Dan Harper | Sermons

  • Jetpig!

    Sermon copyright (c) 2024 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 corrections.

    Readings

    The first reading was a short poem by Unitarian poet Celia Thaxter:

    The waves of Time may devastate our lives,
    The frosts of age may check our failing breath,
    They shall not touch the spirit that survives
    Triumphant over doubt and pain and death.

    The second reading was from an essay titled “What Do Unitarian Universalists Believe?” by Duncan Howlett, written in 1967 while he was the minister of All Souls Unitarian Universalist Church in Washington, D.C.

    In the first place, we reject all doctrines and creeds and theologies if they pretend to any finality. We think the fabrication of such systems valuable, but we do not believe one or another of them. But a Unitarian Universalist is not an unbeliever. In fact, a Unitarian Universalist believes a great deal. Our beliefs are of a different order, but they are nonetheless real.

    We believe in humanity, that human beings are endowed with the power to move toward truth.
    We believe that human beings are endowed with the discrimination by which to tell the difference between truth and falsehood and error. Yet we know human beings are fallible. We know that individuals make mistakes.
    We believe humanity is to be trusted — not each human being, but humankind taken together, with the testimony of each checked against each.
    We believe that humankind can find truth, know the right, and do good — again, not each individual, but taken together, with each checked against all the rest.
    We believe human life has meaning, that the high purposes of humanity may be achieved and the spiritual nature of humanity indicates something about humankind and the cosmos as well.
    We believe in the freedom we need if we are to find a sense of selfhood and if we are to find what is the truth for us. We believe in the faculties we possess and in those possessed by others also, for we must believe in our own fallibility, too.
    We believe in the power of love to conquer hate and strife and in its power to suffuse our lives with the glory and the sense of reality that love alone can give.

    In this faith we live, by it we labor, and through it we find the courage to carry on amidst all the tragedy, misery, and stupidity of life.

    The third and final reading was a “found poem” noted by Everett Hoagland at the First Unitarian Church in New Bedford, Oct. 2006, titled “So Bet It” (not available online due to copyright restrictions).

    Sermon: “Jetpig!”

    Way back in 1887, William Channing Gannett, minister of the Unitarian church in St. Paul, Minnesota, was trying to come up with a way to unify the Unitarians of his day. This was not an easy task. Gannet was part of the so-called Western Unitarian Conference of the Midwest and the Plains states, a conference which encompassed a great diversity of belief. There were Christian Unitarians who believed in God, loved the Bible, and found their greatest inspiration in the life of Jesus. There were post-Christians who didn’t place much importance in belief in the Christian God, who read sacred texts from many different religions, and who were inspired by Jesus but also by Confucius, Buddha, Muhammad, and other spiritual leaders. And there were even a few proto-humanists as well. Among the ministers, there were men like William Greenleaf Eliot, from an elite East Coast family and with a graduate degree from Harvard. But there were also women like Mary Safford, from a Midwestern farm family and with only one year at the University of Iowa.

    William Channing Gannett saw all this diversity, and tried to formulate a statement that would bring them together so they could work more effectively together. In an essay titled “Things Common Believed Today Among Us” tried to point out the commonalities among people in the Western Unitarian Conference. In that essay, he made an observation which still holds true today. He said:

    “Because we have no ‘creed’ which we impose as a condition of fellowship, specific statements of belief abound among us, always somewhat differing, always largely agreeing.”

    This remains true for us Unitarian Universalists today, with one small caveat. Some of us today no longer want to use the word “belief,” because the concept of “belief” is so central to Christianity; and we want to be even more inclusive. Today, we might rephrase Gannet’s words like this: “Because we have no ‘creed’ which we impose on others, statements of religious identity abound among us, always somewhat differing, always largely agreeing.”

    Gannett was a Unitarian. The Universalist side of our heritage also refused to impose a creed on anyone. They avoided some of the chaos that confronted Gannett by adopting what they called a “profession of faith.” The Universalist professions of faith were agreed upon through a democratic process, and voted on by the delegates to the annual Universalist General Conference. I knew some older Universalists who still remembered the Washington Declaration of 1935, which said in part:

    “…We avow our faith in God as Eternal and All-conquering Love, in the spiritual leadership of Jesus, in the supreme worth of every human personality, in the authority of truth known or to be known, and in the power of men of good-will and sacrificial spirit to overcome evil and progressively establish the Kingdom of God. Neither this nor any other statement shall be imposed as a creedal test, provided that the faith thus indicated be professed.”

    That last sentence, often referred to as the “liberty clause,” is a crucial part of Universalist professions of faith. The liberty clause meant that even though individuals had to be in rough agreement with the sentiments behind the profession of faith, no individual had to agree in every detail. There was a great deal of room for interpretation. This was especially important in the mid-twentieth century, when a growing number of Universalists became humanists. Because of the liberty clause, the humanists did not have to conform to a literal interpretation of the Washington Declaration. The humanists could affirm the spirit of the Washington Declaration — they could affirm their faith in eternal and all-conquering love, while not having to believe in God.

    The Universalist professions of faith had one big advantage over the chaos of Unitarianism: they gave individuals something to hang on to. I’ll give you one example of what I mean. Wells Behee was born in 1925, was raised as a Universalist and in adulthood became a Universalist minister. As a young man, Wells served in the Second World War. When he died in 2011, his friend and colleague Derek Parker wrote:

    “During World War II, Wells served in the Navy. His military service included both the Atlantic and Pacific theaters of combat, including the Battle of Iwo Jima. Later in life Wells would frequently comment that the only thing which kept his sanity at Iwo Jima were his repeated praying of the Washington [Declaration].” (1) From Wells Behee’s experience at Iwo Jima, you can see how a profession of faith can be a powerful spiritual tool in times of crisis.

    The Unitarians also had what amounted to professions of faith, statements which they used much like a profession of faith. In the twentieth century, many Unitarian children learned James Freeman Clarke’s “Five Points of a New Theology,” and some of you who have been Unitarians since the mid-twentieth century will remember “the fatherhood of God, the brotherhood of man, the leadership of Jesus, salvation by character, and progress onwards and upwards forever.” Those were Clarke’s “Five Points,” and they functioned as a kind of profession of faith. However, unlike the Universalist professions of faith, the Unitarian statements of faith were not developed through democratic process.

    When the Unitarian and the Universalists joined forces in 1961, one of the things they decided to do was to come up with a statement that could help unify these two different movements. So a committee came together and came up with six principles that served as a unifying statement, and these six principles were made official by placing them in the bylaws of the new Unitarian Universalist Association. The six principles were a kind of profession of faith. But while they were worthy and high-minded sentiments, they were not especially memorable. I don’t remember ever hearing about them when I was a child.

    Then in 1985, those old “six principles” were revised to remove sexist language, and they became the “seven principles.” The seven principles were expressed better than the six principles; the prose was livelier, the ideas more interesting . Because of this, the seven principles began to function as a kind of profession of faith. Personally, however, I always found them to be a bit too intellectual and dry, and not something that would give me much comfort and support in times of stress or trouble.

    And this brings me to “Jet Pig.” In the Moment for All Ages today, you heard from the Sunday school about Jet Pig. Jet Pig is an acronym that stands for Justice, Equity, Transformation, Pluralism, Interdependence, and Generosity. These are the six shared values that were added to the “Principles and Purposes” section of the bylaws of the Unitarian Universalist Association this past June, during the Association’s annual business meeting. These new six shared values replace the former seven principles.

    When the democratic process to revise the “seven principles” began three years ago, I was pretty skeptical. The first drafts of the revised principles and purposes were even more wordy than the “seven principles,” and (to my mind, anyway) even less memorable. Considered as an addition to the bylaws of the Unitarian Universalist association, I found the new revised principles and purposes to be fascinating. But as a spiritual resource, they seemed empty and boring.

    As the democratic process continued over the next three years, more and more got added into the revised principles and purposes. Each time they were amended through the democratic process, they became longer, and wordier, and more painfully earnest. When it came time to vote on them — and I was one of this congregation’s delegates at the meeting in June — I wound up voting for the new revision. But because they were so boring and so convoluted and so painfully earnest, I assumed that they would be mostly ignored.

    I did not take into account the creativity of the religious educators. Someone noticed that the six values articulated in the new revision formed the acronym “jet pig.” Religious educators picked up on this idea, and created Jet Pig characters to make these shared values seem fun and interesting and relevant. The humor of the Jet Pig character helped leaven the painful earnestness of the actual bylaws. I also appreciated that Jet Pig is memorable. I have a poor memory, and I spent nearly forty years not being able to remember the old seven principles. Now, because of Jet Pig, I can actually remember justice, equity, transformation, pluralism, interdependence, and … wait, what does “g” stand for? But even if I can’t remember every element of the Jet Pig acronym, I can easily remember the most important thing — love is at the center. Because that’s what the new principles and purposes say: that love is at the center.

    In short, I like Jet Pig. I also like the fact that even if I can’t remember all six things that Jet Pig stands for, I can always remember that love is the central value. These strike me as positive developments in the wider Unitarian Universalist community. We have some shared values that we can articulate quickly and easily, and thanks to Jet Pig we can even have a sense of humor when we do so.

    But I also remember what William Channing Gannett pointed out back in 1887. We don’t impose any creed or statement of belief, we don’t impose any profession of faith, upon individuals. In 1887, Gannett said, “specific statements of belief abound among us, always somewhat differing, always largely agreeing.” This continues to be true today. We allow, and even encourage, individuals to come up with their own statements of religious identity. In May, teens from our Coming of Age class will present their statements of religious identity during a Sunday service, and you’ll get to hear how they differ and how they agree. The rest of us can do the same thing: we can, and should, develop our own personal sense of religious identity.

    For me personally, however, I need something more than a personal statement of religious identity. I want a communal sense of identity. The new principles and purposes in the bylaws of the Unitarian Universalist Association provide part of that communal sense of identity, but honestly I can’t see myself turning to them in times of personal trouble. Speaking entirely personally, I find more meaning in some of the words we heard this morning in readings.

    I am moved by Duncan Howlett when he said, “I believe in the power of love to conquer hate and strife and in its power to suffuse our lives with the glory and the sense of reality that love alone can give.” That’s something I can hang onto in times of trouble.

    I am moved by Celia Thaxter’s short poem that says:

    The waves of Time may devastate our lives,
    The frosts of age may check our failing breath,
    They shall not touch the spirit that survives
    Triumphant over doubt and pain and death.

    Again, that’s something I can hang onto in times of trouble.

    And I often find myself reciting Edwin Markham’s poem “Outwitted” to myself:

    They drew a circle that shut me out —
    Heretic, rebel, a thing to flout;
    But love and I had the wit to win,
    We drew a circle that took them in.

    This poem has helped me through some rough spots in my personal life. And Edward Everett Hale’s little poem has been one of my constant companions:

    I am only one.
    But still I am one.
    I cannot do everything.
    But still I can do something.
    And because I cannot do everything
    I will not refuse to do the something that I can do.

    These words have helped me get through those times when I felt overwhelmed by all that needed to be done.

    So it is that while Jet Pig (with love at the center) is proving to be a good way to articulate our shared values as a wider community, it is not sufficient. We each need to articulate our own personal sense of religious identity. And beyond that, each of us can choose whatever words or poetry work best for us, to help lift us up when we are down — to, as Everett Hoagland says in his short and humorous poem, lift us beyond belief.

    Note

    (1) Derek Parker, “In Memoriam: Mary and Wells Behee,” Dec. 17, 2011, posted on Rev. Scott Wells’s blog https://www.revscottwells.com/2011/12/17/in-memoriam-mary-and-wells-behee/

  • Giving Thanks

    Sermon copyright (c) 2024 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 corrections.

    Readings

    The first reading was from an interview: poet Ross Gay was interviewed by Barnes and Noble on the publication of his recent collection of essays titled “The Book of More Delights.”

    [Interviewer:] How do you maintain an appreciative mindset even in the harder moments of life?

    [Ross Gay:] I’m glad you used the world optimistic because I’m not. Nor am I pessimistic. I am cultivating the practice, and the ability, to describe things that I see. So when I see a guy in terrible shape stopped mid-stride and folded over on Market Street in Philadelphia in what I imagine was some kind of opioid stupor, and see a woman standing next to him for five minutes — five actual minutes — holding a five dollar bill out to him, waiting from him to emerge from wherever he went, I’m just describing what I’m seeing: profound suffering and profound care right next to each other. It’s not a proclivity or a bent, it’s just a description.

    The second reading was from the poem “Play” by William Carlos Williams

    Subtle, clever brain, wiser than I am,
    By what devious means do you contrive
    To remain idle? Teach me, O Master.

    Sermon: “Giving Thanks”

    We Unitarian Universalists are notorious for our use of reason in religion. We like to think about things. We like to doubt things. When someone talks about a religious belief, we ask ourselves: Does this religious belief sound reasonable? Does it conform to the rules of logic and reason? When someone talks about a religious narrative or myth, we ask the same questions: Does this myth sound reasonable? Does this myth conform to the rules of logic and reason?

    This attitude can get us into trouble. We get used to arguing among ourselves, questioning each other about religious beliefs and religious myths. Then when we talk to others who are not Unitarian Universalists, we may find ourselves arguing with someone’s deeply held and very personal religious belief or myth, and unintentionally causing offense. Sometimes our use of reason can get in the way of our commitment to religious tolerance.

    So with that in mind, I’d like to take a quick look at the myth of Thanksgiving, one of the core myths of the United States of America. Since we’re Unitarian Universalists, of course we’re going to doubt some key aspects of this myth. But instead of just doubting some of the details of the old story of the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag, I’m going to suggest a different interpretation of Thanksgiving, one which might serve to unite us rather than divide us.

    And the sad truth is that our current founding myth of Thanksgiving — that old story of the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag sharing a harvest feast together — has become increasingly divisive. Since the 1970s, many of our Wampanoag neighbors here in southeastern Massachusetts have renamed Thanksgiving as the “Day of Mourning.” As a result, some people from other ethnic groups (that is, people who aren’t Native Americans) have come to feel uncomfortable about celebrating Thanksgiving. Not surprisingly, given how polarized our society has become, people on all sides of this debate have both given and taken offense.

    My feeling is that if you like the traditional myth of Thanksgiving, that old story of Thanksgiving that we heard during the Moment for All Ages, go ahead and use that myth as you celebrate the Thanksgiving holiday; continue to tell the old story of the Pilgrims and the Wampanoag Indians. At the same time, if you’re the typical doubting Unitarian Universalist, you’ll continue to ask questions about that myth, just as we did in the Moment for All Ages.

    For example, we Unitarian Universalists will want to ask, “Where were all the women in that first Thanksgiving?” Sixty years ago, when I was very young, the women mostly got left out of the Thanksgiving story. But we like to include the women. For example, we look at Thanksgiving from the women’s point of view and point out that there were only four Pilgrim women old enough to help with the cooking. And no Wampanoag women whatsoever attended that first Thanksgiving.

    In another example, we like to remember that not all the Europeans were actually Pilgrims. The Pilgrims were part of a specific religious community, perhaps more accurately called “Separatists.” Not all the English settlers were part of that religious group. Of the 102 passengers on the Mayflower, about half were Separatists. About thirty of them were other people who had been recruited by the “London Merchant Adventurers” company. Myles Standish is the most famous member of this group; he was not a Separatist, though he was an integral part of the colony. About twenty of the people on the Mayflower were indentured servants, many of them under the age of twenty. On top of that, a few of the crewmembers of the Mayflower decided to stay on with the colony. So we like to increase the accuracy of the old story of Thanksgiving by saying that both Separatists and other English settlers ate dinner with the Wampanoag Indians.

    We also like to point out that descendants of both the English and the Wampanoags still live in the area. In other words, this old story lives on in actual flesh-and-blood people whom we might meet in our daily lives. I know a couple of people who are of Wampanoag descent, whose ancestors were part of the old story of Thanksgiving. And I know a few people who trace their ancestry back to the Mayflower passengers; I may even be one of them — Uncle Bob, our family genealogist, was pretty sure my mother was a Mayflower descendant. And not everyone who claims descent from those original participants feels the same way about that old myth: some embrace the myth; some disdain the myth; and some just aren’t all that interested.

    I’m one of the ones who have become less and less interested in the old myth of Thanksgiving. I’d like to tell you why, and that will led me into talking about that other, even older, story about Thanksgiving which might serve to unite us rather than divide us.

    I feel that by spending so much time talking about Pilgrims and Indians, we tend to obscure deeper truths about the holiday of Thanksgiving. The holiday of Thanksgiving is really all about giving thanks. We can trace its origins back to the age-old human tradition of communities gathering together to give thanks. We can also trace its origins back to the age-old tradition of humans holding harvest festivals. Indeed, the English settlers in 1621 would have called their celebration a harvest festival. The Wampanoag had their own harvest festivals, and when they chanced upon that English harvest festival in 1621 would have understood what was going on.

    Contemporary Wampanoag continue to celebrate harvest festivals. In fact, they celebrate frequent harvest celebrations, from the first harvest of strawberries in the spring, to late harvests such as cranberries. Interviewed by the National Museum of the American Indian, Gertrude Hendricks, a Mashpee Wampanaog, pointed out: “A lot of our [Wampanoag] festivals are called ‘thanksgivings,’ because we’re giving thanks for the best of the season. It’s really important to do that … to keep the tradition going, [because] a lot of people just think of thanksgiving as the one day all year when we give thanks for the bounties from the earth. But we do it daily.”

    The Pilgrims of 1621 would have understood Gertrude Hendricks’ point that thanks should be given daily. For the Pilgrims did give thanks daily: they would have said grace before meals, a religious ritual of offering thanks to their god for the food that they were about to eat. And in addition to giving thanks daily, they also gave thanks in special celebrations, like harvest festivals. So when we think about that autumn day in 1621, the most important thing to remember is that the English settlers and the Wampanoag Indians people were giving thanks.

    Today, we live in a world that’s dominated by bad news: political division, social unrest, ecological disaster, and so on. Many of us get obsessed by the bad news. We can get so obsessed with the bad news that we can neglect to give thanks for all that is good in our lives. This is where we supposedly advanced modern people could learn from the example of both the English settlers in Plymouth, and from the Wampanoag Indians. Both those peoples had far more bad news than good news in their lives, yet they remembered to give thanks.

    Remember that more than half the English settlers died in that first year. Remember that the Pilgrims among the English had been hounded out of England, and then felt they had to leave Holland. Their lives had been filled with uncertainty and fear and grief for years. Yet they took the time to stop and give thanks for what they did have.

    As for the Wampanoag, their lives were even more uncertain. From 1616 to 1619, an unknown disease killed as many as 90 percent of the people in many of their villages; yet that epidemic did not affect their traditional enemies, the Narragansett Indians, who lived just to the west. Not only were the Wampanoag grieving the loss of family members and friends — a grief so profound and overwhelming I don’t think we can even even imagine it — but they lived in fear of being invaded at any moment by the Narragansett. Yet they took the time to stop and give thanks for what they did have.

    These were both peoples who gave thanks even in the face of overwhelming adversity. They gave thanks despite all had gone wrong. They did not ignore the troubled side of life, but they gave thanks anyway.

    We could do the same. Ross Gay’s long poem “Catalogue of Unabashed Gratitude” shows us how we might learn to give thanks more often. Ross Gay does not shy away from the difficult side of life, and yet he still gives thanks. So, for example, he writes:

    …and thank you
    for not taking my pal when the engine
    of his mind dragged him
    to swig fistfuls of Xanax and a bottle or two of booze,
    and thank you for taking my father
    a few years after his own father went down thank you
    mercy, mercy, thank you
    for not smoking meth with your mother…

    And Ross Gay also gives thanks for little trivial moments in life, that may not seem at first to be worthy of thanks — but which are worthy of thanks. So, for example, he writes:

    thank you the cockeyed [basketball] court
    on which in a half-court 3 vs. 3 we oldheads
    made of some runny-nosed kids
    a shambles, and the 61-year-old
    after flipping a reverse layup off a back door cut
    from my no-look pass to seal the game
    ripped off his shirt and threw punches at the gods
    and hollered at the kids to admire the pacemaker’s scar
    grinning across his chest…

    As a Black man living in America, Ross Gay has also written poems about injustice and his rage at injustice. Yet he knows that giving thanks is essential to our beings. In spite of all the bad things in the world, he does not forget to give thanks.

    May we too remember to give thanks. Yes, there is the sadness and injustice and trouble in this world. But there is also much to be thankful for. Yes, we must try to make the world a better place. But we can also give thanks for all that is good.

    May we remember to give thanks, not just on one day of the year, but every day. Giving thanks for all that is good should be one of our central spiritual practices. When we arise in the morning, we can offer thanks for all that is given to us. When we eat, we can give thanks for whatever it is that brings forth bread from the earth. We can give thanks when we see and hear and smell the wonders of the natural world.

    This is the deeper message of the Thanksgiving holiday: that we should give thanks, not just on one day, but every day.

  • After the Election

    Sermon copyright (c) 2024 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 corrections.

    Readings

    The first reading is an excerpt from the poem “Catalog of Unabashed Gratitude” by Ross Gay:

    Friends, will you bear with me today,
    for I have awakened
    from a dream in which a robin
    made with its shabby wings a kind of veil
    behind which it shimmied and stomped something from the south
    of Spain, its breast aflare,
    looking me dead in the eye
    from the branch that grew into my window,
    coochie-cooing my chin,
    the bird shuffling its little talons left, then right,
    while the leaves bristled
    against the plaster wall, two of them drifting
    onto my blanket while the bird
    opened and closed its wings like a matador
    giving up on murder,
    jutting its beak, turning a circle,
    and flashing, again,
    the ruddy bombast of its breast
    by which I knew upon waking
    it was telling me
    in no uncertain terms
    to bellow forth the tubas and sousaphones,
    the whole rusty brass band of gratitude
    not quite dormant in my belly —
    it said so in a human voice,
    “Bellow forth” —
    and who among us could ignore such odd
    and precise counsel?

    The second reading was a poem titled “Over the Weather” by Naomi Shihab Nye (not available online due to copyright restrictions).

    The third reading was from the Talmud, Shabbat 31a, the William Davidson translation:

    “There was another incident involving a gentile who came before Shammai and said to Shammai: Convert me on condition that you teach me the entire Torah while I am standing on one foot. Shammai pushed him away with the builder’s cubit in his hand. This was a common measuring stick and Shammai was a builder by trade. The same gentile came before Hillel. He … said to him: That which is hateful to you do not do to another; that is the entire Torah, and the rest is its interpretation. Go study.”

    Sermon

    I’d like to begin this sermon by telling you a story from the Confucian tradition. If you’re my age or older and grew up as a Unitarian Universalist, you might remember this story from the old Sophia Fahs book “From Long Ago and Many Lands.” However, Fahs got some of the details of the story wrong. My version of the story closely follows the version given in “The Sacred Edict, Containing Sixteen Maxims of Emperor Kang-He [Kangxi],” which was translated in 1817 by William Milne (London: Black, Kingsbury, Parbury, and Allen, pp. 51-52).

    The story goes like this.

    The Kangxi Emperor was the fourth emperor of the Qing dynasty in China; he’s a historical figure who rules China from 1661 to 1722. Early in his reign, China had been torn apart by wars. During these internal rebellions, the people had to leave their farms to fight, and farms were destroyed in battles. Eventually the Kangxi Emperor restored peace throughout the land. The people could tend to their farms, and food once more became plentiful. By the end of his reign, the Chinese Empire was for the most part a land of peace an plenty.

    Towards the end of his reign, however, the Emperor grew concerned about what would happen to China after he died. His own children had proved to be incapable of ruling. What principles, what rules could he give to the next emperor so that China would continue to be a land of peace and plenty? As he began to write down his maxims for peaceful rule, he recalled an event from early in his reign.

    During his long reign, he had gone on many Inspection Tours, journeys through China allowed him to inspect for himself that the land was peaceful and the people were happy. On these inspection tours, he was of course accompanied by hundreds of people. Riders on horseback went out ahead on the road to let the people know that the Emperor was coming. Next came the many horses carrying the baggage, tended by more riders on horseback. Then came skilled warriors, with their bows and arrows slung over their shoulders, also riding horses. They were followed by more warriors walking just ahead of the emperor. The emperor himself rode in an open carriage drawn by magnificent white horses; a golden parasol protected the emperor from the sun. Behind him marched more warriors carrying long lances that pointed high in the air. At times, the Emperor traveled on rivers and canals, in which case all these people were on boats.

    In every village and town he passed through, the Emperor’s advisors asked questions to learn if the people were living happy and peaceful lives. In one place, the townspeople told the emperor and his advisors about a large family which was reputed to be the happiest and most peaceful family in all of China.

    Curious to see this renowned family, the Kangxi Emperor told his advisors, “We must go see this family, to find out what makes them special.”

    And so the Emperor’s entire retinue went to this family’s compound. A man named Chang-kung greeted them, bowing low, and asking them to partake of what humble food and drink he could offer such distinguished guests.

    “My dear Master Chang-kung,” said one of the advisors, “we do not need refreshments, but we would like to know about your family.”

    “There are nine generations of our family living here,” said Chang-kung. He pointed to an old woman sitting nearby, who was attended by two young men, and said, “This revered elder is of my great-grandmother’s generation.” He next pointed to a woman carrying a new-born baby. “That child is my brother’s great grandchild. That makes nine generations.

    The emperor’s advisor said, “We have been told that yours is the happiest and most peaceful family in all the land.”

    “I cannot say if ours is the happiest and most peaceful family anywhere,” said Chang-kung. “Yet we do live in peace and happiness.”

    Indeed, the advisors saw that everyone they could see appeared to be happy. The children played together, but there were no tears, no arguments, no shouting. The adults worked at various tasks, and again there were no arguments or raised voices.

    “The emperor would like to ask you this question,” said the advisor: “How it is that so many people live together so peacefully?”

    Chang-kung turned to a young man who stood near by, and asked him politely to go and fetch ink, paper, and a brush. The young man returned in an instant with the paper and brush, and a young woman followed him carrying a small table.

    On the paper, Chang-kung wrote the same word over and over again, the Chinese word rén.(1) This word can be translated into English by several different words, including benevolence, forbearance, patience, kindness, humanity, and humaneness. The Chinese character for this word is made up of two radicals: first, the character for “person,” and second the character for “two.” Thus, the character itself shows that rén is what is required whenever there are two or more people together.

    Chang-kung pointed to the word he had written. “This is why we live in peace and harmony,” he said.

    “But this is exactly what Master Kong said,” said one of the Emperor’s advisors. (English speakers say “Confucius,” but he is known in Chinese as Kongzi.) Quoting Kongzi, the advisor said, “‘To behave to every one as if you were receiving a great guest; …[and] not to do to others as you would not wish done to yourself’ [Analects 12.2] — this is ren.”

    A second advisor said, “Kongzi also said: ‘when alone, to be sedately grave; in the management of business, to be reverently attentive; in intercourse with others, to be strictly sincere’ [Analects 13.19] — this too is ren.”

    A third advisor said, “Kongzi also said, ‘Kindness is not far off; the person who seeks for kindness has already found it.’ This, too, is ren.”

    “As to all that, I cannot say,” said Chang-kung, bowing low. “I do not know the classics as you do. I can only say that in our family we respect the humanity of each other.”

    The Kangxi Emperor heard all this, and saw how Chang-king’s family lived in peace and harmony. And this he remembered when, late in his life, he wrote down his maxims for maintaining peace and harmony in society.(2)

    So why do I tell you this story?

    First of all, I’m telling you this story as a reminder that through most of history, human society has been neither kind nor fair nor humane. Chang-kung’s family was remarkable precisely becuase it was so unusual to have so many people living in harmony with one another. We may have complaints about the United States — and there are many valid complaints to be made — but the many armed rebellions in southern China in the early years of the Kangxi Emperor’s rule made life far, far worse. Yes, it is true that the United States has seen brutal and vicious behavior, such as the epidemic of lynchings in the twentieth century, but from what I’ve read, those Chinese rebellions were even worse.

    A second reason I tell you this story is because we’ve just gone through a bruising election cycle. During this election cycle, I feel as though the best word to describe many Americans is “frantic.” Confucius understood that to be spiritually centered is to have some measure of calmness. When we are frantic, it often means we have drifted away from our spiritual center. I feel as though many of us in the United States have drifted from our spiritual centers. It has been my observation that when we human beings become frantic, when we drift from our spiritual centers, it is too easy to forget our ideals of human equality and liberty.

    If you are uncomfortable using the concept of spirituality, we can also describe this tendency using the model of the triune brain. We human beings all have the “lizard brain,” what some psychologist call the “reptilian brain,” that part of us which is in charge of more basic impulses such as fear, hunger, territoriality, and so on. We humans also have the “paleomammalian brain,” that is, the “old mammal brain,” which controls our emotions and motivations, as well as many everyday behaviors like parenting. The third part of the triune brain is the “neomammalian brain,” or “new mammal brain,” which is the seat of language, reasoning, planning ahead, and abstract thinking. By using the model of the triune brain, it’s easy to understand that when we are frantic, we are not using our neocortex, our neomammalian brain; we are probably using our reptilian brain. Thus when we are frantic, we can actually become incapable of reasoning and planning and higher thought. Andrew E. Budson, a cognitive behavioral neurologist, puts it this way:

    “Given that there have been 10 million years of evolution developing our neocortex — our neomammalian brain — why does it seem to fail so often in normal individuals? Why do we so often hear about politicians and celebrities acting on their primitive drives and urges and committing horrendous acts? The answer is one that any small child can give you: We all can make a choice, a choice as to whether we are going to give in to the primitive urges and desires of our reptilian brain or, instead, use our neocortex to control them.” (3)

    This lies behind the secret of Chang-kung’s family. Indeed, this lies behind the spiritual path of Confucianism. There is much to criticize about Confucianism (just as there is much to criticize about any human institution), but over and over again the teachings of Confucianism emphasize both that we can use our higher selves to control our actions; and also that remaining spiritually centered helps us to use our higher selves.

    One reason to stay spiritually centered is that it keeps us from being frantic. Imagine living with nine generations of your family in one family compound — this could be enough to make anyone frantic! Yet when we keep ourselves centered, keep ourselves from being frantic, then our higher brain — the neocortex, our neomammalian brain — can function.

    Remember, this is a choice we get to make. This is the choice that Chang-kung’s family made. When dealing with the needs of a couple of generations of elders, and also the needs of families with young children, it would have been easy for Chang-kung to let his reptilian brain take over. But he didn’t. He stayed focused on the teaching of Confucianism — we might say, he stayed spiritually centered — and so he was able to retain his higher brain functions.

    I suspect the reptilian brain lay behind behind the internal rebellions in the early years of the Kangxi Emperor’s reign. When we let the reptilian brain take over, we become frantic, we become susceptible to engaging in stupid actions. And there will always be those, like the unscrupulous leaders of the internal rebellions in the Kangxi Emperor’s rule, who want to tempt us into engaging in stupid actions so that they can take advantage of us.

    Indeed, we are seeing this right now in the United States in all the negative talk you can find on social media. Social media generally bypasses the neocortex, and goes straight for the lower brain functions. Social media directly engages our reptilian brains and our paleomammalian brains. We get frantic, we lose our spiritual centers, and we do stupid things. This benefits the owners of the social media companies, who are just like the leaders of the Qing dynasty rebellions.

    It’s not just social media, of course. Our society has so many ways to bypass our higher brain functions, and activate our reptilian brains and our paleomammalian brains. We even do this in our face-to-face interactions. When you hear someone demonizing a political opponent, that person is trying to bypass your higher brain functions. They may be doing it unwittingly, but the effect is the same.

    Now, it may seem wrong when I say that religion and spirituality can help us keep us from bypassing our higher brain functions. After all, isn’t religion nothing but superstition and false belief? Well, first of all, this is where we can learn from certain progressive Buddhists, who tell us that practices like meditation are simply technologies that we can choose to use for the highest purposes. Confucians adopted this technology for their own purposes, removing the Buddhist theology and calling it “quiet-sitting.” So religion and spirituality can provide us with technologies for calming ourselves, and keeping our neocortex engaged.

    Equally importantly, it depends on how you use religion and spirituality. Just about anything we humans do is capable of being misused, so that we bypass our higher brain functions. I’m a big supporter of education, but education can (and has) been misused to indoctrinate rather than to educate. I’m a big supporter of democracy, but demagogues can (and do) misuse democratic processes and institutions for their own manipulative purposes. Similarly, religion and spirituality can be misused to manipulate us, rather than to help us use our higher brain functions. But just because bad actors can misuse them doesn’t mean these human institutions are irredeemably broken. We can make a choice about how we use them.

    I have come to believe that the most useful technology that religion offers us is a values-based community. This may not sound like a technology, but it is. Religion and spirituality offers us the technology of intentional communities in which we come together specifically to keep from being frantic, to keep us engaged with our higher selves. (That’s one of the primary purposes of our First Parish community.) We know that human beings are susceptible to being sucked in to groups that appeal to our reptilian brains. We humans are social being, and we need to be in communities. So joining an intentional community designed to engage our higher selves can be a useful tool to keep us out of other communities that deliberately engage our destructive reptilian brains.

    We live in a time and place where we are incredibly divided. I’m watching otherwise good and kind people say things like, “I can no longer talk to anyone from the opposite political party.” That is the reptilian brain talking. That is not the higher brain talking. And this is an incredibly destructive trend. It erodes civil discourse. It leads to violence.

    Faced with this trend, it’s all too easy to say, “Well, everyone else is doing it, so I’m going to do it too!” But a little thought shows us this is illogical; this is in fact a case of bypassing our higher brain functions. Just because our political leaders and other celebrities are bypassing their higher brain functions doesn’t mean we should bypass our higher brain functions. On the contrary, we really want to keep our higher brain functions engaged. In times like these, we really want to be our best selves. Having spent twenty-five years in education, I think about it this way: somebody has to be the grown-ups in the room; it might as well be us.

    And the thing is, if we manage to stay engaged with our higher selves, if we manage to keep our higher brain functions engaged, we will be calmer and happier. Remember the nine generations of Chang-kung’s family living together in one family compound. They ordered their lives with the Confucian value of rén — benevolence, forbearance, patience, kindness, humanity, humaneness, however you want to translate it. And perhaps the best way to translate it is in that phrase from the Confucian Analects: Do not to do to others as you would not wish done to yourself. This is almost identical to the wisdom of the rabbis in the Torah, who taught us: “That which is hateful to you do not do to another; that is the entire Torah, and the rest is its interpretation. Go study.”

    May we study benevolence, forbearance, patience, kindness, humanity, and humaneness. May this spirit fill our hearts and minds, and fill us with a sense of peace. Then may that peace within spread outwards to our families, even unto nine generations. When our selves and our families are regulated by humaneness, patience, and kindness, then too will our nation be so regulated. And then perhaps peace will spread throughout our land.

    Notes

    (1) This word is also transliterated as “jen.”

    (2) For a brief summary of the story, see entry on Chang-kung in Herbert Giles, A Chinese Biographical Dictionary (London, 1898). Lin Yutang tells the story differently in his essay “The Chinese People” (The China Critic, vol. IV, no. 15 [9 April 1931], 343-347): “There was once a Prime Minister, Chang Kung-ni, who was much envied for his earthly blessedness of having nine generations living together in one household. Once the Emperor, Tang Kao-chung, asked him the secret of his success, and the minister asked for pen and paper, on which he wrote over a hundred characters of the word ‘patience’ or ‘endurance’. Instead of taking that as a sad commentary on the family system, the Chinese people have ever after envied his example, and the phrase ‘hundred patience’ (po jen) has passed into current phraseology.”

    (3) Andrew E Budson, “Don’t Listen to Your Lizard Brain,” Psychology Today “Managing Your Memory” blog, 3 Dec. 2107, https://www.psychologytoday.com/us/blog/managing-your-memory/201712/don-t-listen-your-lizard-brain accessed 6 Nov. 2024.