“Love anything enough and it will reveal its secrets to you.” So said George Washington Carver, one of the world’s greatest of scientists, yet most modest of men.
Glenn Clark, who authored a small biography on the life of this noble man, writes about the Oracle of Delphi responding to the inquiry, “Who is the world’s wisest man?”
“Socrates,” answered the Oracle, “as he knows that he knows nothing.”
This encapsulates the stance of George Washington Carver. Literally, he never knew his parents; he didn’t know what name they had given him; he didn’t know when he was born. But, most importantly, he made no claim that the wondrous discoveries he offered the world came from his own genius, but only that they came from “Mr. Creator,” his affectionate name for God.
During the Civil War, sometimes southern raiders would break into and plunder the plantations of their countrymen and carry off the slaves. When this happened to Moses Carver, a plantation owner, he immediately gathered a rescue party, pursued the rogues and overtook them. However, one of the captive slave women, who had recently borne a child, disappeared and was never seen again.
As a God-fearing man, Moses Carver raised the baby and his brother among his own family. As the baby grew and developed, the Carvers decided to name the little boy something that reflected his unfolding character. Even as a small child, he had one remarkable trait: unflinching honesty. Thus, they called him George Washington after another famous youngster who couldn’t tell a lie.
During his boyhood, George was a sickly child stemming from a severe bout with whooping cough he suffered as a baby, shortly after being rescued by Carver. Therefore, he was assigned only light household chores and afforded leisure and opportunities to wander and investigate the animals and insects in the forest, and to gain personal knowledge of the plants and flowers. Someone discovered George had even established a small botanical garden in the woods where he cultivated all kinds of curious plants and exercised such skill in the care of them that he became known as the “plant doctor.” Today, we would call him the “Plant Whisperer.”
As a growing boy, he didn’t have much formal education, but instead passed hours, days, weeks in the woods providing keen observation, intricate caring, constant watchfulness to the life forms all around him. But, one day, he happened upon an old speller and taught himself to read, which opened up for him the world of books.
He then read prodigiously whatever he could get his hands on. He also loved music and taught himself to play the piano. And even as a lad, he loved to paint the beautiful flowers and plants he encountered in the forest on his walks and talks with Mr. Creator.
Through his trust in God and his obvious giftedness, he eventually gained a university education. However, it was first his question posed to Mr. Creator, “Please ... will you tell me why the peanut was made?” and his loving response of pouring out earnest care and attention upon this common legume, that opened out 300 new uses — “face powder, printer’s ink, butter, shampoo, … vinegar, dandruff cure, instant coffee, dyes, … soaps, salads, wood stains,” etc. Later, he lovingly called forth 150 new uses for the simple sweet potato.
With these initiatives, he greatly helped to save the agriculture of the entire South that was wholly dependent on cotton, which was depleting the soil and worsening the poverty of share croppers.
His whole life gave witness to the truth that deep, integral knowledge proceeds from love. Love invites the door to open, loosens the tangled knots of constricting conflict, liberates myopic focus and weaves together the disparate threads of unseen possibilities. This kind of love — his watching, waiting, wooing — can set free the secrets of fawns or flowers, peanuts or porpoises, sheep or soils, or you and I.
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