct. Art then ceases to be one of
man's distinctions from the brutes.
· But if man alone has reason, and if the productions of art are works of
reason, then those who refer to animals as artists speak metaphorically, on
the basis of what Kant calls "an analogy with art . . . As soon as we call to
mind," he continues, "that no rational deliberation forms the basis of the
labor, we see at once that it is a product of their nature (of instinct), and it is
only to the Creator that we ascribe it as art."
This in turn leads to the question whether nature itself is a work of art. "Let me
suppose," the Eleatic Stranger says in the Sophist, "that things which are said to be
made by nature are the work of divine art, and that things which are made by man
out of these are the work of human art. And so there are two kinds of making and
production, the one human and the other divine."
If we suppose that the things of nature are originally made by a divine mind, how
does their production differ from the work of human artists, or from biological
generation? One answer, given in Plato's Timaeus, conceives the original production
of things as a fashioning of primordial matter in the patterns set by the eternal
archetypes or ideas. In consequence, the divine work would be more like human
artistry than either would be like natural reproduction. The emanation of the world
from the One, according to Plotinus, and the production of things out of the
substance of God in Spinoza's theory, appear, on the other hand, to be more closely
analogous to natural generation than to art.
Both analogies--of creation with art and with generation--are dismissed as false by
Christian theologians. God's making is absolutely creative. It presupposes no matter
to be formed; nor do things issue forth from God's own substance, but out of
nothing.
Thus Augustine asks: "How didst Thou make the heaven and the earth?" And he
answers: "It was not as a human artificer, forming one body from another,
according to the discretion of his mind, which can in some way invest with such a
form, as it seeth in itself by its inward eye . . . Verily, neither in the heaven, nor in
the earth, didst Thou make heaven and earth; nor in the air, or waters, seeing these
also belong to the heaven and the earth; nor in the whole world didst Thou make the

whole world; because there was no place where to make it, before it was made, that
it might be . . . For what is, but because Thou art? Therefore Thou spakest, and they
were made, and in Thy Word Thou madest them." According to this view, human art
cannot be called creative, and God cannot be called an artist, except metaphorically.
The issue concerning various theories of creation, or of the origin of the universe, is
discussed in the chapter on WORLD. But here we must observe that, according to
the view we take of the similitude between human and divine workmanship, the line
we are able to draw the between the realms of art and nature becomes shadowy or
sharp.
THE DISCUSSIO S OF ART in the great books afford materials from which a
systematic classification of the arts might be constructed, but only fragments of such
a classification are ever explicitly presented.
For example, the seven liberal arts are enumerated by various authors, but their
distinction from other arts, and their ordered relation to one another, do not receive
full explication. There is no treatment of grammar, rhetoric, and logic (or dialectic)
to parallel Plato's consideration of arithmetic, geometry, music, and astronomy in
the Republic; nor is there any analysis of the relation of the first three arts to the
other four--traditionally organized as the trivium and the quadrivium.
However, in Augustine's work On Christian Doctrine we have a discussion of these
arts as they are ordered to the study of theology. That orientation of the liberal arts
is also the to theme of Bonaventura's Reduction of the Arts to Theology. Quite apart
from the problem of how they are ordered to one another, particular liberal arts
receive so rich and varied a discussion in the tradition of the great books that the
consideration of them must be distributed among a number of chapters, such as
LOGIC, RHETORIC, LA GUAGE (for the discussion of grammar), and
MATHEMATICS.
The principles of classification of the fine arts are laid down by Kant from "the
analogy which art bears to the mode of expression of which men avail themselves in
speech, with a view to communicating themselves to one another as completely as
possible." Since such expression "consists in word, gesture, and tone," he finds
three corresponding fine arts: "the art of speech, formative art, and the art of the
play of sensations." In these terms he analyzes rhetoric and poetry, sculpture,
architecture, painting and landscape gardening, and music.
A different principle of division is indicated in the opening chapters of Aristotle's
Poetics. The principle that all art imitates nature suggests the possibility of
distinguishing and relating the various arts according to their characteristic
differences as imitations--by reference to the object imitated and to the medium and
manner in which it is imitated by the poet, sculptor or painter, and musician.
"Color and form," Aristotle writes, "are used as means by some ... who imitate and
portray many things by their aid, and the voice is used by others ... Rhythm alone,

without harmony, is the means in the dancer's imitations ... There is, further, an art
which imitates by language alone, without harmony, in prose or in verse."
Aristotle's treatise deals mainly with this art--poetry; it does not develop for the
other fine arts the analysis it suggests.
Aristotle's principle also suggests questions about the useful arts. Are such arts as
shoemaking and house-building imitations of nature in the same sense as poetry and
music? Does the way in which the farmer, the physician, and the teacher imitate
nature distinguish these three arts from the way in which a statue is an imitation, or
poem, or a house?
The Aristotelian dictum about art imitating nature has, of course, been as
frequently challenged as approved. Apart from the issue of its truth, the theory of
art as imitation poses many questions which Aristotle left unanswered. If there are
answers in the great books, they are there by implication rather than by statement.
THE MOST FAMILIAR distinction between arts--that between the useful and the
fine--is also the one most frequently made in modern discussion. The criterion of the
distinction needs little explanation. Some of man's productions are intended to be
used; others to be contemplated or enjoyed. To describe them in terms of imitation,
the products of the useful arts must be said to imitate a natural function (the shoe,
for example, the protective function of calloused skin). The imitation merely
indicates the use, and it is the use which counts. But in the products of the fine arts,
the imitation of the form, quality, or other aspect of a natural object is considered to
be the source of pleasure.
The least familiar distinction among the arts is implied in any thorough discussion,
yet its divisions are seldom, if ever, named. Within the sphere of useful art, some
arts work toward a result which can hardly be regarded as an artificial product.
Fruits and grains would grow without the intervention of the farmer, yet the farmer
helps them to grow more abundantly and regularly. Health and knowledge are
natural effects, even though the arts of medicine and teaching may aid in their
production,
These arts, more fully discussed in the chapters on MEDICI E and EDUCATIO ,
stand in sharp contrast to those skills whereby man produces the useful things
which, but for man's work, would be totally lacking. In the one case, it is the artist's
activity itself which imitates or cooperates with nature's manner of working; in the
other, the things which the artist makes by operating on passive materials supplied
by nature imitate natural forms or functions.
For the most part, the industrial arts are of the second sort. They transform dead
matter into commodities or tools. The arts which cooperate with nature usually
work with living matter, as in agriculture, medicine, and teaching. The distinction
seems warranted and clear. Yet it is cut across by Adam Smith's division of labor
into productive and non-productive. The work of agriculture is associated with
industry in the production of wealth, but what ever other use they may have,

physicians and teachers, according to Smith, do not directly augment the wealth of
nations.
If to the foregoing we add the division of the arts into liberal and servile, the major
traditional distinctions are covered. This last division had its origin in the
recognition that some arts, like sculpture and carpentry, could not effect their
products except by shaping matter, whereas some arts, like poetry or logic were free
from matter, at least in the sense than they worked productively in symbolic
mediums.
But by other principles of classification, poetry and sculpture are separated from
logic and carpentry, as fine from useful art. Logic along with grammar, rhetoric,
and the mathematical arts, is separated from poetry and sculpture, as liberal from
fine art. When the word "liberal" is used to state this last distinction, its meaning
narrows. It signifies only the speculative arts, or arts concerned with processes of
thinking and knowing.
The adequacy of any classification, and the intelligibility of its principles, must
stand the test of questions about particular arts. The great books frequently discuss
the arts of animal husbandry and navigation, the arts of cooking and hunting, the
arts of war and government. Each raises a question about the nature of art in
general, and challenges any analysis of the arts to classify them and explain their
peculiarities.
THERE ARE TWO OTHER major issues which have been debated mainly with
respect to the fine arts.
One, already mentioned, concerns the imitative character of art. The opponents of
imitation do not deny that there may be some perceptible resemblance between a
work of art a natural object. A drama may remind us of human actions we have
experienced; music may simulate the tonal qualities and rhythms of the human
voice registering the course of the emotions. evertheless, the motivation of artistic
creation lies deeper, it is said, than a desire to imitate nature, or to find some
pleasure in such resemblances.
According to Tolstoy, the arts serve primarily as a medium of spiritual
communication, helping to create the ties of human brotherhood. According to
Freud, it is emotion or subconscious expression, rather than imitation or
communication, which is the deepest spring of art; the poet or artist "forces us to
become aware of our inner selves in which the same impulses are still extant even
though they suppressed." Freud's theory of sublimation of emotion or desire
through art seems to connect with Aristotle's theory of emotional catharsis or
purgation. But Freud is attempting to account for the origin of art, and Aristotle is
trying to describe an effect proper to its enjoyment.
The theories of communication, expression, or imitation, attempt to explain art, or
at least its motivation. But there is also a conception of art which, foregoing

explanation, leaves it a mystery--the spontaneous product of inspiration, of a divine
madness, the work of unfathomable genius. We encounter this notion first, but not
last, in Plato's Ion.
THE OTHER MAJOR controversy concerns the regulation of the arts by the state
for human welfare and the public good.
Here, as before, the fine arts (chiefly poetry and music) have been the focus of the
debate. It is worth noting, however, that a parallel problem of political regulation
occurs in the sphere of the industrial arts. On the question of state control over the
production and distribution of wealth, Smith and Marx represent extreme
opposites, as Milton and Plato are poles apart on the question of the state's right to
censor the artist's work. In this debate, Aristotle stands on Plato's side in many
particulars, and Mill with Milton.
The problem of censorship or political regulation of the fine arts presupposes some
prior questions. Plato argues in the Republic that all poetry but "hymns to the gods
and praises of famous men" must be banned from the State; "for if you go beyond
this and allow the honeyed muse to enter, either in epic or lyric verse, not law and
the reason of mankind, which by common consent have ever been deemed the best,
but pleasure and pain will be the rulers in our State."
Such a view presupposes a certain theory of the fine arts and of their influence on
the citizens and the whole character of the community. Yet because both Plato and
Aristotle judge that influence to be far from negligible, they do not see any reason in
individual liberty for the state to refrain from interfering with the rights of the artist
for the greater good of the community.
To Milton and Mill, the measure of the artist's influence does not affect the question
of the freedom of the arts from political or ecclesiastical interference. While
admitting the need for protecting the interests of peace and public safety,
· Milton demands: "Give me the liberty to know, to utter, and to argue freely
according to conscience, above all liberties."
The issue for them is entirely one of liberty. They espouse the cause of freedom--for
the artist to express or communicate his work and for the community to receive
from him whatever he has to offer.
A critic is a legless man who teaches running. (Anonymous)
Acting is not being emotional, but being able to express emotion. (Kate Reid)
Another unsettling element in modern art is that common symptom of immaturity,
the dread of doing what has been done before. (Edith Warton)
Art is a collarboration between God an the artist, and the less the artist does the
better. (Andre Gide)

Art is either plagiarism or revolution. (Paul Guaguin)
Art is making something out of nothing and selling it. (Frank Zappa)
Art is not a handicraft,it is the transmission of feeling the artist has experienced.
(Leo Tolstoy)
But that's what being an artist is -- feeling crummy before everyone else feels
crummy. (The ew Yorker)
Every artist dips his brush in his own soul, and paints his own nature into his
pictures. (Henry Ward Beecher)
I had always loved beautiful and artistic things, though before leaving America I
had had a very little chance of seeing any. (Emma Albani)
I passionately hate the idea of being with it, I think an artist has always to be out of
step with his time. (Orson Welles)
It is not realistic, maybe ... but art doesn't have to be realistic. Romeo and Juliet is
not realistic, but it is true ... it shows the essence of falling in love. (Jan Harlan)
Life beats down and crushes the soul and art reminds you that you have one. (Stella
Adler)
ow, in reality, the world have paid too great a compliment to critics, and have
imagined them to be men of much greater profundity then they really are. (Henry
Fielding)
Poetry begins in delight and ends in wisdom. (Robert Frost)
The art of a people is a true mirror to their minds. (Jawaharlal ehru)
The poet ranks far below the painter in the representation of visible things, and far
below the musician in that of invisible things. (Leonardo DaVinci)
What garlic is to food, insanity is to art. (Anonymous)
Works of art, in my opinion, are the only objects in the material universe to possess
internal order, and that is why, though I don't believe that only art matters, I do
belive in Art for Art's sake. (E. M. Forster)
- - PRIMITIVE
...... Invention of musical instruments and instruments of iron and copper (A. V.,
brass): ... Ge 4:21,22
...... Carpentry: ... Ge 6:14-16; Ex 31:2-9
...... Of the apothecary or perfumer: ... Ex 30:25,35
...... Of the armorer: ... 1Sa 8:12
...... Of the baker: ... Ge 40:1; 1Sa 8:13
...... Of the barber: ... Isa 7:20; Ezek 5:1
...... Of the brick maker: ... Ge 11:3; Ex 5:7,8,18
...... Of the mariners: ... Ezek 27:9,27
...... Of compounding confections: ... 1Sa 8:13
...... Of the gardener: ... Jer 29:5; John 20:15
...... Of the goldsmith: ... Isa 40:19
...... Of the mariner: ... Ezek 27:8,9
...... Of the mason: ... 2Sa 5:11; 2Ch 24:12
...... Of the musician: ... 1Sa 18:6; 1Ch 15:16
...... Of the potter: ... Isa 64:8; Jer 18:3; La 4:2; Zech. 11:13
...... Of the refiner of metals: ... 1Ch 28:18; Mal 3:2,3
...... Of the rope maker: ... Judges 16:11

...... Of the stonecutter: ... Ex 20:25; 1Ch 22:15
...... Of the shipbuilder: ... 1Ki 9:26
...... Of the smelter of metals: ... Job 28:2
...... Of the spinner: ... Ex 35:25; Pr 31:19
...... Of the tailor: ... Ex 28:3
...... Of the tanner: ... Ac 9:43; 10:6
...... Of the tentmaker: ... Ge 4:20; Ac 18:3
...... Of the weaver: ... Ex 35:35; John 19:23
...... Of the winemaker: ... e 13:15; Isa 63:3
...... Of the writer: ... Judges 5:14
- - ARTISA S, SKILLFUL...... Jubal: ... Ge 4:21
...... Tubal-cain: ... Ge 4:22
...... Bezaleel and Aholiab: ... Ex 31:2-14; 35:30-35
...... Hiram: ... 1Ki 7:13-51; 2Ch 2:13,14
- - VARIOUS ARTS PRACTICED,
...... Apothecary or perfumer: ... Ex 30:25,35
...... Armorer: ... 1Sa 8:12
...... Baker: ... Ge 40:1; 1Sa 8:13
...... Brick-maker: ... Ge 11:3; Ex 5:7,8,18
...... Brazier: ... Ge 4:22; 2Ti 4:14
...... Blacksmith: ... Ge 4:22; 1Sa 13:19
...... Carver: ... Ex 31:5; 1Ki 6:18
...... Carpenter: ... 2Sa 5:11; Mr 6:3
...... Mariners: ... Ezek 27:9,27
...... Confectioner: ... 1Sa 8:13
...... Dyer: ... Ex 25:5
...... Embroiderer: ... Ex 35:35; 38:23
...... Embalmer: ... Ge 50:2,3,26
...... Engraver: ... Ex 28:11; Isa 49:16; 2Co 3:7
...... Founder: ... Judges 17:4; Jer 10:9
...... Fuller: ... 2Ki 18:17; Mr 9:3
...... Gardener: ... Jer 29:5; John 20:15
...... Goldsmith: ... Isa 40:19
...... Husbandman: ... Ge 4:2; 9:20
...... Mariner, &c: ... Ezek 27:8,9
...... Mason: ... 2Sa 5:11; 2Ch 24:12
...... Musician: ... 1Sa 18:6; 1Ch 15:16
...... Potter: ... Isa 64:8; Jer 18:3; La 4:2; Zech. 11:13
...... Refiner of metals: ... 1Ch 28:18; Mal 3:2,3
...... Rope maker: ... Judges 16:11
...... Silversmith: ... Ac 19:24
...... Stone cutter: ... Ex 20:25; 1Ch 22:15
...... Ship builder: ... 1Ki 9:26
...... Smelter of metals: ... Job 28:2
...... Spinner: ... Ex 35:25; Pr 31:19
...... Tailor: ... Ex 28:3
...... Tanner: ... Ac 9:43; 10:6

...... Tent-maker: ... Ge 4:20; Ac 18:3
...... Weaver: ... Ex 35:35; John 19:23
...... Wine-maker: ... e 13:15; Isa 63:3
...... Writer: ... Judges 5:14
ARTISTS
1. An American artist named John Banvard (1815-1891) once painted a picture a mile long. As a
youth, Banvard longed to become famous, and at the age of 25 he concocted the scheme of painting a
colossal mural dipicting 1,200 miles of landscape
along the Mississippi River. He camped out along the Mississippis for more than a year making
thousands of sketches. Then he returned to Louisville and got a mile of canvas. He wrapped it
around a large upright roller and pulled it out as needed. On his completion in 1846 the painting was
displayed in Louisville, where it was an immediate success. Banvard took it on tour across the United
States and to Great Britian. The picture received international acclaim, and he soon became
wealthy. When Banvard died the painting disappeared. It was last seen in Watertown, South
Dakota, where strips of it were being used as a stage set.
ASCE SIO OF CHRIST
- - As the forerunner of his people: ... Heb 6:20
- - Described: ... Ac 1:9
- - Foretold by himself: ... John 6:62; 7:33; 14:28; 16:5; 20:17
- - Forty days after his resurrection: ... Ac 1:3
- - From Mount of Olives: ... Lu 24:50; Mr 11:1; Ac 1:12
- - His second coming shall be in like manner as: ... Ac 1:10,11
- - Prophecies respecting: ... Ps 24:7; 68:18; Eph 4:7,8
- - To receive gifts for men: ... Ps 68:18; Eph 4:8,11
- - To send the Holy Spirit: ... John 16:7; Ac 2:33
- - To intercede: ... Ro 8:34; Heb 9:24
- - To prepare a place for his people: ... John 14:2
- - Typified: ... Le 16:15; Heb 6:20; 9:7,9,12
- - Was triumphant: ... Ps 68:18
- - Was to supreme power and dignity: ... Lu 24:26; Eph 1:20,21; 1Pe 3:22
- - When he had atoned for sin: ... Heb 9:12; 10:12
- - While blessing his disciples: ... Lu 24:50
Association"
by Dan Upchurch <mailto:danu@leadbelt.com>, Pastor, 1st Baptist Church
Bismarck, MO
When I was a boy my dad got a new beagle pup from a neighbor of ours. The
pup had been born and raised in a barn with cows. So when we got him he
immediately moved in at our barn with our fatting calves. During the day
you could look out the window of the house and see that crazy pup playing in
the barnlot with the calves. And at night you could always find him sleeping
in the manger near the calves. We concluded that he must think he was a
calf. But as the pup got older a strange thing began to happen. He spent more

and more time at the house with the dogs and less and less time at the barn
with the calves. You see as he grew up he realized what he was and began to
act like it. In many ways this aptly describes the process of Christian growth.
As we grow in Christ we realize who we are and begin to act like it.
ASSUMPTIO
OCCAM'S RAZOR: The explanation requiring the fewest assumptions is most
likely to be correct. --Wm. of Occam - 14th century scholar
When the 1960s ended, San Francisco's Haight-Ashbury district reverted to high
rent, and many hippies moved down the coast to Santa Cruz. They had children
and got married, too, though in no particular sequence. But they didn't name
their children Melissa or Brett. People in the mountains around Santa Cruz
grew accustomed to their children playing Frisbee with little Time Warp or
Spring Fever. And eventually Moonbeam, Earth, Love and Precious Promise all
ended up in public school. That's when the kindergarten teachers first met Fruit
Stand. Every fall, according to tradition, parents bravely apply name tags to
their children, kiss them good-bye and send them off to school on the bus. So it
was for Fruit Stand. The teachers thought the boy's name was odd, but they
tried to make the best of it.
"Would you like to play with the blocks, Fruit Stand?" they offered. And later,
"Fruit Stand, how about a snack?" He accepted hesitantly. By the end of the
day, his name didn't seem much odder than Heather's or Sun Ray's. At dismissal
time, the teachers led the children out to the buses. "Fruit Stand, do you know
which one is your bus?" He didn't answer. That wasn't strange. He hadn't
answered them all day. Lots of children are shy on the first day of school. It
didn't matter. The teachers had instructed the parents to write the names of
their children's bus stops on the reverse side of their name tags. The teacher
simply turned over the tag. There, neatly printed, was the word "Anthony." -
Luanne Oleas in Salinas, Calif., Reader's Digest
On one of his European tours, the master magician and locksmith Harry
Houdini found himself locked in by his own thinking. After he had been
searched and manacled in a Scottish town jail, the old turnkey shut him in a cell
and walked away. Houdini quickly freed himself from his shackles and then
tackled the cell lock. But despite all his efforts, the lock wouldn't open. Finally,
ever more desperate but completely exhausted, he leaned against the door--and it
swung open so unexpectedly that he nearly fell headlong into the corridor. The
turnkey had not locked it. Harold Kellock, Houdini
B

BIG
1. History is so often based on what is big because it is the big that is news worthy. Hiroshema is
known to most everyone because so many died with the first use of the atomic bomb. Because it was
unique it took a larger place in history. But the fact is, in the city of Dresden, Germany we have an
event that was worse but hardly known. In Feb. 1945 1200 British and American bombers pounded
it for 14 hours and about 135 thousand people died, almost twice that of Hiroshema, but they died
with plain old conventional bombs, and so it did not become a part of popular history as did the big
one.
BIOGRAPHY
1. McEntire, Reba , in Reba My Story p. 12 " Grandma was also the person who lintroduced me to
Jesus Christ. So;me of my fondest childhood memo;ries have to; ;do; with Grandma telling me Blible
stories when she and I fished from the p;ond dam. .......
I accepted Jesus Christ as my perso;nal savior when I was llittle bitty, sitting on a pond dam with
Grandma."
"If a child has a horse, he has a buddy, a friend, and a companion. For years, I kept a horse in shape
and rode for long hours. There were times when my horse and God were the only ones for me to talk
to. I got very close to both."
BIRDS
1. Mines are often filled with deadly gas called carbon monoxide. It has no smell and is therefore,
very dangerous. The canary is very sensitive to it and so they are taken into the mines in a little cage.
If the bird faints and falls off its perch the miner knows the gas is present and can grab the cage and
flee the danger zone. The canary will soon revive in the fresh air, and the miner has his life spared.
2. Werner writes, "Some parents could profit by the lesson of the mockingbird
described by Marjorie Rawlings in Cross Creek. "I once saw a mocking-bird
mother go into a rage at her offspring's insistence o a prolonged adolescence. Food
was at the young birds feet but he cried lementably and ruffled his feathers and
opened his mouth for the manna to be dropped into it. The mother patiently picked
up the food and dropped it and picked it up again, to show her child the manner in
which it was done. He opened his bill the wider. Suddenly she flew at him in a fury,
picked him several times, and flew away. He must shift for himself. He looked over
his shoulder sadly, then went to work and fed himself with complete efficiency.
BIRTH
1. Woman did not want drugs for childbirth but she had a rough time and the nurse
said to her in trying to make her comfortable, "Would you like to change postions?" "Yes, she
said, I want to be the midwife."
BITTER ESS
Bruce Goodrich was being initiated into the cadet corps at Texas A & M University.
One night, Bruce was forced to run until he dropped -- but he never got up. Bruce
Goodrich died before he even entered college.

A short time after the tragedy, Bruce's father wrote this letter to the administration,
faculty, student body, and the corps of cadets: "I would like to take this opportunity
to express the appreciation of my family for the great outpouring of concern and
sympathy from Texas A & M University and the college community over the loss of
our son Bruce. We were deeply touched by the tribute paid to him in the battalion.
We were particularly pleased to note that his Christian witness did not go unnoticed
during his brief time on campus."
Mr. Goodrich went on: "I hope it will be some comfort to know that we harbor no
ill will in the matter. We know our God makes no mistakes. Bruce had an
appointment with his Lord and is now secure in his celestial home. When the
question is asked, 'Why did this happen?' perhaps one answer will be, 'So that
many will consider where they will spend eternity.'"
Our Daily Bread
March 22, 1994
One day, two monks were walking through the countryside. They were on their way
to another village to help bring in the crops. As they walked, they spied an old
woman sitting at the edge of a river. She was upset because there was no bridge, and
she could not get across on her own.
The first monk kindly offered, "We will carry you across if you would like."
"Thank you," she said gratefully, accepting their help.
So the two men joined hands, lifted her between them and carried her across the
river. When they got to the other side, they set her down, and she went on her way.
After they had walked another mile or so, the second monk began to complain.
"Look at my clothes," he said. "They are filthy from carrying that woman across
the river. And my back still hurts from lifting her. I can feel it getting stiff." The
first monk just smiled and nodded his head.
A few more miles up the road, the second monk griped again, "My back is hurting
me so badly, and it is all because we had to carry that silly woman across the river! I
cannot go any farther because of the pain."
The first monk looked down at his partner, now lying on the ground, moaning.
"Have you wondered why I am not complaining?" he asked.
"Your back hurts because you are still carrying the woman. But I set her down five
miles ago."
That is what many of us are like in dealing with our families. We are that second
monk who cannot let go. We hold the pain of the past over our loved ones' heads
like a club, or we remind them every once in a while, when we want to get the upper
hand, of the burden we still carry because of something they did years ago.-Dr.
Anthony T. Evans, Guiding Your Family in a Misguided World
One ew Year's Eve at London's Garrick Club, British dramatist Frederick
Lonsdale was asked by Symour Hicks to reconcile with a fellow member. The two
had quarreled in the past and never restored their friendship. "You must," Hicks
said to Lonsdale. "It is very unkind to be unfriendly at such a time. Go over now
and wish him a happy ew Year."
So Lonsdale crossed the room and spoke to his enemy. "I wish you a happy ew
Year," he said, "but only one."
Today in the Word, July 5, 1993
Shortly after the turn of the century, Japan invaded,

conquered, and occupied Korea. Of all of their oppressors, Japan
was the most ruthless. They overwhelmed the Koreans with a
brutality that would sicken the strongest of stomachs. Their
crimes against women and children were inhuman. Many Koreans
live today with the physical and emotional scars from the
Japanese occupation.
One group singled out for concentrated oppression was the
Christians. When the Japanese army overpowered Korea one of the
first things they did was board up the evangelical churches and
eject most foreign missionaries. It has always fascinated me how
people fail to learn from history. Conquering nations have
consistently felt that shutting up churches would shut down
Christianity. It didn't work in Rome when the church was
established, and it hasn't worked since. Yet somehow the
Japanese thought they would have a different success record.
The conquerors started by refusing to allow churches to meet and jailing many of
the key Christian spokesmen. The oppression intensified as the Japanese military
increased its profile in the South Pacific. The "Land of the Rising Sum" spread its
influence through a reign of savage brutality. Anguish filled the hearts of the
oppressed -- and kindled hatred deep in their souls.
One pastor persistently entreated his local Japanese police
chief for permission to meet for services. His nagging was
finally accommodated, and the police chief offered to unlock his
church ... for one meeting.
It didn't take long for word to travel. Committed
Christians starving for an opportunity for unhindered worship
quickly made their plans. Long before dawn on that promised
Sunday, Korean families throughout a wide area made their way to
the church. They passed the staring eyes of their Japanese
captors, but nothing was going to steal their joy. As they
closed the doors behind them they shut out the cares of
oppression and shut in a burning spirit anxious to glorify their
Lord.
The Korean church has always had a reputation as a singing
church. Their voices of praise could not be concealed inside the
little wooden frame sanctuary. Song after song rang through the
open windows into the bright Sunday morning.
For a handful of peasants listening nearby, the last two
songs this congregation sang seemed suspended in time.
It was during a stanza of " earer My God to Thee" that the
Japanese police chief waiting outside gave the orders. The
people toward the back of the church could hear them when they
barricaded the doors, but no one realized that they had doused
the church with kerosene until they smelled the smoke. The dried
wooden skin of the small church quickly ignited. Fumes filled
the structure as tongues of flame began to lick the baseboard on
the interior walls.

There was an immediate rush for the windows. But momentary
hope recoiled in horror as the men climbing out the windows came
crashing back in -- their bodies ripped by a hail of bullets.
The good pastor knew it was the end.
With a calm that comes from confidence, he led his
congregation in a hymn whose words served as a fitting farewell
to earth and a loving salutation to heaven. The first few words
were all the prompting the terrified worshipers needed. With
smoke burning their eyes, they instantly joined as one to sing
their hope and leave their legacy.
Their song became a serenade to the horrified and helpless
witnesses outside. Their words also tugged at the hearts of the
cruel men who oversaw this flaming execution of the innocent.
Alas! and did my Savior bleed?
and did my Sovereign die?
Would he devote that sacred head
for such a worm as I?
Just before the roof collapsed they sang the last verse,
their words an eternal testimony to their faith.
But drops of grief can ne'er repay
the debt of love I owe:
Here, Lord, I give myself away
'Tis all that I can do!
At the cross, at the cross
Where I first saw the light,
And the burden of my heart rolled away --
It was there by faith I received my sight,
And now I am happy all the day.
The strains of music and wails of children were lost in a
roar of flames. The elements that once formed bone and flesh
mixed with the smoke and dissipated into the air. The bodies
that once housed life fused with the charred rubble of a building
that once housed a church. But the souls who left singing
finished their chorus in the throne room of God.
Clearing the incinerated remains was the easy part. Erasing
the hate would take decades. For some of the relatives of the
victims, this carnage was too much. Evil had stooped to a new
low, and there seemed to be no way to curb their bitter loathing
of the Japanese.
In the decades that followed, that bitterness was passed on
to a new generation. The Japanese, although conquered, remained
a hated enemy. The monument the Koreans built at the location of
the fire not only memorialized the people who died, but stood as
a mute reminder of their pain.
Inner rest? How could rest coexist with a bitterness deep
as marrow in the bones?
Suffering, of course, is a part of life. People hurt

people. Almost all of us have experienced it at some time.
Maybe you felt it when you came home to find that your spouse had
abandoned you, or when your integrity was destroyed by a series
of well-timed lies, or when your company was bled dry by a
partner. It kills you inside. Bitterness clamps down on your
soul like iron shackles.
The Korean people who found it too hard to forgive could not
enjoy the "peace that passes all understanding." Hatred choked
their joy.
It wasn't until 1972 that any hope came.
A group of Japanese pastors traveling through Korea came
upon the memorial. When they read the details of the tragedy and
the names of the spiritual brothers and sisters who had perished,
they were overcome with shame. Their country had sinned, and
even though none of them were personally involved (some were not
even born at the time of the tragedy), they still felt a national
guilt that could not be excused.
They returned to Japan committed to right a wrong. There
was an immediate outpouring of love from their fellow believers.
They raised ten million yen ($25,000). The money was transferred
through proper channels and a beautiful white church building was
erected on the sight of the tragedy.
When the dedication service for the new building was held, a
delegation from Japan joined the relatives and special guests.
Although their generosity was acknowledged and their attempts at
making peace appreciated, the memories were still there.
Hatred preserves pain. It keeps the wounds open and the
hurts fresh. The Koreans' bitterness had festered for decades.
Christian brothers or not, these Japanese were descendants of a
ruthless enemy.
The speeches were made, the details of the tragedy recalled,
and the names of the dead honored. It was time to bring the
service to a close. Someone in charge of the agenda thought it
would be appropriate to conclude with the same two songs that
were sung the day the church was burned.
The song leader began the words to " earer My God to Thee."
But something remarkable happened as the voices mingled on
the familiar melody. As the memories of the past mixed with the
truth of the song, resistance started to melt. The inspiration
that gave hope to a doomed collection of churchgoers in a past
generation gave hope once more.
The song leader closed the service with the hymn "At the
Cross."
The normally stoic Japanese could not contain themselves.
The tears that began to fill their eyes during the song suddenly
gushed from deep inside. They turned to their Korean spiritual
relatives and begged them to forgive.

The guarded, calloused hearts of the Koreans were not quick
to surrender. But the love of the Japanese believers --
unintimidated by decades of hatred -- tore at the Koreans'
emotions.
At the cross, at the cross
Where I first saw the light,
And the burden of my heart rolled away ...
One Korean turned toward a Japanese brother. Then another.
And then the floodgates holding back a wave of emotion let go.
The Koreans met their new Japanese friends in the middle. They
clung to each other and wept. Japanese tears of repentance and
Korean tears of forgiveness intermingled to bathe the site of an
old nightmare.
Heaven had sent the gift of reconciliation to a little white
church in Korea. Little House on the Freeway, Tim Kimmel, Page
56-61
Armand M. icholi, M.D., professor of psychiatry at Harvard
Medical School, explains that Sigmund Freud died at the age of
83, a bitter and dissillusioned man. Tragically, this Viennese
physician, one of the most influential thinkers of our time, had
little compassion for the common person. Freud wrote in 1918, "I
have found little that is good about human beings on the whole.
In my experience most of them are trash, no matter whether they
publicly subscribe to this or that ethical doctrine or to none at
all" (Veritas Reconsidered, p. 36). Freud died friendless. It
is well-known that he had broken with each of his followers. The
end was bitter. Discoveries, Summer, 1991, Vol 2, o. 3, p. 1
Unfinished Business, Charles Sell, Multnomah, 1989, p. 121ff
Unfinished Business, Charles Sell, Multnomah, 1989, p. 171FF
A man in Spokane (Mr. Russell) had arranged for the minister from
Fourth Memorial church to have his wedding. The day came and the
minister didn't. The minister sent a replacement. The man was
upset, and never forgot the incident. 30 years later Carolyn had
a garage sale. My mother was there helping. A neighbor came
over and they introduced themselves. He said, "Underhill, are
you related to a minister?" "Yes, my husband is one. "Well, I
could tell you a thing or two." Mom said, "Go ahead, I've heard
it all." "30 years ago he was supposed to marry..." and he told
his story. Mom asked, "How long ago was that?" "30 years" he
said. "Well, it couldn't have been my husband. We only moved
here 25 years ago." For 30 years Mr. Russell had been bitter at
the wrong man! John Underhill
"I've had a few arguments with people," comedian Buddy Hackett
once confessed, "but I never carry a grudge. You know why?
While you're carrying a grudge, they're out dancing."
o matter how long you nurse a grudge, it won't get better.
Think about the oyster. It takes a grain of sand and turns it

into a beautiful pearl. Too often we are just the opposite--we
take pearls and turn them into grains of sand.
A rattlesnake, if cornered, will sometimes become so angry it will
bite itself. That is exactly what the harboring of hate and
resentment against others is--a biting of oneself. We think that
we are harming others in holding these spites and hates, but the
deeper harm is to ourselves. E. Stanley Jones, Dec. 81 R.D.
Swindoll, Growing strong, p. 166.
BLACK
1. When I was born I was black.When I grew up I was black. When I'm sick I'm
black. When I go out into the sun I'm black. When I die I'll be black. BUT YOU:
When you were born you were pink. When you grow up you are white. When you
get sick you are green. When you go out in the sun you are red. When you go out
into the cold you are blue. When you die you turn purple. And you call me colored?
Contributed by: Sylvia
BLAME
1. This is the excellent Foppery of the World' that. when we are sick in fortune (often the surfiet of
our own behaviour), we make guilty of our disasters, the sun, the moon, and the stars: as if we were
villains by necessity; fools, by heavenly compulsion; knaves, thieves, and treachers, by spherical
predominance; drunkards, liars, and adulterers, by an enforced obedience of planetary influence;
and all that we are evil in by a divine thrusting on.
2.
Gerald Kennedy wrote, "There was a young preacher with an attractive wife who liked new
clothes. She spent too much and they were in debt. Finally they had a council and she agreed not to
buy anything without first talking it over. Then she went to town and came back with a new dress,
and the young preacher said to her, "But, my dear, you promised me." She replied, " I know I did,
but the devil tempted me," He answered, " YOu should have said, "Get thee behind me, Satan."
"Oh,," she said, " I did, and he whispered, "It fits so beautifully in the back." There has to come a
time when we will not blame it on Satan or anything else but accept ou rpersonal responsibility for
our condition.
People who are out to find fault seldom find anything else.
Don't find fault, find a remedy.
In Discipleship Journal, Don McCullough wrote: "John Killinger
tells about the manager of a minor league baseball team who was
so disgusted with his center fielder's performance that he
ordered him to the dugout and assumed the position himself. The
first ball that came into center field took a bad hop and hit the
manager in the mouth. The next one was a high fly ball, which he
lost in the glare of the sun--until it bounced off his forehead.
The third was a hard line drive that he charged with outstretched
arms; unfortunately, it flew between is hands and smacked his
eye. Furious, he ran back to the dugout, grabbed the center
fielder by the uniform, and shouted. 'You idiot! You've got
center field so messed up that even I can't do a thing with it!'
Wake Up Calls, Ron Hutchcraft, Moody, 1990, p.46

One evening several college students spread limburger cheese on
the upper lip of a sleeping fraternity brother. Upon awakening
the young man sniffed, looked around, and said, "This room
stinks!" He then walked into the hall and said, "This hall
stinks!" Leaving the dormitory he exclaimed, "The whole world
stinks!" Today in the Word, May, 1990, MBI, p. 8
All blame is a waste of time. o matter how much fault you find
with another, and regardless of how much you blame him, it will
not change you. The only thing blame does is to keep the focus
off you when you are looking for external reasons to explain your
unhappiness or frustration. You may succeed in making another
feel guilty of something by blaming him, but you won't succeed
in changing whatever it is about you that is making you unhappy.
Wayne W. Dyer, "Your Erroneous Zones"
BLESSED BO DAGE
1. Arnold H. Lowe wrote, For some of us there is no freedon--no problem such as this. In a moving
passage of the Old Testament, Hosea tells us that God held him with bands of love. It must have cost
him much to say that; it must have cost him more to find it out. His wife had betrayed him, and yet
he was not free to strike back; there were those bands of love. And Paul---Paul who in his letter to
the Romans wrote the Christrian charter of freedom---spoke of himself as a prisoner of Jesus Christ.
He, too, felt those band of love. He could never move far from the shadow of the cross. There were
those bands of love. He could not wrench himself loose from Christ, who loved him and gave himself
for him. There were those bands again.
So for some there is no freedom. ot for you, if Christ is real to you; not if you hae felt his
strength in your own life; not if you woul dlive by great principles. Do you have great convictions on
integrity? Then where is your freedom?
BLESSI G
1. Your morning Irish blessing:
May God grant you always
A sunbeam to warm you
A moonbeam to charm you
A sheltering Angel
So nothing can harm you.
Laughter to cheer you
Faithful friends near you
And whenever you pray,
Heaven to hear you.
At age 16 Andor Foldes was already a skilled pianist, but he was
experiencing a troubled year. In the midst of the young
Hungarian's personal struggles, one of the most renowned pianists
of the day came to Budapest. Emil von Sauer was famous not only
for his abilities; he was also the last surviving pupil of the
great Franz Liszt. Von Sauer requested that Foldes play for him.
Foldes obliged with some of the most difficult works of Bach,
Beethoven, and Schumann. When he finished, von Sauer walked over
to him and kissed him on the forehead. "My son," he said, "when

I was your age I became a student of Liszt. He kissed me on the
forehead after my first lesson, saying, 'Take good care of this
kiss--it comes from Beethoven, who gave it to me after hearing me
play.' I have waited for years to pass on this sacred heritage,
but now I feel you deserve it."
"I pray to God this day to make me an extraordinary Christian."
George Whitefield
One morning R.C. Chapman, a devout Christian, was asked how he was feeling.
"I'm burdened this morning!" was his reply. But his happy countenance
contadicted his words. So the questioner exclaimed in surprise, "Are you
really burdened, Mr. Chapman?" "Yes, but it's a wonderful burden--it's an
overabundance of blessings for which I cannot find enough time or words to
express my gratitude!" Seeing the puzzled look on the face of his friend,
Chapman added with a smile, "I am referring to Psalm 68:19, which fully
describes my condition. In that verse the Father in heaven reminds us that He
'daily loads us with benefits.'"
F.E. Marsh has enumerated some of these blessings:
An acceptance that can never be questioned. (Eph. 1:6).
An inheritance that can never be lost (I Peter 1:3-5).
A deliverance that can never be excelled (2 Cor. l:10).
A grace that can never be limited (2 Cor. 12:9).
A hope that can never be disappointed. (Heb. 6:18, 19).
A bounty that can never be withdrawn. (I Col. 3:21-23).
A joy that need never be diminished (John 15:11).
A nearness to God that can never be reversed (Eph. 2:13).
A peace that can never be disturbed (John 14:27).
A righteousness that can never be tarnished (2 Cor. 5:21).
A salvation that can never be canceled (Heb. 5:9).
BLI D ESS
1. Elizabeth Lloyd Howell in a poem called Milton's Prayer For Patience.
I am old and blind!
Men point at me as smitten by God's frown:
Afflicted and deserted of my kind,
Yet am I not cast down.
I am weak, yet strong;
I murmur not that I no longer see;
Poor, old, and helpless, I the more belong,
Father supreme, to thee!
All-merciful One!
When men are furthest, then art Thou most near;
When friends pass by, my weaknesses to shun,
Thy chariot I hear.
Thy glorious face
Is leaning toward me; and it's holy light
Shines in upon my lonely dwelling place,-
And there is no more night.

ILLUSTRATIO S, HUMOR, POETRY A D QUOTATIO S VOL 9

ILLUSTRATIO S, HUMOR, POETRY A D QUOTATIO S VOL 9

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