My one text would be: "Ye shall know the truth and the truth shall
make you free." I do not know how big truth is, but it must be quite
extensive if science, mathematics, history, and literature are but
small parts of it. I have never explored these parts very far
inland, but they seem to my limited gaze to extend a long distance
before me; and when I get to thinking that each of these is but a
part of something that is called truth I begin to feel that truth is
a pretty large affair. I suspect the text means that the more of
this truth we know the greater freedom we have. My friend Brown has
an automobile, and sometimes he takes me out riding. On one of these
occasions we had a puncture, with the usual attendant circumstances.
While Brown made the needful repairs, I sat upon the grassy bank.
The passers-by probably regarded me as a lazy chap who disdained work
of all sorts, and perhaps thought of me as enjoying myself while
Brown did the work. In this they were grossly mistaken, for Brown
was having the good time, while I was bored and uncomfortable. Why,
Brown actually whistled as he repaired that puncture. He had freedom
because he knew which tool to use, where to find it, and how to use
it. But there I sat in ignorance and thraldom--not knowing the truth
about the tools or the processes.

In the presence of that episode I felt like one in a foreign country
who is ignorant of the language, while Brown was the concierge who
understands many languages. He knew the truth and so had freedom. I
have often wondered whether men do not sometimes get drunk to win a
respite from the thraldom and boredom of their ignorance of the
truth. It must be a very trying experience not to understand the
language that is spoken all about one. I have something of that
feeling when I go into a drug-store and find myself in complete