Table of Contents
Foreword
Studs Terkel
Introduction
Jay Allison
Be Cool to the Pizza Dude
Sarah Adams
Leaving Identity Issues to Other Folks
Phyllis Allen
In Giving I Connect with Others
Isabel Allende
Remembering All the Boys
Elvia Bautista
The Mountain Disappears
Leonard Bernstein
How Is It Possible to Believe in God?
William F. Buckley, Jr.
The Fellowship of the World
Niven Busch
There is No Job More Important than Parenting
Benjamin Carson
A Journey toward Acceptance and Love
Greg Chapman
A Shared Moment of Trust
Warren Christopher
The Hardest Work You Will Ever Do
Mary Cook
Good Can Be as Communicable as Evil
Norman Corwin
A Daily Walk Just to Listen
Susan Cosio
The Elusive Yet Holy Core
Kathy Dahlen
My Father’s Evening Star
William O. Douglas
An Honest Doubter
Have I Learned Anything Important Since I Was Sixteen?
Elizabeth Deutsch Earle
An Ideal of Service to Our Fellow Man
Albert Einstein
The Power and Mystery of Naming Things
Eve Ensler
A Goal of Service to Humankind
Anthony Fauci
The God Who Embraced Me
John W. Fountain
Unleashing the Power of Creativity
Bill Gates
The People Who Love You When No One Else Will
Cecile Gilmer
TheWillingness to Work for Solutions
Newt Gingrich
The Connection between Strangers
Miles Goodwin
An Athlete of God
Martha Graham
Seeing in Beautiful, Precise Pictures
Temple Grandin
Disrupting My Comfort Zone
Brian Grazer
Science Nourishes the Mind and the Soul
Brian Greene
In Praise of the "Wobblies"
Ted Gup
The Power of Presence
Debbie Hall
A Grown-Up Barbie
Jane Hamill
Happy Talk
Oscar Hammerstein II
Natural Links in a Long Chain of Being
Victor Hanson
Talking with the Sun
Joy Harjo
A Morning Prayer in a Little Church
Helen Hayes
Our Noble, Essential Decency
Robert A. Heinlein
A New Birth of Freedom
Maximilian Hodder
The Benefits of Restlessness and Jagged Edges
Kay Redfield Jamison
There Is No God
Penn Jillette
A Duty to Heal
Pius Kamau
Living Life with "Grace and Elegant Treeness"
Ruth Kamps
The Light of a Brighter Day
Helen Keller
The Bright Lights of Freedom
Harold Hongju Koh
The Power of Love to Transform and Heal
Jackie Lantry
The Power of Mysteries
Alan Lightman
Life Grows in the Soil of Time
Thomas Mann
Why I Close My Restaurant
George Mardikian
The Virtues of the Quiet Hero
John McCain
The Joy and Enthusiasm of Reading
Rick Moody
There Is Such a Thing as Truth
Errol Morris
The Rule of Law
Michael Mullane
Getting Angry Can Be a Good Thing
Cecilia Muñoz
Mysterious Connection That Link Us Together
Azar Nafisi
The Making of Poems
Gregory Orr
We Are Each Other’s Business
Eboo Patel
The 50-Percent Theory of Life
Steve Porter
The America I Believe In
Colin Powell
The Real Consequences of Justice
Frederic Reamer
There Is More to Life than My Life
Jamaica Ritcher
Tomorrow Will Be a Better Day
Josh Rittenberg
Free Minds and Hearts at Work
Jackie Robinson
Growth That Starts from Thinking
Eleanor Roosevelt
The Artistry in Hidden Talents
Mel Rusnov
My Fellow Worms
Carl Sandburg
When Children Are Wanted
Margaret Sanger
Jazz Is the Sound of God Laughing
Colleen Shaddox
There Is No Such Thing as Too Much Barbecue
Jason Sheehan
The People Have Spoken
Mark Shields
Everything Potent Is Dangerous
Wallace Stegner
A Balance between Nature and Nurture
Gloria Steinem
Life, Liberty, and the Pursuit of Happiness
Andrew Sullivan
Always Go to the Funeral
Deirdre Sullivan
Finding Prosperity by Feeding Monkeys
Harold Taw
I Agree with a Pagan
Arnold Toynbee
Testing the Limits of What I Know and Feel
John Updike
How Do You Believe in a Mystery?
Loudon Wainwright III
Creative Solutions to Life’s Challenges
Frank X Walker
Goodness Doesn’t Just Happen
Rebecca West
When Ordinary People Achieve Extraordinary Things
Jody Williams
Afterword: The History of This I Believe: The Power of an Idea
Dan Gediman
Appendix A: Introduction to the 1950s This I Believe Radio Series
Edward R. Murrow
Appendix B: How to Write Your Own This I Believe Essay
Appendix C: How to Use This I Believe in Your Community
Acknowledgments
Read an Excerpt
ForewordStuds Terkel
“At a time when the tide runs toward a sure conformity, when dissent is often confused with subversion, when a man’s belief may be subject to investigation as well as his actions . . .”
It has the ring of a 2006 mayday call of distress, yet it was written in 1952. Ed Murrow, introducing an assemblage of voices in the volume This I Believe, sounded a claxon.
It is an old story yet ever-contemporary. In 1791, Tom Paine, the most eloquent visionary of the American Revo-lution, sounded off:
Freedom has been hunted around the globe; reason was considered as rebellion; and the slavery of fear made man afraid to think. But such is the irresistible nature of truth is that all it asks, and all it wants, is the liberty of appearing . . . In such a situation, man becomes what he ought to be. He sees his species not with the inhuman idea of a natural enemy, but as kindred . . .
It is the pursuit of this truth that appears to be the common tenor of all the voices you hear in this new volume.
We need not dwell on the old question: What is truth? What you see with your own eyes may differ from the received official truth. So old Pilate had only one decision to make: find the man guilty or he, the judge, will be sent back to the boondocks. Pilate did what any well-behaved hack would do. Though he had his hands scrubbed and rub-a-dub-dubbed with Ivory soap, 99.44% pure, he could not erase the awful truth of the dirt on his hands. Though Pilate’s wife pleaded for a show of mercy, he made an objective decision.
In our time, James Cameron, the nonpareil of British journalism, dealt with the matter in his own way.“I cannot remember how often I’ve been challenged for disregarding the fundamental tenet of honest journalism, which is objectivity.”
His bearing witness in North Vietnam during that war convinced him, despite all official Washington arguments to the contrary, that North Vietnam was inhabited by human beings. He was condemned for being non-objective and having a point of view. Cameron confesses, “I may not have always been satisfactorily balanced; I always tended to argue that objectivity was of less importance than the truth.”
Errol Morris, film documentarian, who appears in this book, shares the obstinancy of Cameron: “Truth is not relative. . . . It may be elusive or hidden. People may wish to disregard it. But there is such a thing as truth.” What really possesses Morris is the pursuit of the truth: “Trying to figure out what has really happened, trying to figure out how things really are.”
The chase is what it’s all about. The quarry is, as always, the truth.
On a small patch of Sag Harbor dirt is a simple stone easily passed by. Nelson Algren is buried there and his epitaph is simple: “The journey is all.”
Andrew Sullivan, editor of The New Republic, who appears in this volume, has a similar vision. He and Algren may have differed considerably in their political views, yet here, as to fundamental belief, they were as one. “I believe in the pursuit of happiness. Not its attainment, nor its final definition, but its pursuit.”
I’d be remiss with no mention of Helen Keller, whose vision we saw and whose voice we heard fifty years ago, a deaf, dumb, and blind child. It was her sense of wonder and her pursuit of truth which she saw much more clearly than sighted people, and heard much more clearly than hearing folk. They were voices in need throughout the world she heard so vividly. Above all it was her faith that the human being was better than his/her behavior.
What I believe is a compote of these ingredients. Yes I do have a point of view which I express much too frequently, I suspect. And yet there’s always that uncertainty. In all my adventures among hundreds of Americans I have discovered that the rule of thumb does not work. I’ve been astonished too often by those I’ve visited: ordinary Americans, who at times, are extraordinary in their insights and dreams.
I find the labels “liberal” and “conservative” of little meaning. Our language has become perverted along with the thoughts of many of us.
“Liberal” according to any dictionary is defined as the freedom to speak out, no matter what the official word may be, and the right to defend all others who speak out whether or not they agree with you. “Conservative” is the word I’ve always associated with conserving our environment from pollution, ensuring that our water is potable and our grass green. So I declare myself a radical conservative. Radical, as in getting to the root of things. Pasteur was a radical. Semmelweiss was a radical. “Wash your hands,” he declared to doctors and nurses. He may have wound up in a nuthouse, but he pursued the truth, found it, and saved untold millions of lives. I am a conservative in that I’m out to conserve the blue of the sky, the freshness of the air of which we have less and less, the First Amendment of the Bill of Rights, and whatever semblance of sanity we may have left. As for faith, I’ve always called myself an agnostic. Were Ambrose Bierce alive today, he would no doubt have added to his Devil’s Dictionary: “An agnostic is a cowardly atheist.” Perhaps. But perhaps I do believe there is a God deposited in each of us ever since the Big Bang.
I secretly envy those who believe in the hereafter and with it the idea that they may once again meet dear ones. They cannot prove beyond a reasonable doubt that there is such a place. Neither can I disprove it. I cannot find the bookmaker willing to take my bet on it. How will one who guesses right be able to collect his winnings? So speaking on behalf of the bookies of the world, all bets are off.
Maybe the poet Keats was right after all in the “Ode on a Grecian Urn.” He envied the fortunate youth who is forever chasing his love, never quite catching her. The pursuit is all.
And yet there is something which I believe with no uncertainty. There is something we can do while we’re alive and breathing on this planet. It is to become an activist in this pursuit of a world in which it would be easier for people to behave decently. (I am paraphrasing Dorothy Day, who founded the Catholic Worker Movement.)
Being an activist is self-explanatory: you act; you take part in something outside yourself. You join with others, who may astonish you in thinking precisely as you do on the subjects, say, of war, civil liberties, human rights.
My belief came into being during the most traumatic moment in American history, the Great Depression of the 1930s. I remember seeing pots and pans and bedsteads and mattresses on the sidewalks. A family had just been evicted and there was an individual cry of despair, multiplied by millions. But that community had a number of people on that very block, electricians and plumbers and carpenters, who appeared that very evening, and moved the household goods back into the flat where they had been. They turned on the gas, they fixed the plumbing. It was a community in action accomplishing something.
Albert Einstein once observed that westerners have a feeling the individual loses his freedom if he joins, say, a union or any group. Precisely the opposite is the case. Once you join others, even though at first your mission fails, you become a different person, a much stronger one. You feel that you really count, you discover your strength as an individual because you have along the way discovered others share in what you believe, you are not alone; and thus a community is formed. I am paraphrasing Einstein. I love to do that; nobody dares contradict me.
So, my credo consists of the pursuit and the act. One without the other is self-indulgence. This I believe.
Copyright © 2006 by This I Believe, Inc. All rights reserved.
Read a Sample Chapter
This I Believe
By
Henry Holt and Co.
ISBN: 0805080872
Foreword
Studs Terkel
"At a time when the tide runs toward a sure conformity, when dissent is often confused with subversion, when a man's belief may be subject to investigation as well as his actions . . ."
It has the ring of a 2006 mayday call of distress, yet it was written in 1952. Ed Murrow, introducing an assemblage of voices in the volume This I Believe, sounded a claxon.
It is an old story yet ever-contemporary. In 1791, Tom Paine, the most eloquent visionary of the American Revo-lution, sounded off:
Freedom has been hunted around the globe; reason was considered as rebellion; and the slavery of fear made man afraid to think. But such is the irresistible nature of truth is that all it asks, and all it wants, is the liberty of appearing . . . In such a situation, man becomes what he ought to be. He sees his species not with the inhuman idea of a natural enemy, but as kindred . . .
It is the pursuit of this truth that appears to be the common tenor of all the voices you hear in this new volume.
We need not dwell on the old question: What is truth? What you see with your own eyes may differ from the received official truth. So old Pilate had only one decision to make: find the man guilty or he, the judge, will be sent back to the boondocks. Pilate did what any well-behaved hack would do. Though he had his hands scrubbed and rub-a-dub-dubbed with Ivory soap, 99.44%pure, he could not erase the awful truth of the dirt on his hands. Though Pilate's wife pleaded for a show of mercy, he made an objective decision.
In our time, James Cameron, the nonpareil of British journalism, dealt with the matter in his own way. "I cannot remember how often I've been challenged for disregarding the fundamental tenet of honest journalism, which is objectivity."
His bearing witness in North Vietnam during that war convinced him, despite all official Washington arguments to the contrary, that North Vietnam was inhabited by human beings. He was condemned for being non-objective and having a point of view. Cameron confesses, "I may not have always been satisfactorily balanced; I always tended to argue that objectivity was of less importance than the truth."
Errol Morris, film documentarian, who appears in this book, shares the obstinancy of Cameron: "Truth is not relative. . . . It may be elusive or hidden. People may wish to disregard it. But there is such a thing as truth." What really possesses Morris is the pursuit of the truth: "Trying to figure out what has really happened, trying to figure out how things really are."
The chase is what it's all about. The quarry is, as always, the truth.
On a small patch of Sag Harbor dirt is a simple stone easily passed by. Nelson Algren is buried there and his epitaph is simple: "The journey is all."
Andrew Sullivan, editor of The New Republic, who appears in this volume, has a similar vision. He and Algren may have differed considerably in their political views, yet here, as to fundamental belief, they were as one. "I believe in the pursuit of happiness. Not its attainment, nor its final definition, but its pursuit."
I'd be remiss with no mention of Helen Keller, whose vision we saw and whose voice we heard fifty years ago, a deaf, dumb, and blind child. It was her sense of wonder and her pursuit of truth which she saw much more clearly than sighted people, and heard much more clearly than hearing folk. They were voices in need throughout the world she heard so vividly. Above all it was her faith that the human being was better than his/her behavior.
What I believe is a compote of these ingredients. Yes I do have a point of view which I express much too frequently, I suspect. And yet there's always that uncertainty. In all my adventures among hundreds of Americans I have discovered that the rule of thumb does not work. I've been astonished too often by those I've visited: ordinary Americans, who at times, are extraordinary in their insights and dreams.
I find the labels "liberal" and "conservative" of little meaning. Our language has become perverted along with the thoughts of many of us.
"Liberal" according to any dictionary is defined as the freedom to speak out, no matter what the official word may be, and the right to defend all others who speak out whether or not they agree with you. "Conservative" is the word I've always associated with conserving our environment from pollution, ensuring that our water is potable and our grass green. So I declare myself a radical conservative. Radical, as in getting to the root of things. Pasteur was a radical. Semmelweiss was a radical. "Wash your hands," he declared to doctors and nurses. He may have wound up in a nuthouse, but he pursued the truth, found it, and saved untold millions of lives. I am a conservative in that I'm out to conserve the blue of the sky, the freshness of the air of which we have less and less, the First Amendment of the Bill of Rights, and whatever semblance of sanity we may have left. As for faith, I've always called myself an agnostic. Were Ambrose Bierce alive today, he would no doubt have added to his Devil's Dictionary: "An agnostic is a cowardly atheist." Perhaps. But perhaps I do believe there is a God deposited in each of us ever since the Big Bang.
I secretly envy those who believe in the hereafter and with it the idea that they may once again meet dear ones. They cannot prove beyond a reasonable doubt that there is such a place. Neither can I disprove it. I cannot find the bookmaker willing to take my bet on it. How will one who guesses right be able to collect his winnings? So speaking on behalf of the bookies of the world, all bets are off.
Maybe the poet Keats was right after all in the "Ode on a Grecian Urn." He envied the fortunate youth who is forever chasing his love, never quite catching her. The pursuit is all.
And yet there is something which I believe with no uncertainty. There is something we can do while we're alive and breathing on this planet. It is to become an activist in this pursuit of a world in which it would be easier for people to behave decently. (I am paraphrasing Dorothy Day, who founded the Catholic Worker Movement.)
Being an activist is self-explanatory: you act; you take part in something outside yourself. You join with others, who may astonish you in thinking precisely as you do on the subjects, say, of war, civil liberties, human rights.
My belief came into being during the most traumatic moment in American history, the Great Depression of the 1930s. I remember seeing pots and pans and bedsteads and mattresses on the sidewalks. A family had just been evicted and there was an individual cry of despair, multiplied by millions. But that community had a number of people on that very block, electricians and plumbers and carpenters, who appeared that very evening, and moved the household goods back into the flat where they had been. They turned on the gas, they fixed the plumbing. It was a community in action accomplishing something.
Albert Einstein once observed that westerners have a feeling the individual loses his freedom if he joins, say, a union or any group. Precisely the opposite is the case. Once you join others, even though at first your mission fails, you become a different person, a much stronger one. You feel that you really count, you discover your strength as an individual because you have along the way discovered others share in what you believe, you are not alone; and thus a community is formed. I am paraphrasing Einstein. I love to do that; nobody dares contradict me.
So, my credo consists of the pursuit and the act. One without the other is self-indulgence. This I believe.
Copyright 2006 by This I Believe, Inc. All rights reserved.
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