Chapter Eleven
Monologues
Telling It Like It Was
Preaching In The First Person
Most informed church people of my generation have at least heard of Albert Schweitzer. They know that he was a doctor who served in Africa. They may not know of him as a theologian, philosopher, or as a musician. I wanted the members of my congregation to become better acquainted with him and his work so that they would have a greater appreciation for foreign missionaries and also be challenged to examine how they might use their own gifts.
As I read several books by and about Schweitzer, it became apparent that I could not include everything about the man in the time allotted for a sermon. I would have to be selective. I decided to focus on his life up to the end of World War I. This would help people to see how his life and thought developed, and still provide him sufficient opportunity to speak about his experiences in Africa. The one-sentence summary that guided the development of this sermon is as follows: "Albert Schweitzer's life and thought challenge us to cultivate our gifts, to live boldly for God, and to have reverence for life."
A Reverence For Life
I was sitting on the deck of a barge, lost in thought as we crept slowly upstream on one of those long African errands of mercy. I was struggling to find that elementary and universal conception of the ethical life which I had not discovered in any philosophy. I had covered page after page of my notebook with disconnected sentences, merely to keep myself concentrated on the problem.
Late on the third day, at the very moment when, at sunset, we were making our way through a herd of hippopotamuses, there flashed upon my mind unforeseen and unsought, the phrase, "Reverence for Life." The iron door had yielded; the path through the thicket had become visible. I had found my way to the idea in which world-affirmation, life-affirmation, and ethics are contained side by side. In that simple phrase I was able to crystallize the thought which had motivated much of my life and conduct, and discovered what was, for me, the fundamental principle of morality, namely, that good consists in maintaining, assisting, and enhancing life, and that to destroy, to harm, or to hinder life is evil. It was such a thought, perhaps intuited, but heretofore unarticulated, which had brought me to where I was, a jungle doctor serving my brothers and sisters at the edge of the forest primeval in French Equatorial Africa.
My name is Albert Schweitzer. I would like to share with you some of the thoughts and experiences which molded my life in the hope that what I discovered might be helpful to you as you search for the meaning of life.
To be sure, my upbringing contributed mightily to anything I was to make of myself. I was born in Kayserberg, Upper Alsace, which was then German, in January, 1875. My father was a pastor in the Evangelical Church, and my mother was daughter of a pastor, so my religious heritage was assured. We soon moved to the village of Gunsbach, which is where I grew up. My father began training me on the piano when I was five. I began to play the organ when I was eight, and I took the place of the Gunsbach organist for a while when I was nine. The organ was my first love, a love that was to last all my life. When I went away to high school I lived with my godfather, who was an organist, and he gave me lessons.
Even in my early years I was developing an appreciation for all living things. I can remember as a pre-school child that it wasn't quite clear to me why my evening prayers should only be for human beings. After my mother had prayed with me and turned out the lights I used to pray silently, "O, heavenly Father, protect and bless all things that have breath; guard them from all evil and let them sleep in peace."
On another occasion, when I was eight, a friend and I had made slingshots. "Let's go and shoot some birds," he said. It was a terrible proposal to me, but I did not dare refuse for fear he would laugh at me. Just as we took aim at some birds, a church bell began to ring and frightened the birds away. I remember how grateful I was. Now, when I hear the church bells, they remind me, "Thou shalt not kill."
In 1893, I entered the University of Strasbourg and my academic training began in earnest. I studied theology, philosophy, and music theory. In preparation for my Ph.D., I studied also in Paris and Berlin. I received my degree in 1899, writing a doctoral dissertation on the philosophy of Kant. I was now prepared to teach, but my interest was theology.
I passed the first exams in theology and became assistant pastor at a church in Strasbourg. I came to some conclusions about Jesus which disagreed with the opinions of orthodox Christianity, but I nevertheless obtained my theological degree, was ordained in the ministry, became a university instructor and the principal of a theological seminary.
All the while I was also pursuing my organ studies. I had opportunity to travel widely as a concert organist, and in this interval I became well acquainted with the organ music of Bach. I published a book on Bach and became something of an authority on his life and his music, so that I was often invited to speak on Bach and to interpret his music throughout Europe. Not only was I interested in playing the organ, I was interested in what went on inside. Frequently, when I was to play at a concert I would find that some of the great old organs had not been kept up, so it was necessary to get in and work on them. I wrote an extensive essay on organs and organ building, urging that old organs be saved and restored rather than replaced by newer factory-built instruments. Thereafter, I received hundreds of letters asking for advice and design with regard to organ building and repair, and I was able to design many.
When I began lecturing in theology at the University in 1902, there were those who opposed my appointment. Some faculty members felt that what I had to say about Jesus would confuse the students. Still, I was hired. In 1906, I published a book titled The Quest For The Historical Jesus. My conclusion was that Jesus had mistakenly expected the end of the world in his lifetime. The suggestion that Jesus could have been mistaken about anything, of course, was an affront to the cherished beliefs of the time. Personally, I felt no less constrained to follow Jesus, and I maintained that we are still called to loyalty and commitment to him, though we must learn for our own time how that loyalty is to be expressed.
These, as you may well imagine, were great days for me. I had achieved everything I had ever wanted. Recognition as a philosopher, a theologian, a musician. But I was also aware of an obligation. I had recognized, even as a youngster, how happy and blessed I was in contrast with others in the world who could not enjoy life: I had nourishing food when others did not; I had shoes when others did not. As early as age 21 I decided that I must make some return for the happiness I knew. I resolved to spend my time till age thirty living for science and art, and then from that time on I would devote myself to the service of humanity.
My most life-altering decision came as I approached my thirtieth year. Through much of my life I had attempted to deal with those words of Jesus, "He who would save his life must be prepared to lose it." In 1904, I chanced to read an article describing the great need for medical help in French Equatorial Africa, an area under the sponsorship of the Parisian Missionary Society. Quietly, without consulting family or friends, I decided to respond. Friends and family were distressed when I told them. They felt I would be burying the talent entrusted to me. They felt it was a great waste to begin to prepare for a new field at the age of thirty. They probed for reasons: disappointment in my career; perhaps a thwarted romance? But as I've said, it was a simple attempt to be obedient to the command of Jesus, my Lord; and the prospect made me enormously happy.
I embarked on my medical studies in 1905, at the age of thirty. They occupied much of my time for the next seven years. During this time I gave up my principalship, though I continued to teach and to preach. I gave more organ concerts because my reputation as an interpreter of Bach had grown, and because I needed the income to support me in my studies. I continued writing in the areas of philosophy, theology, and music, in which I had developed a considerable following.
All this while, however, there was some doubt whether the Parisian Missionary Society would even accept me. They had an orthodox zeal for saving souls. My religious views were unorthodox, and quite well known. I passed the medical exams in 1911 and wrote a dissertation for my MD degree on the subject of Jesus' mental health. While I concluded that Jesus' estimate of himself was quite in accord with the expectations of his time, simply subjecting Jesus to a psychological analysis was upsetting to conservative Christians.
The time came when I had to give up my teaching and preaching positions as I set out for Paris to study tropical medicine. Knowing that there were some orthodox members of the missionary board who could not in good conscience support someone with my views, I proposed to the society that I would go out at my own expense and secure my own support, if they would allow me to serve from their central mission station at Lambarene. Many were delighted, but some wanted to examine my beliefs. I refused on the basis that when Jesus called his disciples he required nothing of them but the willingness to follow. I did offer to visit each member separately for a private conversation. Some feared that I might choose to preach or confuse the missionaries. I indicated that I would avoid this, and they accepted my offer.
Now came the time of preparing to go. I gave concerts and lectures to finance the work. I had to ask friends to support the project, and this was humiliating. Up to this time I had been self-supporting, now I was to serve with the help of others. Eventually, I had enough for the necessary supplies and to run the hospital for a year. At this time, at the age of 37, I married Helen Bresslau. She was a nurse; she would be of great help in the running of a hospital.
Africa was an enormous challenge. When we arrived in 1913, there were no medical buildings. We set up our work in a chicken house. My wife was nurse and administrator. Joseph, a native, was cook, attendant, interpreter, and adviser. At once we had to find accommodations for forty patients a day and their companions.
How incredible was our opportunity! A poor moaning creature might be brought to me in great pain. I would lay my hand on his forehead and tell him that in an hour's time he would have an operation that would remove the pain. He is scarcely awake after the operation and cries for joy, "I have no more pain!" His hand feels for mine and will not let go. Then I tell him and the others who are with him that it is the Lord Jesus who has told the doctor and his wife to come to Africa. I tell him about the white people in Europe who give money so that Africans may be made well; and we, black and white, sit side by side and feel that we know by experience the meaning of Jesus' words, "All of you are brothers."
I did not discuss doctrine with the missionaries, only how to increase practical Christianity among the natives. Eventually, however, I was invited to preach, and was released from my promise to the mission society. Some of the native pastors, trained by the missionaries, did protest my participation in their theological discussions, however, because, they said, I was a doctor and not a theologian as they were.
Even in Africa I had time for my music. At night I would work on further editions of Bach's music. To keep up my organ skills, the Bach Society had presented me with a piano built for the tropics and with a pedal attachment to simulate the footwork of an organ. I would work on one piece at a time, perfecting it for the day I would again be able to play the organ.
In 1914, war broke out. As we were Germans in a French colony, we were placed under house arrest, and for a time, prohibited even from the practice of medicine. When the natives heard about war in Europe, they felt it was senseless, for white men didn't even eat those they killed.
I, too, was questioning the progress of civilization. The only way out of chaos would be for civilization to adopt an attitude toward life built on ethical ideals. But what is that ethical foundation? It was this thought that continued to trouble me when I was released from house arrest and permitted to resume my medical duties.
Then came the trip up river, which I mentioned at the outset. The phrase "reverence for life" came to my mind. I came to see that the most immediate fact of our consciousness is the assertion, "I am life that wills to live." What is good, then, is what preserves life, promotes life, develops it to its fullest. And evil is what destroys life, injures life, represses development. And these ethical values relate to all life, not just to humans. This was the truth I had intuited as a child when my conscience resisted shooting birds.
Unfortunately, contempt for life characterizes our age. We wage wars, which no one wins, and bring suffering and death to millions of humans and animals, because we do not possess reverence for life. And because we do not possess it, everyone is afraid of everyone else. There is no remedy for our situation apart from reverence for life. I have come to the conviction that people are ethical only when life, as such, is sacred to them -- the life of plants and animals, as well as the life of human beings, and when they demonstrate that ethic by devoting themselves helpfully to all life that is in need of help. Sometimes we are forced to choose which forms of life, or even which individuals, are to be saved or destroyed, but the principle of maintaining and furthering all life is, nevertheless, valid. The ethical person destroys life only from necessity, never from thoughtlessness, and always with a profound sense of regret.
I suppose we have come full circle, at least for today. I began with how the concept of reverence for life came to me, and I have now developed what it means.
Perhaps it remains to recount briefly subsequent events of my life. We were eventually sent to France, and then repatriated to Germany in a prisoner exchange. When the war was over, I again had opportunity to lecture and to play the organ in concert, in order to accumulate money for our return to Africa. Thereafter, for decades, I would frequently return to Europe for lecture and concert tours, acquiring the funds which were so necessary for the operation of our hospital in Lambarene. I continued to write of our experiences in Africa, and of the thoughts which those experiences generated. Therefore, our work was brought to the attention of people around the world, and people everywhere contributed to the work. Consequently, our hospital became an expression of world-wide Christian compassion.
There are several thoughts I would like to leave with you that come out of my experience. For one thing, if God has given you a talent, cultivate it. Who knows what you may be able to do with it. Who would have thought that organ concerts, which brought so much joy of accomplishment to me, would have been turned into medicine and medical services for the needy of Africa?
Secondly, let me urge you to attempt bold things. Most of us have far more gifts than we give ourselves credit for. God has not been stingy in what he has provided; it is we who are stingy when we refuse to develop the gifts that have been given.
And finally, have reverence for life. If people will only begin to think about the mystery of their lives, and the links which connect them with the life that fills the world, they cannot help but experience a reverence for life and a feeling of oneness with all that lives. It is that sense of oneness that makes us moral, that gives us a sense of responsibility, not only for our human family, but for all God's creatures, and for the planet, which is our shared home. What each individual has to contribute is her or his own secret. But we all need to learn that our existence only attains its true value when we have experienced the truth of Jesus' declaration: "The one who loses his life for my sake will find it."
As I read several books by and about Schweitzer, it became apparent that I could not include everything about the man in the time allotted for a sermon. I would have to be selective. I decided to focus on his life up to the end of World War I. This would help people to see how his life and thought developed, and still provide him sufficient opportunity to speak about his experiences in Africa. The one-sentence summary that guided the development of this sermon is as follows: "Albert Schweitzer's life and thought challenge us to cultivate our gifts, to live boldly for God, and to have reverence for life."
A Reverence For Life
I was sitting on the deck of a barge, lost in thought as we crept slowly upstream on one of those long African errands of mercy. I was struggling to find that elementary and universal conception of the ethical life which I had not discovered in any philosophy. I had covered page after page of my notebook with disconnected sentences, merely to keep myself concentrated on the problem.
Late on the third day, at the very moment when, at sunset, we were making our way through a herd of hippopotamuses, there flashed upon my mind unforeseen and unsought, the phrase, "Reverence for Life." The iron door had yielded; the path through the thicket had become visible. I had found my way to the idea in which world-affirmation, life-affirmation, and ethics are contained side by side. In that simple phrase I was able to crystallize the thought which had motivated much of my life and conduct, and discovered what was, for me, the fundamental principle of morality, namely, that good consists in maintaining, assisting, and enhancing life, and that to destroy, to harm, or to hinder life is evil. It was such a thought, perhaps intuited, but heretofore unarticulated, which had brought me to where I was, a jungle doctor serving my brothers and sisters at the edge of the forest primeval in French Equatorial Africa.
My name is Albert Schweitzer. I would like to share with you some of the thoughts and experiences which molded my life in the hope that what I discovered might be helpful to you as you search for the meaning of life.
To be sure, my upbringing contributed mightily to anything I was to make of myself. I was born in Kayserberg, Upper Alsace, which was then German, in January, 1875. My father was a pastor in the Evangelical Church, and my mother was daughter of a pastor, so my religious heritage was assured. We soon moved to the village of Gunsbach, which is where I grew up. My father began training me on the piano when I was five. I began to play the organ when I was eight, and I took the place of the Gunsbach organist for a while when I was nine. The organ was my first love, a love that was to last all my life. When I went away to high school I lived with my godfather, who was an organist, and he gave me lessons.
Even in my early years I was developing an appreciation for all living things. I can remember as a pre-school child that it wasn't quite clear to me why my evening prayers should only be for human beings. After my mother had prayed with me and turned out the lights I used to pray silently, "O, heavenly Father, protect and bless all things that have breath; guard them from all evil and let them sleep in peace."
On another occasion, when I was eight, a friend and I had made slingshots. "Let's go and shoot some birds," he said. It was a terrible proposal to me, but I did not dare refuse for fear he would laugh at me. Just as we took aim at some birds, a church bell began to ring and frightened the birds away. I remember how grateful I was. Now, when I hear the church bells, they remind me, "Thou shalt not kill."
In 1893, I entered the University of Strasbourg and my academic training began in earnest. I studied theology, philosophy, and music theory. In preparation for my Ph.D., I studied also in Paris and Berlin. I received my degree in 1899, writing a doctoral dissertation on the philosophy of Kant. I was now prepared to teach, but my interest was theology.
I passed the first exams in theology and became assistant pastor at a church in Strasbourg. I came to some conclusions about Jesus which disagreed with the opinions of orthodox Christianity, but I nevertheless obtained my theological degree, was ordained in the ministry, became a university instructor and the principal of a theological seminary.
All the while I was also pursuing my organ studies. I had opportunity to travel widely as a concert organist, and in this interval I became well acquainted with the organ music of Bach. I published a book on Bach and became something of an authority on his life and his music, so that I was often invited to speak on Bach and to interpret his music throughout Europe. Not only was I interested in playing the organ, I was interested in what went on inside. Frequently, when I was to play at a concert I would find that some of the great old organs had not been kept up, so it was necessary to get in and work on them. I wrote an extensive essay on organs and organ building, urging that old organs be saved and restored rather than replaced by newer factory-built instruments. Thereafter, I received hundreds of letters asking for advice and design with regard to organ building and repair, and I was able to design many.
When I began lecturing in theology at the University in 1902, there were those who opposed my appointment. Some faculty members felt that what I had to say about Jesus would confuse the students. Still, I was hired. In 1906, I published a book titled The Quest For The Historical Jesus. My conclusion was that Jesus had mistakenly expected the end of the world in his lifetime. The suggestion that Jesus could have been mistaken about anything, of course, was an affront to the cherished beliefs of the time. Personally, I felt no less constrained to follow Jesus, and I maintained that we are still called to loyalty and commitment to him, though we must learn for our own time how that loyalty is to be expressed.
These, as you may well imagine, were great days for me. I had achieved everything I had ever wanted. Recognition as a philosopher, a theologian, a musician. But I was also aware of an obligation. I had recognized, even as a youngster, how happy and blessed I was in contrast with others in the world who could not enjoy life: I had nourishing food when others did not; I had shoes when others did not. As early as age 21 I decided that I must make some return for the happiness I knew. I resolved to spend my time till age thirty living for science and art, and then from that time on I would devote myself to the service of humanity.
My most life-altering decision came as I approached my thirtieth year. Through much of my life I had attempted to deal with those words of Jesus, "He who would save his life must be prepared to lose it." In 1904, I chanced to read an article describing the great need for medical help in French Equatorial Africa, an area under the sponsorship of the Parisian Missionary Society. Quietly, without consulting family or friends, I decided to respond. Friends and family were distressed when I told them. They felt I would be burying the talent entrusted to me. They felt it was a great waste to begin to prepare for a new field at the age of thirty. They probed for reasons: disappointment in my career; perhaps a thwarted romance? But as I've said, it was a simple attempt to be obedient to the command of Jesus, my Lord; and the prospect made me enormously happy.
I embarked on my medical studies in 1905, at the age of thirty. They occupied much of my time for the next seven years. During this time I gave up my principalship, though I continued to teach and to preach. I gave more organ concerts because my reputation as an interpreter of Bach had grown, and because I needed the income to support me in my studies. I continued writing in the areas of philosophy, theology, and music, in which I had developed a considerable following.
All this while, however, there was some doubt whether the Parisian Missionary Society would even accept me. They had an orthodox zeal for saving souls. My religious views were unorthodox, and quite well known. I passed the medical exams in 1911 and wrote a dissertation for my MD degree on the subject of Jesus' mental health. While I concluded that Jesus' estimate of himself was quite in accord with the expectations of his time, simply subjecting Jesus to a psychological analysis was upsetting to conservative Christians.
The time came when I had to give up my teaching and preaching positions as I set out for Paris to study tropical medicine. Knowing that there were some orthodox members of the missionary board who could not in good conscience support someone with my views, I proposed to the society that I would go out at my own expense and secure my own support, if they would allow me to serve from their central mission station at Lambarene. Many were delighted, but some wanted to examine my beliefs. I refused on the basis that when Jesus called his disciples he required nothing of them but the willingness to follow. I did offer to visit each member separately for a private conversation. Some feared that I might choose to preach or confuse the missionaries. I indicated that I would avoid this, and they accepted my offer.
Now came the time of preparing to go. I gave concerts and lectures to finance the work. I had to ask friends to support the project, and this was humiliating. Up to this time I had been self-supporting, now I was to serve with the help of others. Eventually, I had enough for the necessary supplies and to run the hospital for a year. At this time, at the age of 37, I married Helen Bresslau. She was a nurse; she would be of great help in the running of a hospital.
Africa was an enormous challenge. When we arrived in 1913, there were no medical buildings. We set up our work in a chicken house. My wife was nurse and administrator. Joseph, a native, was cook, attendant, interpreter, and adviser. At once we had to find accommodations for forty patients a day and their companions.
How incredible was our opportunity! A poor moaning creature might be brought to me in great pain. I would lay my hand on his forehead and tell him that in an hour's time he would have an operation that would remove the pain. He is scarcely awake after the operation and cries for joy, "I have no more pain!" His hand feels for mine and will not let go. Then I tell him and the others who are with him that it is the Lord Jesus who has told the doctor and his wife to come to Africa. I tell him about the white people in Europe who give money so that Africans may be made well; and we, black and white, sit side by side and feel that we know by experience the meaning of Jesus' words, "All of you are brothers."
I did not discuss doctrine with the missionaries, only how to increase practical Christianity among the natives. Eventually, however, I was invited to preach, and was released from my promise to the mission society. Some of the native pastors, trained by the missionaries, did protest my participation in their theological discussions, however, because, they said, I was a doctor and not a theologian as they were.
Even in Africa I had time for my music. At night I would work on further editions of Bach's music. To keep up my organ skills, the Bach Society had presented me with a piano built for the tropics and with a pedal attachment to simulate the footwork of an organ. I would work on one piece at a time, perfecting it for the day I would again be able to play the organ.
In 1914, war broke out. As we were Germans in a French colony, we were placed under house arrest, and for a time, prohibited even from the practice of medicine. When the natives heard about war in Europe, they felt it was senseless, for white men didn't even eat those they killed.
I, too, was questioning the progress of civilization. The only way out of chaos would be for civilization to adopt an attitude toward life built on ethical ideals. But what is that ethical foundation? It was this thought that continued to trouble me when I was released from house arrest and permitted to resume my medical duties.
Then came the trip up river, which I mentioned at the outset. The phrase "reverence for life" came to my mind. I came to see that the most immediate fact of our consciousness is the assertion, "I am life that wills to live." What is good, then, is what preserves life, promotes life, develops it to its fullest. And evil is what destroys life, injures life, represses development. And these ethical values relate to all life, not just to humans. This was the truth I had intuited as a child when my conscience resisted shooting birds.
Unfortunately, contempt for life characterizes our age. We wage wars, which no one wins, and bring suffering and death to millions of humans and animals, because we do not possess reverence for life. And because we do not possess it, everyone is afraid of everyone else. There is no remedy for our situation apart from reverence for life. I have come to the conviction that people are ethical only when life, as such, is sacred to them -- the life of plants and animals, as well as the life of human beings, and when they demonstrate that ethic by devoting themselves helpfully to all life that is in need of help. Sometimes we are forced to choose which forms of life, or even which individuals, are to be saved or destroyed, but the principle of maintaining and furthering all life is, nevertheless, valid. The ethical person destroys life only from necessity, never from thoughtlessness, and always with a profound sense of regret.
I suppose we have come full circle, at least for today. I began with how the concept of reverence for life came to me, and I have now developed what it means.
Perhaps it remains to recount briefly subsequent events of my life. We were eventually sent to France, and then repatriated to Germany in a prisoner exchange. When the war was over, I again had opportunity to lecture and to play the organ in concert, in order to accumulate money for our return to Africa. Thereafter, for decades, I would frequently return to Europe for lecture and concert tours, acquiring the funds which were so necessary for the operation of our hospital in Lambarene. I continued to write of our experiences in Africa, and of the thoughts which those experiences generated. Therefore, our work was brought to the attention of people around the world, and people everywhere contributed to the work. Consequently, our hospital became an expression of world-wide Christian compassion.
There are several thoughts I would like to leave with you that come out of my experience. For one thing, if God has given you a talent, cultivate it. Who knows what you may be able to do with it. Who would have thought that organ concerts, which brought so much joy of accomplishment to me, would have been turned into medicine and medical services for the needy of Africa?
Secondly, let me urge you to attempt bold things. Most of us have far more gifts than we give ourselves credit for. God has not been stingy in what he has provided; it is we who are stingy when we refuse to develop the gifts that have been given.
And finally, have reverence for life. If people will only begin to think about the mystery of their lives, and the links which connect them with the life that fills the world, they cannot help but experience a reverence for life and a feeling of oneness with all that lives. It is that sense of oneness that makes us moral, that gives us a sense of responsibility, not only for our human family, but for all God's creatures, and for the planet, which is our shared home. What each individual has to contribute is her or his own secret. But we all need to learn that our existence only attains its true value when we have experienced the truth of Jesus' declaration: "The one who loses his life for my sake will find it."
