Dan Harper | Sermons

Category: Unitarian Universalism

  • Religion and Public Education

    Sermon copyright (c) 2025 Dan Harper. As delivered to First Parish in Cohasset. The sermon as delivered contained substantial improvisation. The text below has typographical errors, missing words, etc.

    Readings

    The first reading was the poem “Theme for English B” by Langston Hughes.

    The second reading was from the essay “The Need of an Industrial Education in an Industrial Democracy” by John Dewey:

    “It is no accident that all democracies have put a high estimate upon education; that schooling has been their first care and enduring charge. Only through education can equality of opportunity be anything more than a phrase. Accidental inequalities of birth, wealth, and learning are always tending to restrict the opportunities of some as compared with those of others. Only free and continued education can counteract those forces which are always at work to restore, in however changed a form, feudal oligarchy. Democracy has to be born anew every generation, and education is its midwife.” [John Dewey, Manual Training and Vocational Education (1916)]

    Sermon: “Religion and Public Education”

    Unitarian Universalism has a long history of being concerned with public education. This begins at least as far back as the work of Horace Mann, a Unitarian who served as Secretary of Education in Massachusetts in the mid-nineteenth century, and did more than anyone to establish the idea of universal, free, non-sectarian public schools as the norm in the United States. Our own congregation was also deeply involved in public education in the mid-nineteenth century; we allowed our then-minister, Joseph Osgood, to serve as the superintendent of the town’s schools while he was serving as minister. Osgood worked tirelessly at the local level for the same goal of universal, free, non-sectarian schools.

    The involvement of Unitarians, and to a lesser extent Universalists, in public education continued through the late twentieth century. Many Unitarians became teachers; many Unitarians served on their local school boards; and Unitarians also advocated tirelessly for universal, free, non-sectarian public education at the national and state levels. Our reasons for doing so are fairly straightforward. We Unitarian Universalists believe that public schools are essential for a strong democracy; and we believe in democracy as the governmental system best designed to help us establish a society oriented towards truth and goodness. We are well aware that both democracy and public education are imperfect vehicles for helping to establish a society devoted to truth and goodness. Both democracy and public education can be diverted away from truth and goodness, towards lesser goals like personal gain and power politics. But, to paraphrase the old saying, so far they’re better than any other system anyone has come up with. And public education is essential to democracy because an informed electorate is essential to democracy.

    Besides, we Unitarian Universalists are idealists, in the sense that we believe in the perfectibility of humanity. As the Unitarian minister Theodore Parker said, and as Martin Luther King, Jr., later paraphrased, the moral arc of the universe may be long, but it bends towards justice. Thus the reasons why we Unitarian Universalists support public education are fairly straightforward. I’d like to review with you some of our past support for public education, and then I’d like to talk about why we should recommit ourselves to public education.

    And by looking back at education in Cohasset, we can see how far we’ve come. Prior to about 1830, those who wanted their children to have more than basic literacy had to pay for their children’s schooling. Younger children paid to attend “dame schools,” often taught by a widow who needed income. For young teens who wanted the equivalent of a high school education, Jacob Flint, minister at First Parish until 1835 and one of the few people in town with a college education, would prepare students for college for a fee. There was also the Academy, a private school organized in 1796 by well-to-do parents who wanted to prepare their children for college. Cohasset finally established a public high school in 1826. At first, the town’s high school was so poorly funded that it shared a teacher with the Academy, and only operated when the Academy was not in session.

    Cohasset finally established a school board in 1830, and that committee slowly improved the town’s public education offerings. By 1840, the “dame schools” had mostly given way to publicly funded primary education. It took longer to establish a year-round high school; it wasn’t until 1847 that the town finally provided funding to keep high school open for all year.

    When our congregation hired Joseph Osgood as our minister in 1842, we specifically chose him because he had a background in education. According to town historian Victor Bigelow, Joseph Osgood brought about “uniform teaching and systematic promotion in our schools.” Osgood established graded classrooms and regular oversight of teachers. To support his efforts, Osgood could point to the work of Horace Mann. To train teachers, Mann had founded three so-called “normal schools” across the state; one of these normal schools was in Bridgewater (now Bridgewater State University). Mann also published “The Common School Journal,” a periodical filled with practical advice and best practices. No doubt Joseph Osgood read “The Common School Journal,” and (when he could) hired his teacher from the Bridgewater normal school.

    Of special interest to us today, given what’s going on in public education elsewhere in the United States, is that both Osgood and Mann believed that publicly funded education should be non-sectarian. This did not mean that Horace Mannn believed that religion should be excluded from the public schools; it only meant that no one denomination or sect should have control over what was taught. In 1848, Mann wrote: “our system earnestly inculcates all Christian morals; it founds its morals based on religion; it welcomes the religion of the Bible; and, in receiving the Bible, it allows it to do what it is allowed to do in no other system — to speak for itself. But here it stops, not because it claims to have compassed all truth; but because it disclaims to act as an umpire between hostile religious opinions.”(1)

    I think Mann was wrong in saying that public schools should be founded on Christian morals. In his own day, there were Jews and freethinkers in Massachusetts who did not wish to have their children inculcated with Christian morals. Even among the Christians of Massachusetts, it proved impossible to find common ground. Roman Catholics felt that Massachusetts public schools taught Protestant Christianity, with the result that they established Catholic parochial schools to provide appropriate schooling for their children; indeed, Catholics sometimes referred to public schools as “Protestant parochial schools.”

    Yet although I don’t agree with everything that was done by the mid-nineteenth century educational reformers, people like Horace Mann and Joseph Osgood, I give them credit for greatly extending the reach of free public schools. Here in Cohasset, Joseph Osgood provided leadership to extend the school year, and to open the schools to as many children as possible. Over time, other educational reformers worked to further extend the reach of the public schools, and to further reform the content of public schooling.

    One of those reformers was one of my personal heroes, Elizabeth Palmer Peabody. A Unitarian and a teacher, Peabody became interested in the education of young children. She traveled to Europe to learn about a new educational approach called kindergarten. Peabody and other educators helped to establish kindergarten as an accepted part of the public school system, extending free schooling down to five-year-olds.

    One of the people Elizabeth Palmer Peabody trained was Lucy Wheelock, who went on to found Wheelock College. My mother got her teacher training at Wheelock College while Lucy Wheelock was still active, and thus had a direct connection to Elizabeth Palmer Peabody. My mother was both a career schoolteacher and a lifelong Unitarian, and I’d like to use my mother’s example to talk about the connection between mid-twentieth century Unitarians and public education.

    Unitarianism in the mid-twentieth century was deeply influenced by the Progressive movement. Please note that what was meant by “Progressive” back then is not what is meant by the adjective “progressive” today. The Progressives of that time (spelled with a capital “P”) wanted to reform human society: they believed in the essential goodness of human beings; they believed in the capacity of human beings to progressively establish a more just and humane society; they believed in the power of reason; they believed in democracy. They differed from today’s progressives (spelled with no capital “P”) in that the older Progressives founded their Progressivism in their liberal religious outlook; by contrast many of today’s progressives either have no religious outlook, or they try to divorce their religious outlook from their politics. I’d even say that the earlier Progressivism was not so much a political movement as it was a religious movement.

    The wars and economic disasters of the mid-twentieth century caused many people to abandon Progressivism, to abandon their hope for progressively establishing a more humane and just human society. These other people turned to a grim view of humanity, and a grim view of human society; we can see some of this grimmer outlook in today’s political progressives.

    But we Unitarians and the Universalists, and some other liberal religious groups, held on to our belief that human beings are basically good. We held on to our belief that human society can be improved through human effort. My mother was one of that generation of mid-twentieth century Unitarians who believed we could make the world better. Like so many Unitarians of her generation, she and her twin sister both trained to become teachers. This was a classic strategy of Progressivism: to reform the world through education. With their sunny view of human nature, my mother and her twin were drawn to John Dewey’s educational philosophy. Dewey said that it was through public education that we could establish a truly democratic society. Dewey taught that “only free and continued education can counteract those forces which are always at work to restore, in however changed a form, feudal oligarchy.”

    My mother’s idealism was quickly tested. She got her first job right after the Second World War ended, teaching kindergarten in the public schools in Fort Ticonderoga, New York. In 1946, Fort Ticonderoga was a backwater. At the end of her first year of teaching, the school principal told her that if she wanted to continue teaching in Fort Ticonderoga, she would have to begin to use corporal punishment. This went against my mother’s belief in progressive education. She found another job.

    She wound up teaching in the Wilmington, Delaware, public schools when those schools were being desegregated. Once while she was walking down the street with her class, some men drove by and shouted racial slurs because she, a White woman, was holding the hand of a Black kindergartener.(2) The Progressive Unitarian teachers of the mid-twentieth century believed, with John Dewey, that “Democracy has to be born anew every generation, and education is its midwife.” In the 1950s and 1960s, the crisis in democracy centered on racial segregation; and educators and education were the midwives to a very messy birth of equal access to the public schools, all in service of strengthening democracy.

    Today, seventy-five years later, we face a different educational crisis, and we Unitarian Universalists are still trying to figure out how to respond. The current presidential administration is in the news this week with their efforts to dissolve the U.S. Department of Education. While this act grabbed the headlines, it’s actually just one event in a longer history of efforts to privatize education. These efforts can be traced in part back to the work of the influential economist Milton Friedman. In 1955, about the time when thugs were shouting racial epithets at my mother, Milton Friedman wrote an essay titled “The Role of Government in Education,” in which he advocated for what he called school choice, based on a voucher system. School choice has been widely adopted both by both political and religious conservatives, and by political and religious liberals. Friedman’s ideas for school choice are rooted in his notion that economic freedom is the crucial freedom that a democracy needs to flourish.

    We are in the process of discovering some of the downsides to school choice as promoted by Milton Friedman. School choice policies have encouraged for-profit companies to get involved in education. In theory, this is not a bad thing, but it has led to a definite tendency to establish financial profit as the most important goal of a school, rather than education. School choice also means that one city can see separate schools reflecting the values of a small group of families rather than the wider community. In theory, this is not a bad thing, and indeed Unitarian Universalists have used school choice to establish charter schools that reflect their ideals and values. But this goes against the notion that public schools are where we can learn to live with people who are different from us, an essential skill in a democracy.

    At the same time, school choice could be a useful tool for promoting educational reform, because it allows for the testing of innovative ideas. If school vouchers existed in the day of Elizabeth Palmer Peabody, perhaps she might have established a charter school to demonstrate that kindergartens really do benefit young children. Similarly, we can imagine John Dewey establishing a charter school, to show that the educational methods he first tried out in the University of Chicago laboratory school could also work in a public school.

    And we do face some serious educational problems today. For example, the quality of the schooling a child gets depends a great deal on what city or town they live in. In 2023, the high school graduation rate in Cohasset, where I now live, was 98.3%; in that same year, the high school graduation rate in New Bedford, where I used to live, was 78.6%.(3) Nor can this disparity be explained solely by the per-pupil expenditures; for while Cohasset does spend more, at $23,212.40 per pupil in 2023, New Bedford is not that far behind, at $20,943.37 per pupil in 2023. The reasons behind these educational disparities in Massachusetts are hotly debated, and I’m certainly not qualified to end that debate. My point is simply this: educational reform is still necessary to ensure that all children have equal access to education, and to ensure an informed electorate which is necessary for democracy.

    Unitarian Universalists used to see education as a key area where we could make a difference in helping to improve human society. After all, we are one of the top two or three most-educated of all religious groups; thus not only do we place a high value on education ourselves, but our educational attainments mean we should be able to help strengthen the educational system of this country. And as a religious group, we remain committed to education, both as a way to strengthen democracy, and as a way to allow human potential to flourish.

    Yet it feels to me as though Unitarian Universalism, as a wider movement, has drifted away from seeing education as a key area where we can make a difference. In the past couple of decades, I’ve heard lots of Unitarian Universalists talk about their commitment to social justice, but I’ve rarely heard a Unitarian Universalist say that their commitment to social justice led them to get elected to their local School Committee, or try to influence state or local policy on education. Similarly, in the past couple of decades, I’ve often heard older Unitarian Universalists encouraging young people to go to college to “get a good job”; much less often have I heard older Unitarian Universalists encouraging young people to go to college so they can become teachers. And in our denominational publications, I read quite a bit about how we should be active in promoting justice, but I don’t read much about the importance of teachers and teaching and education.

    Our own congregation is better at seeing education as a central way for us to make a difference. We have quite a few teachers and educators in our congregation, and we honor them and their profession. I’ve listened to older Unitarian Universalists in our congregation encourage young people to follow careers in teaching. A primary part of our mission as a congregation is operating Carriage House Nursery School, a progressive educational institution providing innovation in the area of outdoors education for young children. I should also mention that our congregation provides state-of-the-art comprehensive sexuality education for early adolescents and a week-long ecology day camp; these are both small programs, but they fill an educational need here in Cohasset.

    In these and other ways, we’re continuing Joseph Osgood’s legacy. We still consider teaching and education to be a central part of our purpose; we still consider teaching and education to be a central part of how we contribute to the betterment of human society. It might be worth our while to be a little more forthcoming about taking credit for all the ways our congregation supports public education, supports early education, supports teachers, supports other kinds of education — and for us to be a little more forthcoming in taking credit for the way we are thus supporting and strengthening democracy.

    Notes

    (1) Horace Mann, Life and Works of Horace Mann, vol. III, ed. Mary Mann, “Annual Report on Education for 1848,” pp. 729-730.
    (2) I don’t know when exactly this took place. My mother left Wilmington, Del., c. 1956; I can’t find out when primary schools were desegregated. One source I consulted said that desegregation didn’t occur until after the 1954 Supreme Court ruling; see: Matthew Albright, “Wilmington has long, messy education history”, The [Wilmington, Del.] News Journal, 10 June 2016 accessed 22 March 2025 https://www.delawareonline.com/story/news/education/2016/06/10/wilmington-education-history/85602856/
    (3) The Massachusetts Department of Education has a website where you can compare educational outcomes between school districts: go to the “DESE Directory of Datasets and Reports” webpage, click on “School and district performance summaries.” https://www.mass.gov/info-details/dese-directory-of-datasets-and-reports#school-and-district-performance-and-indicators-

  • 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.

  • Spiritual Muscle

    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 is from Ralph Waldo Emerson’s essay titled “Greatness”:

    I do not pretend to any commandment or large revelation, but if at any time I form some plan, propose a journey or a course of conduct, I perhaps find a silent obstacle in my mind that I cannot account for. Very well, — I let it lie, thinking it may pass away, but if it do not pass away I yield to it, obey it. You ask me to describe it. I cannot describe it. It is not an oracle, nor an angel, nor a dream, nor a law; it is too simple to be described, it is but a grain of mustard-seed, but such as it is, it is something which the contradiction of all mankind could not shake, and which the consent of all mankind could not confirm.

    The second reading is from Life and Correspondence of Theodore Parker by John Wiess. Parker was a Unitarian minister of the 1840s whose sermons attracted over two thousand people a week.

    When a little boy … in my fourth year, one fine day in spring, my father led me by the hand to a distant part of the farm, but soon sent me home alone. On the way I had to pass a little pond-hole… [A] rhodora in full bloom… attracted my attention and drew me to the spot. I saw a little spotted tortoise sunning himself in the shallow water at the root of the flaming shrub. I lifted the stick I had in my hand to strike the harmless reptile; for, though I had never killed any creature, yet I had seen other boys out of sport destroy birds, squirrels, and the like, and I felt a disposition to follow their wicked example. But all at once something checked my little arm, and a voice within me said, clear and loud, “It is wrong!” I held my uplifted stick in wonder at the new emotion — the consciousness of an involuntary but inward check upon my actions, till the tortoise and the rhodora both vanished from my sight. I hastened home and told the tale to my mother, and asked what was it that told me it was wrong? She … taking me in her arms, said, “Some men call it conscience, but I prefer to call it the voice of God in the soul of man. If you listen and obey it, then it will speak clearer and clearer, and always guide you right; but if you turn a deaf ear or disobey, then it will fade out little by little, and leave you all in the dark and without a guide. Your life depends on heeding this little voice.”… I am sure no event in my life has made so deep and lasting an impression on me.

    Sermon: “Spiritual Muscle”

    Rev. Danielle DiBona preached here on December 1. After the service was over, I went up to her to thank her for coming to First Parish. I always enjoy talking with Danielle, in part because she grew up in Weymouth and has that no-nonsense New England manner of speaking. So when she said something about Unitarian Universalist congregations needing to develop their spiritual muscle, I paid more attention that I might otherwise have done. If another person used the phrase “spiritual muscle” it might have sounded like just another spirituality catch-phrase that sounds good yet doesn’t mean all that much. But when Danielle said “spiritual muscle” in her no-nonsense South Shore accent, it sounded real. And maybe important.

    I meant to ask Danielle what, exactly, she meant by “spiritual muscle,” but we got interrupted. I thought about emailing her and asking her exactly. But I was pretty sure I knew what she meant. I was also pretty sure that a good way to develop my own spiritual muscles would be to put my thoughts in order and speak to you about the topic, which is what I’m doing right now.

    If we use the phrase “spiritual muscle,” obviously we’re making a comparison with physical muscle. It’s equally obvious how we develop our physical muscles: we exercise. Last fall, I noticed my physical fitness level going down, and I knew I needed to exercise. Since I hate going to the gym, I bought a compact rowing machine that fits in our apartment. For the past few months I’ve been doing at least twenty minutes five times a week on that rowing machine (that’s in addition to daily walks, and daily exercises). Using that rowing machine is sometimes painful, sometimes boring, but I really notice the improvement in my fitness level.

    All this is obvious. If you want to build up your physical muscles, you have to use them; you have to do more than just use them, you have to push yourself. Similarly with spiritual muscles: obviously we have to use our spirituality regularly in order to retain our spiritual muscle tone. But what does that even mean?

    The readings this morning offered two very simple examples of what I think of as using one’s spiritual muscles. In the second reading, the great nineteenth century Unitarian minister Theodore Parker told a story about his moral development. When he was four years old, he saw a turtle. He picked up a stick to kill it. But suddenly he heard a voice telling him “No.”

    Even though Parker clothes the story in mid-nineteenth century sentimentality, it sounds like a true story. Four year olds do have these kinds of experiences: sometimes they do hear a voice that they can’t explain telling them to do the right thing. And Theodore Parker’s mother gives him just the kind of advice that a Unitarian mother would give to their four year old. She tells him that whether you call it Conscience, or the voice of God (or whatever other name a Unitarian Universalist might come up with), you should listen to that voice. This is one way we begin teaching young children how to exercise their spiritual muscles. We want to help them to become their best selves, and we do our best to help them grow into their best selves.

    While this may seem hopelessly elementary, while it may seem trite and sentimental, it’s really not. Back in 1986, a Unitarian Universalist minister named Robert Fulghum wrote a bestselling book titled “All I Really Need To Know I Learned in Kindergarten.” Fulghum’s book used the basic lessons taught in kindergarten as a way to remind adults what they needed to do to exercise their spiritual muscles.

    For example, Fulghum said we should learn to share everything. That’s how you word it when you’re teaching a four- or five year old, but all the great spiritual traditions of the world have some similar teaching aimed at adults. Muslims teach that zakat, or almsgiving, is one of the five pillars of Islam; Jesus taught his followers that whatever they did for “the least of these” they did for God; for Hindus, the Rig Veda teaches, “Bounteous is he who gives unto the beggar who comes to him in want of food” [Rig Veda 10.117]; and our latest wording of the Unitarian Universalist principles names generosity as a core value. When teaching a five year old, you may word it differently, but the principle remains the same: share everything.

    Many of Robert Fulghum’s kindergarten lessons pertain to morals and ethics. We learn how to play fair. We learn that we shouldn’t hit people. We learn to put things back where we found them. Clean up your own mess. Don’t take things that aren’t yours. Say you’re sorry when you hurt someone. These are all pretty straightforward moral and ethical lessons, relatively easy to translate from the kindergartener’s perspective to an adult perspective.

    But Fulghum also includes lessons that are are not about morality and ethics, and more about having a proper attitude towards life. Fulghum says that kindergarten (or, at least, a well-run kindergarten) teaches children how to live a balanced life. In good kindergartens, each day the children engage in a little learning, a little painting, a little singing, a little dancing, a little bit of playing, and a little bit of working. Translated into an adult perspective, we might talk about work-life balance and making time for our families. But it’s still the same spiritual lesson: how to lead a balanced life.

    Fulghum also mentions that kindergarteners learn how to take naps. Now this may not sound like a spiritual matter at all. But several years ago, a divinity school graduate named Tricia Hersey started leading workshops in the spiritual importance of napping. While in graduate school, Hersey found herself working two jobs, going to school full-time, raising a six year old, and working an internship. She was living the American Dream, moving up in the world. But as a Black woman learning about the history of Black theology, Hersey also realized that the same kind of engine that drove slavery was driving her to work herself to a state of exhaustion. After receiving her divinity degree, Hersey started what she called Nap Ministry, in which she teaches people how to take spiritual care of themselves. But this is not some kind of pop culture self-care. In an interview, Hersey said, “That’s one thing I dislike about our work blowing up on social media…. [That] doesn’t allow for people to go deep…. They think it’s some cute wellness thing. [But] it really is held together by deeply liberating ideas and theories that come out of Black thought and scholarship.” For Hersey, taking time out to rest can serve as a spiritual force allowing us to honor our inherent divinity. (1)

    I’d suggest this kind of spiritual rest may have deep roots in the ancient idea of Sabbath, where you deliberately take one day a week where you do no work. Of course, in our culture today, it’s difficult to take a true sabbath. I know very few people who actually take one whole day every week as a day of rest. Even when we take a day off, we feel we have to do something — we have to travel, or pursue hobbies. Thus not even retirement guarantees spiritual rest; many of my retired friends say they’re busier now than when they were working full time.

    Sometimes it seems that it’s far more difficult to exercise our spiritual muscles as we get older. The spiritual task of resting is a perfect example of what I mean. When you’re five years old, your parents tell you to take a nap, and you can whine and complain all you want, but you have to take your nap. Then you become a teenager, and you have no time to rest because every spare moment is filled with school, sports or extracurricular activities, and a part-time job, to say nothing of figuring out what to do after high school graduation. When do you ever have time to rest? Then you become an adult, and you have even more to do, and even less time to rest. Even if you’re one of the rare people who is able to do nothing in retirement, doing nothing isn’t the same thing spiritual rest.

    To get some genuine spiritual rest, most of us require outside structure. When I was in my twenties, I regularly worked fifty-five hours a week, plus I was taking classes at night to try to get ahead. I discovered that going to Sunday services at my local Unitarian Universalist church provided the structure I needed to actually take the time for spiritual rest. Actually, I was often bored by the worship services. I watched the older Unitarians who had been going to that church for decades. They sat through all the services, listening when the sermons were interesting, calmly staring out the windows when the sermons were boring. In a sense, taking time for sabbath rest is the adult equivalent of taking a nap.

    Sabbath rest provides one example of how hard it can be to develop your spiritual muscles. We live in a society that teaches us that our highest purpose is to be constantly busy, constantly entertained. We have to have our constant doses of dopamine from scrolling through social media, or we have to feed our adrenaline addiction by working or studying too many hours. And if we no longer many responsibilities, then we can feel undervalued or even useless. Yet busy-ness and uselessness prove to be a false dichotomy. All the great spiritual traditions teach us to spend time in contemplation. While this may be interpreted in terms of contemplating God or trying to reach Nirvana, you can also think about contemplation in terms of the motto inscribed above the temple to Apollo at Delphi in ancient Greece. That motto said quite simply: “Know thyself.”

    Knowing oneself — true and deep self-knowledge — requires exercise of one’s spiritual muscle. It’s easy to look in the mirror and see everything that’s good about ourselves. It’s even easier to look in the mirror and see what our own failings are. But it’s quite difficult to see ourselves as we truly are. And since human beings are constantly growing and changing, right up to the moment of death, to truly know yourself means you are constantly learning new things. I would even go so far as to say that all development of spiritual muscle begins with self-knowledge — or, more precisely, all development of spiritual muscle begins with the effort to attain self knowledge, for no one ever achieves final self-knowledge.

    I’d like to take a brief look at three other things that Robert Fulghum says he learned in kindergarten: When you go outside, watch for traffic and hold hands and stick together. Everything dies. Be aware of wonder.

    The first one — hold hands and stick together — can be surprisingly difficult. Often, we have the impulse to act like kindergartners, and go whichever way we personally want to go. We adults often say what kindergartners say: But I don’t wanna hold hands with them, I wanna go over there! That is in fact precisely what is going on in the United States right now. Instead of sticking together, we all want to do what we want to do; we don’t want to hold hands with the other children in the class. When it comes to holding hands and working together, we Americans have let our spiritual muscles become flabby. Nor is this a new problem, for this is what Rev. Dr. Martin Luther King, Jr., was telling us in his famous 1963 “I Have a Dream” speech, in which he said:

    “I have a dream that one day, down in Alabama, with its vicious racists, with its governor having his lips dripping with the words of ‘interposition’ and ‘nullification’ — one day right there in Alabama little black boys and black girls will be able to join hands with little white boys and white girls as sisters and brothers.”

    We Americans did exercise our spiritual spiritual muscle to the point where little Black children and little White children can sometimes now join hands with each other. But when it comes to racial harmony, or world peace, or environmental balance, or any other big problem that requires us to hold hands and stick together, we are still struggling. We have no kindergarten teacher to tell us what to do or how to do it; we have to develop our own spiritual muscles to enable us to work together.

    Compared to that, the next kindergarten-level task sounds so simple: Be aware of wonder. But sometimes I believe we struggle more with this than with holding hands and sticking together. At least with holding hands and sticking together, there’s something we have to do. But to be aware of wonder, we just have to be. Being aware of wonder is closely related to sabbath rest, and it takes as much spiritual muscle. Being aware of wonder is also closely related to knowing oneself; you have to know who you are in order to know who it is that is aware of wonder. This gets us into deep spiritual waters, and we’d need another whole sermon to talk about it.

    Similarly with the last of the kindergarten tasks I’d like to mention, which sounds so simple: Everything dies. Everything dies, including us. It sounds simple, but it takes a great deal of spiritual muscle to wrap your head around this simple thing. This, too, gets us into the advanced development of our spiritual muscles. This could be the subject of a whole series of sermons. Although I’m not sure I’m qualified to speak on the topic; I’m not sure I’ve developed enough spiritual muscle yet.

    If you asked me to sum up the topic of spiritual muscle, I’d say this: It’s not easy being human. It’s not easy being part of the human community. It takes strength; it takes endurance; it takes flexibility. Just as we have to work on our physical muscles to build strength, endurance, and flexibility, so to we have to work on our spiritual muscles.

    Note:

    (1) Kathryn Post, “The ‘Nap Bishop’ offers rest as a tool of resistance,” Religion News Service, 25 March 2022 https://religionnews.com/2022/03/25/nap-bishop-offers-rest-as-a-tool-of-resistance/ accessed 24 Jan 2025