Math and Religion

Sermon copyright (c) 2025 Dan Harper. As delivered to First Parish in Cohasset. The sermon as delivered contained substantial improvisation. The text below has too many typographical errors, missing words, etc., because I didn’t have time to make the necessary corrections.

Readings

The first reading was an excerpt from the essay “A Mindful Beauty” by the mathematician Joel E. Cohen, from the September, 2009, issue of American Scholar.

“My grade-school education in mathematics included a strict prohibition against mixing apples and oranges. As an adult buying fruit, I often find it convenient to mix the two. If the price of each is the same, the arithmetic works out well. The added thrill of doing something forbidden, like eating dessert first, comes free. In any case, the prohibition against combining apples and oranges falls away as soon as we care about what two subjects, different in some respects, have in common.

“I want to mix apples and oranges by insisting on the important features shared by poetry and applied mathematics. Poetry and applied mathematics both mix apples and oranges by aspiring to combine multiple meanings and beauty using symbols. These symbols point to things outside themselves, and create internal structures that aim for beauty. In addition to meanings conveyed by patterned symbols, poetry and applied mathematics have in common both economy and mystery. A few symbols convey a great deal. The symbols’ full meanings and their effectiveness in creating meanings and beauty remain inexhaustible….

“The differences between poetry and applied mathematics coexist with shared strategies for symbolizing experiences. Understanding those commonalities makes poetry a point of entry into understanding the heart of applied mathematics, and makes applied mathematics a point of entry into understanding the heart of poetry. With this understanding, both poetry and applied mathematics become points of entry into understanding others and ourselves as animals who make and use symbols.”

The second reading was from the poem “Equation” by Caroline Caddy:

…working through difficult equations
was like walking
in a pure and beautiful landscape —
the numbers glowing
like works of art….

The third reading was from a letter written by Albert Einstein, as printed in Albert Einstein, the Human Side: New Glimpses from His Archives (Princeton Univ. Press, 1979):

“If something is in me which can be called religious then it is the unbounded admiration for the structure of the world so far as our science can reveal it.”

Sermon: “Math and Religion”

In honor of Pi Day, which was yesterday, I’d like to talk this morning about the connection of mathematics and religion. The right-wing Christians who make so much noise these days keep trying to tell us that religion has nothing to do with either math or science. But the connection between mathematics and religion in Western culture predates Christianity, and goes back to the ancient Greeks.

The first great mathematician in Western culture was Pythagoras. Pythagoras is best known today for the theorem known as the Pythagorean theorem: in a right triangle, the square of the hypotenuse is equal to the squares of the two other sides. But Pythagoras was not just a mathematician. He also founded a religious community, which was remarkable for combining serious mathematical and scientific inquiry with some fairly strange religious beliefs.

Pythagoras was born in Greece, on the island of Samos. As a young man, he traveled around the Mediterranean Sea seeking learning and wisdom. He supposedly learned arithmetic from the Phoenicians, geometry from the Egyptians, and astronomy from the Chaldeans. He also learned some interesting religious rituals. Tradition tells us that the Egyptians didn’t want to teach him about geometry, so to dissuade him they made him follow strict religious rituals. But Pythagoras wanted to learn the secrets of geometry, and followed all the rituals carefully. So Pythagoras learned his math and science along with religious ritual.(1) Mind you, religion was not the same as it is today.(2) Rather than being focused on personal belief in a transcendent god, religion primarily consisted of ritual, most of promoted social cohesion.

In addition, much of what passed for scientific investigation in that time took place in what we would call religious communities. This actually makes a lot of sense. If you want to gather enough data to be able to predict eclipses — one of the major scientific achievements in Pythagoras’s day, and one which he was directly involved in — then you need a stable community that can support people who spend their time observing the night sky; a community that can collect and safely store data over fairly long periods of time; and a community that brings together people who learn from one another and strive together for the truth. In fact, this kind of community still lies at the root of scientific and mathematical progress. If you’re doing math or science, you have to be in a community of peers that can review your work; that’s how scientific progress happens. Pythagoras not only learned in such communities, he brought the concept back to Greece, and founded his own religious community.

The Pythagorean community was governed by a set of rules, such as the rule prohibiting the consumption of beans.(3) Pythagoras was convinced of the transmigration of souls, and he thought the movement of souls took place through bean plants. There mix of “semi-scientific observation” with superstition sounds alien to us today, but as one scholar puts it, “a network of cleverly designed reasons, with the doctrine of the transmigration of souls at its center, held the whole system together….”(4) Today we would not call this science, but it does represent the beginnings of science.

And the Pythagorean community managed to come up with some pretty interesting discoveries in math and science. The Pythagorean community discovered the connection between numbers and music; predicted eclipses; developed the idea of numbers as shapes, as in the square of a number or the cube of a number; and with the Pythagorean theorem helped lay the foundations for geometrical proof later perfected by Euclid. Finally, Pythagoras is supposed to have said that “all things are numbers,” which in a generous interpretation resembles the way science today uses mathematics to model reality.(5)

Also noteworthy is that the Pythagorean community admitted women as members.(6) By today’s standards we would doubtless consider the Pythagorean community to be hopelessly sexist, but by the standards of their day they were unbelievably progressive. Women in the Pythagorean community contributed to the theoretical work of the community, and wrote their own treatises. This may be the earliest recognition that women have just as much to contribute to math and science as men; a fact that certain elements in today’s scientific and mathematical communities are still trying to accommodate themselves to.(7)

We also get our word “theory” from the ancient Greek word “theoria.” For the Pythagorean community, “theoria” meant a kind of “passionate sympathetic contemplation” that came out of mathematical knowledge; it represented a kind of “ecstatic revelation.”(8) While I am not especially adept at mathematics, this does describe the feeling I’ve gotten at times when I’ve finally managed to follow a proof of a challenging theory — a very satisfying feeling that comes upon perceiving something that’s really true and good and beautiful and unchanging. Right-wing Christians would be horrified to hear me say this, but this is indeed a kind of religious experience.

This brings me to Kurt Godel, the next mathematician I’d like to talk about. You may have heard of Godel from the bestselling book Godel, Escher and Bach: An Eternal Golden Braid, written in 1979 by Douglas Hofstader. However, I first encountered Godel in 1981 when I took an introductory course in mathematical logic. This class was designed to give us enough background so that we could follow the proof of Kurt Godel’s famous incompleteness theorems.

I remember being blown away by the implications of Godel’s incompleteness theorems. The first incompleteness theorem can be summarized like this: “Any consistent formal system F within which a certain amount of elementary arithmetic can be carried out is incomplete; i.e., there are statements of the language of F which can neither be proved nor disproved in F.”(9) What I took from Godel was this: that within a logically consistent system like arithmetic, you have to accept some statements that cannot be proven within that system. And even though you might be able to construct another logically consistent theorem that would allow you to prove those unproved axioms, there would be other axioms that you couldn’t prove within that second system.

Godel’s theorems obviously have implications for mathematics, but Godel himself believed that they had also implications for all human thought. John W. Dawson, a mathematician and biographer of Godel, put it this way, quoting in part from one of Godel’s lectures:

“[Godel] believed [there was] a disjunction of philosophical alternatives. Either ‘the working of the human mind cannot be reduced to the working of the brain, which to all appearances is a finite machine,’ or else ‘mathematical objects and facts … exist objectively and independently of our mental acts and decisions.’ Those alternatives were not … mutually exclusive. Indeed, Godel was firmly convinced of the truth of both.”(10)

If Godel was correct, this becomes very interesting. First, if the human mind is indeed something more than the workings of the brain, what is that something more? Perhaps this is no unlike what the ancient Pythagoreans called “soul.” We Unitarian Universalists affirm the inherent worthiness and dignity of every personality. In this sense, we agree with Godel that human beings, and other sentient beings, are something more than mere machines.

Second, if mathematical objects exist objectively and independently of our mental acts, what does that mean for science? Most of us these days believe that mathematics is useful because it creates models to help us understand the physical world. We typically believe that the greatness of the mathematics in Einstein’s theory of relativity, for example, is that the mathematics helps us understand observations made in real world scientific experiments. But Godel understood mathematical objects to have an independent existence. Since they are not bound to things in the real world, these pure mathematical objects are not perceived through the usual senses. We intuit them directly, through our minds. Compare this to Ralph Waldo Emerson. Emerson, a Unitarian who remains the biggest single influence on , was a Transcendentalist who said that we could directly apprehend truth and beauty. Thus, we Unitarian Universalists are like Godel in that we have a tendency to think that we can apprehend truth directly with our minds.

This brings me to the third and last mathematician I’d like to talk about: Karen Uhlenbeck, a Unitarian Universalist who also happens to be one of the greatest of living mathematicians. Uhlenbeck received a MacArthur “genius grant” in 1982, and in 2019 became the first woman to win the Abel Prize, the most prestigious prize in mathematics. The Abel award cited Uhlenbeck for “her pioneering achievements in geometric partial differential equations, gauge theory and integrable systems, and for the fundamental impact of her work on analysis, geometry and mathematical physics.”(12)

Sadly, I don’t have the background to understand Uhlenbeck’s mathematical achievements.(13) I did discover, however, that she has spoken about the connection between mathematics and introspection, and between mathematics and community. Both introspection and community are characteristic of Unitarian Universalist notions of religion, and I wondered if this might represent a connection between mathematics and religion.

Not long after she was announced as the winner of the Abel Prize, Uhlenbeck was asked if she though success in mathematics is partly due to concentration. She replied, “I think you can’t do mathematics without the ability to concentrate. But also, that’s where the fun is, the rest of the world fades away and it’s you and the mathematics.” In that same interview, Uhlenbeck said: “You struggle with a problem, it can be over a period of years, and you suddenly get some insight. You’re suddenly seeing it from a different point of view and you say: ‘My goodness, it has to be like that.’ You may think all along that it has to be like that, but you don’t see why, and then suddenly at some moment you see why it is true….”(14)

To me, the way Uhlenbeck describes what it feels like to solve mathematical problems sounds similar to how people who have meditation or mindfulness practices describe their epxeriences. The process goes something like this: you concentrate, and the world fades away, and it’s just you and something beyond yourself. Then, if you concentrate long enough, you may have an “aha” experience that really feels out of the ordinary, where you feel like you’ve seen something new and (dare I say it) beautiful. So I emailed Uhlenbeck to ask if she thought there was a similarity between doing math and doing meditation. She replied, in part: “When I try to meditate, I usually end up thinking about math. They are very similar.”(15)

Indeed, this experience occurs in many different pursuits. In the first two readings, mathematician Joel E. Cohen and poet Caroline Caddy both find a deep connection between poetry and mathematics, because both “create internal structures that aim for beauty.”(16) In these kinds of experiences, we use symbols to help us perceive the beauty and order of the universe. The poets and mathematicians have the original insights, and then we ordinary folks can experience some of the same wonder by following the mathematical proof, or reading the poem, or reading one of Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essays. Although right-wing Christians would disagree, I would call these religious experiences.

Mathematics and religion are also connected in that human community is central to both. Most obviously for mathematics, when a mathematician thinks they have done some original work in mathematics, they have to write it up and publish it so that their work can be reviewed by other mathematicians. Individual mathematicians may work alone, but overall mathematical progress happens in community, as mathematicians check each other’s work, and then build upon the work of others.

Religion also requires human community, for much the same reasons. Take Ralph Waldo Emerson as an example. Emerson had one or two insights on religious matters, and wrote them up in an essay he titled “Nature.” When he first published the essay, some people thought it was brilliant and others thought it was garbage. Over time and after much discussion, a consensus arose that Emerson really had come up with some genuine insights into religion. Still others came along and extended Emerson’s insights, including people like Henry David Thoreau.(17) Emerson’s new ideas first had to be carefully considered by a human community, and then extended by other people.

Karen Uhlenbeck refers aspect of human community in an interview. When Uhlenbeck was doing postdoctoral work at the University of California in Berkeley in the 1960s, she found herself in the midst of tumultuous political activity concerning the Vietnam War, women’s rights, and so on. Uhlenbeck had always thought of mathematics as somehow separate from politics. But, she told an interviewer, “I was startled to see the politics appear in the math department. It was eye-opening to me… up until that time I had seen mathematics as a very bookish thing and that what went on in the mathematical community had nothing to do with the life out there on the streets, and this is not true.” In other words, Uhlenbeck realized that mathematics is a human activity that’s done by humans. This means that “all of what goes on between humans appears in the mathematics community, perhaps toned down quite a bit, but it’s not a world of pure brains, people behaving rationally and unemotionally.” (18)

One of the very human problems in the mathematics community that Uhlenbeck became aware of was that nearly all mathematicians were men. She told one interviewer, “if I had been five years older, I could not have become a mathematician because disapproval would be so strong.”(19) Thus while human community is necessary, human community also has problems that must be addressed. If you’re a mathematician, you can’t just take the human community for granted, you have to be willing to confront the faults and problems of that human community. Obviously, the same is true for any human community, including religious communities.

In today’s world, we have a strong tendency to separate religion from mathematics and science. Yet by so doing, I think we place unwarranted restrictions on religion. The right-wing Christians are wrong — religion, religious experience and activity, can not be restricted to the very narrow sphere of personal belief in a transcendent god. Religion includes the introspection that occurs not only in meditation and centering prayer and mindfulness practice, but also introspection of doing math and science. Religion and mathematics can both result in ecstatic experiences that come when you gain insight into truth. Both religion and mathematics are rooted in human community. And while you, personally, may not have ecstatic experiences or pursue introspective practices, yet as a part of a human community we accept the differences between us, and try to lrean from those differences.

Notes

(1) Christopher Riedwig, Pythagoras: His Life, Teaching, and Influence, p. 8.
(2) See, e.g., Brent Nongbri, Before Religion: A History of Modern Concept, Yale Univ. Press, 2013.
(3) Bertrand Russell, The History of Western Philosopy, p. 32.
(4) Riedwig, p. 71.
(5) Russell, p. 35.
(6) Much of what follows is taken from Sarah B. Pomeroy, Pythagorean Women: Their History and Writings, Johns Hopkins Univ. Press, 2013.
(7) See, for example, the 2005 remarks of Lawrence Summers, then president of Harvard University. According to the Harvard Crimson, “Summers’ Comments of Women and Science Draw Ire” (14 Jan. 2005, article by Daniel J. Hemel), Summer said “the under-representation of female scientists at elite universities may stem in part from ‘innate’ differences between men and women….” Admittedly, this is not precisely what Summers said, but for a good discussion of the implications of Summers’s remarks, see “What Larry Summers Said — and Didn’t Say,” Swarthmore College Bulletin, Jan. 2009, article signed “D.M.,” available online: https://www.swarthmore.edu/bulletin/archive/wp/january-2009_what-larry-summers-said-and-didnt-say.html
(8) Russell, p. 33. The OED says that “theoria” refers to contemplation, including the contemplation of beauty.
(9) Panu Raatikainen, “Godel’s Incompleteness Theorems,” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy (Spring 2022 ed.), ed. Edward N. Zalta, https://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2022/entries/goedel-incompleteness/ accessed 15 March 2025. For an explanation of both Godel’s proof, and its implications, designed for the intelligent layperson, see: Ernest Nagel and James R. Newman, Godel’s Proof, New York Univ. Press, 1958; this book is available to read online at the Internet Archive: https://archive.org/details/gdelsproof00nage/page/n5/mode/2up
(10) John W. Dawson Jr., Logical Dilemmas: The Life and Work of Kurt Godel, p. 198.
(12) Isaac Chotiner, “A Groundbreaking Mathematician on the Gender Politics of Her Field,” New Yorker, 28 March 2019.
(13) For those who do have the background to understand Uhlenbeck’s work, a discussion of her achievements in variational problems in differential geometry is freely available online in Simon Donaldson, “Karen Uhlenbeck and the Calculus of Variations,” Notices of the American Mathematical Society, March 2019, pp. 303-313 DOI: https://doi.org/10.1090/noti1806. There may well be other such technical summaries available online and not hidden behind paywalls.
(14) Bjørn Ian Dundas and Christian Skau, “Interview with Abel Laureate Karen Uhlenbeck,” Notices of the American Mathematical Society, March 2020 [reprint of an interview originally published in Newsletter of the European Mathematical Society, September 2019], p. 400.
(15) Karen Uhlenbeck, personal communication, 11 Feb. 2025.
(16) Joel E. Cohen, “A Mindful Beauty,” American Scholar, September 2009.
(17) As an aside on Emerson: In his book The American Evasion of Philosophy (Univ. of Wisconsin, 1989), Cornell West argues that Emerson also lies at the root of the American philosophical tradition: “The fundamental argument of this book is that the evasion of epistemology-centered philosophy — from Emerson to Rorty — results in a conception of philosophy as a form of cultural criticism in which the meaning of America is put forward by intellectuals in response to distinct social and cultural crises.” (p. 5) Our Unitarian Universalist religious tradition is directly influenced by this philosophical tradition.
(18) Isaac Chotiner, “A Groundbreaking Mathematician on the Gender Politics of Her Field,” New Yorker, 28 March 2019.
(19) Ibid. A side note: To help inspire more young women to go into mathematics, Uhlenbeck wrote an essay for the book Journeys of Women in Science and Engineering: No Universal Constants, ed. Susan A. Ambrose, Temple Univ. Press, 1997, pp. 395 ff.; this essay is freely available on her website here: https://web.ma.utexas.edu/users/uhlen/vita/pers.html.

Visual of text and mathematical formulae.
An excerpt from Simon Donaldson’s article mentioned in the Notes.

Inner peace

Sermon copyright (c) 2025 Dan Harper. As delivered to First Parish in Cohasset. The sermon as delivered contained substantial improvisation. The text below may have typographical errors, missing words, etc., because I didn’t have time to make any corrections.

Readings

The first reading was from a commentary on Psalm 23 by Rabbi Adin Steinsaltz. This is an interpretation of the phrase, “He restores my soul.”

“The root of the Hebrew word yeshovev, translated here as ‘He restores,’ sometimes means ‘to grant rest,’ but its basic meaning is ‘to return.’ When one’s soul is troubled or worried, it is not at peace, as though it is not in its natural place, but distanced and dislocated. When the soul returns to its true place, the result is inner peace.

The second reading was from the Confucian classic, The Great Learning, translated by A. Charles Muller, professor emeritus of the University of Tokyo:

The way of great learning consists in manifesting one’s bright virtue, consists in loving the people, consists in stopping in perfect goodness.
When you know where to stop, you have stability.
When you have stability, you can be tranquil.
When you are tranquil, you can be at ease.
When you are at ease, you can deliberate.
When you can deliberate you can attain your aims.
Things have their roots and branches, affairs have their end and beginning. When you know what comes first and what comes last, then you are near the Way [of the Great Learning].

The third reading was “The Peace of Wild Things,” a poem by Wendell Berry:

When despair for the world grows in me
and I wake in the night at the least sound
in fear of what my life and my children’s lives may be,
I go and lie down where the wood drake
rests in his beauty on the water, and the great heron feeds.
I come into the peace of wild things
who do not tax their lives with forethought
of grief. I come into the presence of still water.
And I feel above me the day-blind stars
waiting with their light. For a time
I rest in the grace of the world, and am free.

Sermon: “Inner Peace”

For us Unitarian Universalists, the third reading this morning, the poem “The Peace of Wild Things” by Wendell Berry, might be one of our most popular visions of how we might achieve inner peace. The poem tells us that when we are overwhelmed by despair and fear, we should go outside, find a pond where wild ducks and heron live, and there we can find peace.

This poem reminds me of the book Walden by Henry David Thoreau. Walden tells the story of how Thoreau went and spent two years living next to Walden Pond, a small deep pond of clear still water. There’s a back story to Thoreau’s stay at Walden Pond. While he lived there, he was writing a book about a boat trip he and his brother had taken some years before. His brother had died of tetanus a couple of years before Thoreau went to live at Walden. I’ve always imagined that part of the purpose behind living right next to a pond “where the wood drake / rests in his beauty on the water” was to allow Thoreau to regain the inner peace that had been overwhelmed by his brother’s sudden death at a young age.

Nor is this idea of finding peace in wild places limited to Wendell Berry and Henry Thoreau. Many of us in this congregation will say that when we need respite from the cacophony of current events and the stress of day to day life, we take a walk in the woods. We are lucky here on the South Shore that even though we live in an area with a high density of human population, we also have lots of relatively wild places where we can “come into the peace of wild things / who do not tax their lives with forethought / of grief.”

As much as I personally like going outside to seek the peace of wild things (as Wendell Berry puts it), there are people for whom it doesn’t necessarily work to seek inner peace by being out in Nature. Some people just don’t find it peaceful to spend spend time outdoors. Then there are those who find it difficult to get outdoors, due to health or mobility limitations. There are also those who, because of our work or school schedules, find it difficult to get out into wild places except on weekends or holidays. What Wendell Berry calls “the peace of wild things” is one of my favorite ways to seek inner peace; but there can be times when it’s hard to do, and even though it works for me, it doesn’t work for everyone.

This is going to be a theme for the first part of this sermon: There are many techniques for finding inner peace. But since we are all different, some techniques will work well for some people, but not others. And since we all change over time, a technique that works for you now might not work for you a few years from now; or a technique that didn’t work for you in the past might work for you now; or you might have a technique that you like but you just don’t have the time you need to devote to it right now.

So with that in mind, let’s take a look at some techniques for finding inner peace. I’d like to start with an ancient Western technique for finding inner peace: prayer. In Western culture we usually think of prayer as a Christian practice, but it’s not that simple. Jews were praying before Christianity existed, and so were the ancient Greeks and Romans. Since both Jewish prayer and ancient pagan prayer predate Christianity, we should think of Christian prayer as just one subset of Western prayer practices and techniques. Today, there are humanists and atheists who pray, not because they believe in God — obviously they don’t — but because the technique of prayer is a part of our Western cultural inheritance.

When we think of prayer more broadly, it tends to subvert the usual conceptions we have about prayer. Pop culture has reduced prayer to asking God for something you want. This is known as petitionary prayer, because you’re petitioning God for something. Scientists have even studied this aspect of prayer — what happens when people pray for someone who is sick, does it improve their health outcome? But petitionary prayer is only a part of the Western prayer tradition, and I’d like to look at two forms of Western prayer that are aimed at improving your inner peace.

First there’s the technique called contemplative prayer, or as it has been popularized in recent years, centering prayer. The famous Trappist monk Thomas Merton did much to popularize this kind of prayer with his 1971 book titled “Contemplative Prayer.” As a Christian, Merton described centering prayer as a practice where you simply focus your attention on the Christian god. Non-believers use this prayer technique by focusing attention on this present world. So Henry David Thoreau, for example, wrote about sitting outside his cabin at Walden Pond and becoming “rapt in a revery” for hours at a time; I’d say that what Thoreau was doing was a type of centering prayer that focused, not on God, but on the natural world. Centering prayer is specifically designed to achieve inner peace through the contemplation of that which is good in this world.

A second type of prayer that can help achieve inner peace is the practice of remembering others in your prayers. Traditionally, in Western folk practice, during your daily prayers you’d go through a mental list all the people whom you think might need or appreciate prayers. Sometimes this takes the form of petitionary prayer — petitioning God to heal someone from cancer, for example — but often it takes the form of simply thinking of people who are important to you. Humanists and atheists who pray aren’t going to petition God, but they may still devote part of their prayer time thinking of people they know who might appreciate their attention. Prayer lists like this aren’t specifically designed to achieve inner peace, but I’ve seen how people who remember others in their prayers do in fact achieve some degree of inner peace. This makes sense to me, because reminding yourself of how you are connected to other people you can be a calming influence. It’s a way of remembering the ties of love that bind you to other people and give your support. And while praying for people who are ill or facing other troubles may or may not help them, I’ve seen how it can have a calming effect on the person who is praying.

So both centering prayer and old-fashioned prayer lists can help some people achieve inner peace. However, prayer doesn’t work for everyone. I’m one of the people it doesn’t work for. For some years, I tried many kinds of prayer, including centering prayer and prayer lists, and I finally concluded that prayer just doesn’t do much for me. But prayer does help a great many people achieve inner peace, and you can’t know if it works for you until you give it a serious trial.

Next, let’s consider meditation and mindfulness as techniques for achieving inner peace. Meditation and mindfulness became popular in this country in the middle of the last century. Most of these meditation and mindfulness practices came from Hindu or Buddhist traditions. Transcendental Meditation, a hugely popular meditation practice in the 1970s and 1980s, came out of the Hindu tradition. Sitting meditation, which also became hugely popular in the 1970s and 1980s, was popularized in large part by Zen Buddhist practitioners like Alan Watts. People like Dr. Herbert Benson also created secular adaptations of meditation and mindfulness. In his 1975 book “The Relaxation Response,” Benson claimed that all you needed was some mental device to keep your mind from wandering, along with a passive attitude towards the process. According to Benson, you didn’t need the arcane mantras of something like Transcendental Meditation, nor did you need the elaborate religious structure of something like Zen Buddhism. Through such secular adaptations, many humanists and atheists have adopted meditation and mindfulness practices.

Meditation and mindfulness are now a part of mainstream culture. Schools teach meditation to children and teens to help lower stress, and maybe find some inner peace. Some employers offer meditation classes and meditation rooms in the workplace. When you talk about achieving inner peace, many people assume that means meditating or engaging in mindfulness practices. This tends to annoy Christians and Jews who feel that prayer can offer the same benefits as meditation and mindfulness; how come it’s OK to teach Eastern religious techniques in the schools, but not Western religious techniques? I don’t want to get in the middle of that particular religious debate, but I do want to point out that meditation and mindfulness don’t work for everyone. Recent research has shown that a minority of people experience negative effects from meditation and mindfulness. I’m actually one of those people. I meditated for years, and meditation did help me achieve some degree of inner peace, but there were enough times that it didn’t make me feel good that I finally stopped.

Sadly, then, although I gave both meditation and prayer a fair trial, although I had some success with both, eventually I wasn’t able to make them work. This, by the way, makes me feel inadequate as a minister; I’m supposed to be setting an example, yet here I am, a failure at both prayer and meditation, the two most popular techniques for achieving inner peace. Yet just be cause I failed doesn’t mean that you’re going to fail. If you’re searching for techniques to achieve inner peace, it’s worth trying prayer and meditation techniques.

My failures with prayer and meditation have led me to an interesting conclusion that I think might be helpful to others. Part of my problem with both prayer and meditation arose because they are basically solitary activities. Yes, you can go to a meditation group, or you can join a prayer group, but prayer and meditation ultimately take place inside your head. I find this is also true in seeking out the peace of wild things: in Wendell Berry’s poem, he went out by himself to spend time with the wild drake and the heron. All this makes sense, because in order to achieve inner peace, you do need to spend some time in your head.

Yet I began to realize what worked best for me were practices where I had to interact with other people. I think I first became aware of this through making music with other people. I’ve never found much inner peace in practicing music on my own, but I realized that doing music with other people was a fairly reliable way for me to achieve a degree of inner peace. Maybe in part this was because I’m not an especially good musician, and it was much more satisfactory to do music with people who are good musicians. Regardless of my own failings as a musician, I consistently found that when I did music with other people, I felt an increase in inner peace.

Then I realized that the same thing was true of congregational life. When I was cooperating with other people in the congregation to make something happen, I could feel myself growing more peaceful. Although I didn’t have much success with individual spiritual practices like prayer or mindfulness or meditation, the experience of being part of a religious community did help me achieve inner peace. As more and more people began to say they were “spiritual but not religious,” I began to call myself “religious but not spiritual.” That is, although I was kind of a failure at individual spiritual practices, the communal and social aspects of communal religion did lead me to inner peace.

I’ll give you some specific examples of communal religious activities that have helped me achieve at least some inner peace. And while you may skeptical about some of my examples, hold on to your doubts for a bit and I’ll try to explain.

One obvious example of a communal religious practice that has provided me with some inner peace is being part of a congregation’s choir. I’ve sung in traditional choirs, once or twice with a gospel choir, with a folk music group, and now I play in this congregation’s bell choir. As I said before, I’m not an especially good musician, and I often find participating in choirs is difficult and frustrating — at the end of bell choir rehearsal, I often feel like my head is going to explode. Yet despite the frustrations, the sense of coming together with other people to do something I couldn’t do alone makes me feel less anxious and less alone, and ultimately moves me towards a feeling of inner peace.

I also love being part of a team teaching in religious education programs. Last year, I taught in our OWL comprehensive sexuality education program with Mark and Holly; this year I’m teaching in the Coming of Age program with Tracey; and in the summer I help Ngoc run the ecology camp. Just like participating in a choir, teaching is often difficult and frustrating. Yet here again, despite the frustrations, I find I benefit the social aspects, both working with other adults and working with the kids. Teaching always takes me out of my own little personal concerns so that I feel a part of something larger than myself; that in turn lowers my levels of stress and anxiety; and that ultimately leads to a sense of inner peace.

Another communal religious practice is committee work. I am not very good at committee work; I’m too impatient, and sometimes I find it hard to take the long view. But working with other people towards a common goal turns out to be good for me. If I can get past my impatience, if I can work through my frustrations, I eventually find I feel more peaceful when I’m a part a group working on a project together.

I could go on, but you get the idea: working with other people to make a religious community function can lower stress and anxiety, reduce loneliness and isolation, and ultimately help us achieve a greater degree of inner peace. There may be a simple reason why this is so — perhaps it is merely because we humans are tribal animals, and we are meant to be working with others — and there may also be a deeper spiritual reason — we humans need to strive towards something greater than our individual selves.

Whatever the case may be, I would argue that these days in-person contact and cooperation has become perhaps the most important benefits of religious communities. This is because we have so few opportunities to work together selflessly with others. We are increasingly isolated in today’s society. We increasingly buy everything we need online, so we don’t even have to go to the store any more. As a result, we’re in the midst of a well-documented epidemic of loneliness epidemic. Loneliness and isolation reduce your sense of inner peace, and yet there are fewer and fewer places where we can join with other people to work together on values-based projects. Because of this, while solitary spiritual practices like taking walks in the woods or meditating or praying still offer spiritual benefits, today the most important spiritual benefits come from being part of a religious community.

We live in a strange world these days, where people on both sides of the political divide are convinced that they no longer have anything in common with the other side. We’ve gotten to this point in part because we spend so little time working together in face-to-face communities like First Parish. And with the diminishment of community life has come loneliness and isolation. We try to repair the damage through social media, but it turns out social media only makes things worse. It becomes a downwards spiral. The unsurprising result is a steep increase in anxiety and depression, political conflict, and a general feeling of malaise. Our lack of community involvement has greatly decreased our inner peace.

So it is that I’ve come to believe that in this historical moment, the most effective technique for seeking inner peace is through community. It’s fine to seek the peace of wild things through solitary walks in the woods, but remember that Henry Thoreau actively participated in anti-slavery meetings while lived at Walden Pond. Prayer and meditation are well worth your while, but then you need a community to make sense out of the prayers and meditation. It is through being in community that we may transcend our troubles and worries, and return to the sense of inner peace.

World Peace

Sermon copyright (c) 2025 Dan Harper. As delivered to First Parish in Cohasset. The sermon as delivered contained substantial improvisation. The text below may have typographical errors, missing words, etc., because I didn’t have time to make any corrections.

Readings

The first reading was a short excerpt from the poem “Jerusalem” by Naomi Shihab Nye:

I’m not interested in
who suffered the most.
I’m interested in
people getting over it.

The second reading was from a poem titled “Poem” by Muriel Rukeyser:

I lived in the first century of world wars.
Most mornings I would be more or less insane.
The newspapers would arrive with their careless stories,
The news would pour out of various devices
Interrupted by attempts to sell products to the unseen.
I would call my friends on other devices;
They would be more or less mad for similar reasons….
In the day I would be reminded of those men and women,…
Considering a nameless way of living, of almost unimagined values.
As the lights darkened, as the lights of night brightened,
We would try to imagine them, try to find each other,
To construct peace….

The third reading was from the poem “Making Peace” by Denise Levertov:

…peace, like a poem,
is not there ahead of itself,
can’t be imagined before it is made,
can’t be known except
in the words of its making,
grammar of justice,
syntax of mutual aid.
A feeling towards it,
dimly sensing a rhythm, is all we have
until we begin to utter its metaphors,
learning them as we speak.

Sermon: “World Peace”

When I was in my teens and early twenties, a fellow by the name of Dana Greeley was the minister of my Unitarian Universalist church, and he used to preach regularly about world peace. He had been a pacifist since before the Second World War, not only because violence was wrong but also because war could not solve the problems it was supposed to solve. After the bombing of Hiroshima and Nagasaki in 1945, he became opposed to war for yet another reason: once atomic weapons became available, then war had the potential wipe out the entire human race. So as I recall it, Greeley had three good reasons to reject war: on moral grounds, because violence was wrong; and on pragmatic grounds, both because it could not obtain its stated objectives, and because it threatened all human existence.

I was convinced by these arguments, and became a pacifist myself. I was convinced to the point that I even registered with the Central Committee for Conscientious Objectors, a Quaker group, just in case the draft was reinstated. But I must admit I was not entirely convinced by Greeley’s vision for what a peaceful world might look like. Greeley was an internationalist and a strong supporter of the United Nations. The United Nations offered a concrete vision of international cooperation that was especially compelling to those who lived through the Second World War. However, I think that while people in my age cohort found the humanitarian mission of the United Nations compelling, what we saw of the Vietnam War decreased our confidence in the ability of the United Nations to end war.

Put it this way: Yes, of course there should be an international community, and of course that community should promote international cooperation in areas like public health and economic development. But what does a peaceful world look like? It’s not enough to say: a peaceful world is a world without war. That’s a vision that’s essentially negative. But what are the positive aspects of a peaceful world? There must be more to a peaceful world than merely the absence of war.

This reminds me of an old Chinese story that presents a vision of a peaceful world. The story of “Peach Blossom Spring,” first told by Tao Yuan-ming, tries to answer the question: How are we to build the kind of peaceful community we long for? I’m going to retell this story for you using the 1894 translation by Herbert Giles.

In the year 390 or thereabouts, when the north of China had been conquered by the Mongol invaders from central Asia, and refugees from the invasion filled the south, there lived a fisherman in the village of Wu-ling. This was during the Qin dynasty. The Qin emperors were powerful, and while some people said they did what had to be done in troubled times, there were others who said that government officials were vain and greedy, and did not have the interests of the ordinary people at heart. (How often do we hear the same complaint, even in our own day!)

To get back to the fisherman of Wu-ling:

One day, while out on the river, this fisherman decided to follow the river upstream. At one point, he came to a place where the river branched, taking the right or left branch without paying attention to where he was going. Suddenly he rounded a bend in the river and came upon a grove of peach-trees in full bloom. The blossoming trees grew close along the banks of the river for as far as he could see. The fisherman was filled with joy and astonishment at the beauty of the scene and the delightful perfume of the flowers. He continued upstream, to see how far along the river these trees grew.

When at last he came to the end of the peach trees, the river was scarcely bigger than a stream, and then it suddenly ended at a line of steep hills. There where the river began, the fisherman saw a cave in the side of the hill, and a faint light came from within it. He tied up his boat to a tree, and crept in through the narrow entrance.

He emerged into a world of level country, with fine houses, rich fields, beautiful pools, and luxuriant mulberry and bamboo. He saw roads running north and south, carrying many people on foot and in carts. He could hear the sounds of crowing cocks and barking dogs around him. He noticed that the dress of the people who passed along or were at work in the fields was of a strange cut. He also saw that everyone, young and old, appeared to be happy and content.

One of the people caught sight of the fisherman, and expressed great astonishment. When this person learned whence the fisherman had come, he took him home, cooking a chicken for him and offering him some wine to drink. Before long, all the people of the place came to see the fisherman, this visitor from afar.

The people of the village told the fisherman that several centuries ago, during troubled times, their ancestors had sought refuge here. Over time, the way back to the wider world had been cut off, and they had lost touch with the rest of the human race.

They asked the fisherman about the current politics in the outside world. They were amazed to learn of new dynasty that ruled the land. And when the fishermen told them of the Mongol invasions, they grieved over the vicissitudes of human affairs.

Then each family of the village invited the fisherman to their home in turn, each family offering him hospitality. He saw that this was truly a land of peacefulness and contentment. But at last, the fisherman longed to return to his own family, and he prepared to take his leave. As he said his farewells and began to make his way back to his boat, the people said to him, “It will not be worth while to talk about what you have seen to the outside world.”

But of course the fisherman hoped to return to that lovely peaceful land. He made mental notes of his route as he proceeded on his homeward voyage. When at last he reached home, he at once went and reported what he had seen to the ruling magistrate of the district. The magistrate, greatly interested, sent off men to help him find the way back to this unknown region of peace and plenty. But, try as he might, the fisherman was never able to find it again. Later, a famous adventurer attempted to find the land of Peach Blossom Spring, but he also failed, and died soon afterwards of humiliation. From that time on, no further attempts were made.

The story of “Peach Blossom Spring” is a Utopian story. And in fact, the Chinese name of the story, Táohuā Yuán Jì, has come to mean much the same thing as our English word Utopia: a place of perfection that doesn’t really exist.

We can find versions of the Paech Blossom Spring story in our own time. When you hear people who want to go back to a simpler time, they’re looking for a land that’s stuck in the past, just like the land the land the fisherman found. Or when you hear people who don’t like the current political administration say that they’re going to emigrate to another country, they’re actually looking for a land like the fisherman found, removed from the real world.

Utopian fantasies have become our primary means of expressing our vision for a peaceful world. I consider this to be unfortunate, because we know that Utopian visions are impractical and can’t come true. Utopias can only exist if they are completely cut off from the rest of the world, but this is impossible in an interdependent world. A Utopian vision for the world is a dead end.

Yet we are still liable to fall under the spell of utopian visions. Many people in our own time fall under the spell of religious Utopian visions. So, for example, the Christian vision of heaven can function as a kind of Utopia: you can only reach heaven after you die, and you can only reach heaven if you’re extraordinarily good or lucky; this kind of vision of heaven neither pragmatic nor fair the vast majority of humanity. Our Universalist forebears rejected this conception of a Utopian heaven, saying that everyone gets to go to heaven, and also saying that the only hell was the one we humans created here on earth. Thus our Universalist forebears conclude that it’s up to us to fix the problems in this world, to create a Utopia in the here and now. I agree with our Universalist forebears, but this still leaves open the question of what is a positive vision for the world we’re trying to create.

I don’t think that any one person can provide us with a perfect vision for a peaceful world. That vision can only emerge through communal endeavor. And I suspect when a compelling vision for a peaceful world emerges, it will be far less grand that either the United Nations or Peach Blossom Spring. I think it far more likely that we will find a truly compelling vision for a peaceful world in the mundane details of life. So if we’re going to look for compelling visions for a peaceful world, we might do well to begin with images like the one offered by Joy Harjo in her poem titled “Perhaps the World Ends Here”:

[This copyrighted poem is online here.]

Of course if we’re not careful, even this prosaic vision can seem a bit Utopian. Anyone who knows anything about domestic violence, for example, knows that a kitchen table can be a place of fear and even violence. But the poet acknowledges this when she says that the kitchen table “is a place to hide in the shadow of terror.” There will be violence even in a peaceful world; but perhaps the difference is that the existence of violence will be recognized, and instead of being glorified it will be addressed openly.

I see one big barrier to a widespread adoption of this particular vision for a peaceful world. Joy Harjo’s vision of the peaceful kitchen table owes a great deal to her roots as an enrolled citizen of Muscogee Nation. That is to say, hers is not a vision of the individualistic suburban American nuclear family, but rather a vision of peace rooted in the human connection of extended family and supportive wider community. This is not a vision of life as portrayed on a picture postcard, but rather life as it really is, messy and complicated, but also filled with love and connection.

This makes the image of the kitchen table compelling to me. The kitchen table in the poem is messy: babies teethe at the corners, so at the very least it’s a table covered with baby drool. The kitchen table in the poem is also the place where people put themselves back together after having fallen down. That is to say, the kitchen table in the poem is not some kind of Utopia. But at the same time, it is a place where you can find support when life gets difficult; it can be a place of joy and of triumph; it can be a place to give thanks. It is a human-scaled vision, and a vision grounded in human connection.

I think if we’re going to envision a peaceful world — not as the absence of war, but as something positive — we need to include in our vision the importance of human connection. Not some abstract connection, but the connection that can happen around a kitchen table. If we’re going to envision a peaceful world, we need to include all the messy complexities of human life. It’s not enough to have some big abstract vision, we need a vision that includes teething babies, and drinking coffee, and raising children, and preparing and eating meals together.

Actually, this sounds a bit like what we’re trying to do here in our congregational community. God knows, we are not perfect. But we try to be a community rooted in human connection. I might wish we had some teething babies, but we are a place where people can put themselves back together after having fallen down. We do give children instructions on what it means to be human. We do sing with both joy and sorrow, we do pray with both suffering and remorse. And we do give thanks. Probably the most important thing we do is to give thanks that we are here, and that we have the strength and the ability to make this world just a little bit better.