The Migration of Faiths – The Newer Frameworks of Universalism

January 27, 1963
Rochester

Sermon Series: Our Judeo-Christian Heritage
18. The Migration of Faiths – The Newer Frameworks of Universalism

Religious faiths migrate from culture to culture and from age to age. Ideas take on some of the coloration of different cultural settings. The intrusion of the new or different faith can alter the territory into which it moves. There are newer frameworks fit for our Unitarian Universalist faith if we have the imagination and courage to express a religious creation which will both challenge the critic and sustain those who are hungry for moral relevance.

Will you consider first the attractive possibilities and realistic limitations on Unitarian Universalism as a “world faith,” or as a “faith for one world.” Then, will you look at the new areas of discovery where our faith should be in the scene, clearly and forcefully.

Many among us have urged fuller recognition that our faith has grown beyond Christianity. Most of us believe that Christianity is one among many religions of the world. All the religions which man has served have attempted to comprehend the world of man’s experience; to express that meaning in scripture, sacrifice, meditation or prayer; and to list man’s ethical obligations which arise because of the nature of the faith. Recognizing the reality of different emphases and convictions, we have asserted the right of each man to seek his own expression of religious faith.

This recognition that neither Christianity nor any other singular religion has sole claim to truth or a unique right to the obedience of all men has led some to hope that it would lead one day to faith for one world. From the many, the best would be selected to create a faith gathered from all religious cultures, soliciting the allegiance of all who have dreamed of one faith in one world. The acceleration of the meeting and mixing of cultures has stimulated expectations among those who cherish this dream.

There are also those who reject flatly the hope of one faith in one world. They point out with considerable insight that a great religion cannot be created by selecting the dishes that appear most appetizing in a smörgåsbord of religions from all times and places. Religion may be one human experience, both individual and social, which cannot by synthesized.

There is much to be said for this dis-enchanted appraisal of one faith for one world. Every religion bears the scars of its origins in geography, climate, historical beginnings, and usually, the imprint of a great founding personality. To blend the best of all these into a faith both relevant and satisfying would be neither possible nor desirable. Furthermore, because tastes and needs differ, there could be no common consent as to the most desirable parts of Judaism, Christianity, Buddhism, Islam, Hinduism and the historic religions of China to make up the truest and best religion for one world.

But the formidable assignment of synthesizing a world religion need not prevent us from appreciating the best of all historic religions. In all honesty, the “best” is what appeals to the individual. Usually, but not always, this is the body of humanitarian wisdom and ethical urgency found in the great religions. Sometimes we are encouraged by an emphasis which seems universal – the Golden Rule, for example. Other times we are appreciative of religious expressions which lift up the spirits of others, even though we do not respond similarly. Then again, we may acquire affection and respect for the unlimited commitment of men and women of high dedication in any faith.

However, in all candor, this is not a newer framework for our faith. There are still persons living who remember the World Parliament of Religions in Chicago in 1893 and there have been similar subsequent meetings. Many of us have been taught all our lives not only the separate origins and practices, but also the great worth of the many religions.

The historian, Friedrich Heer (THE MEDIEVAL WORLD, p. 119-20) tells the remarkable story of religion at the court of Genghis Khan, ruler of the Mongol Empire, at the high water mark of its power in the 13th century. When European representatives journeyed to the court, they were astonished at the religious tolerance which prevailed. In a period when free discussion of religion was decidedly limited in Europe, the Mongols, most of whom were Shamanists, permitted Buddhists, Taoists, Confucianists, Manicheans, Jews, Nestorian Christians and others to exist [beside their own]. Genghis Khan was inclined to Taoists persuasion, but in the royal family were numbered in-laws who were Nestorian Christians.

Marco Polo, who remained in Mongol service for fifteen years (1261-75) “reported that Kublai Khan, Emperor of the Mongols at Peking honored Jesus, Mohammed, Moses and Buddha, and allowed himself to be censed on his birthday by the priests of all four religions.”

I have no doubt that we may seek to be appreciative of all the world’s religions, willing to be taught by their best, incorporating what we might adopt as our own; being warned by the worst of what we should disavow. There is great value for us in international relations with other religions, particularly with whom we hold many common beliefs, such as the International Association of Religious Freedom and Liberal Christianity. May the day come when such religious appreciation widens without becoming shallow.

But without diminishing the importance of the framework of world religions, I believe there is a larger framework more demanding of our talents and more needful of a deep-held faith. There is a framework of new realities and startling discoveries which badly needs the addition of a more creative faith than of any religion which I have knowledge, including our own. In the 17th century, Descartes wrote, “Traveling is almost like conversing with men of other centuries.” Sometimes I think worship is almost like conversing with men of other centuries. This is praiseworthy as long as we relate religion to our life today – the filling of today’s needs; the solution of today’s problems. Let me remind you of some of the pieces in that wider frame which a religion for today should be enhancing with meanings that will begin to measure up to the need.

Consider the biological sciences, the discoveries achieved in the lifetime of all of us and the constant possibility of break-through to amazing knowledge of the origin of life. The evolution debates which reached a peak of controversy in the Scopes trial less than forty years ago, seem almost antiquarian in light of the present standards of research.

To cite just one example of numerous ones constantly available to us, Dr. Solomon W. Golomb of the C.I.T. Jet Propulsion Laboratory spoke this week on the possibility of organic life in outer space. Explaining that he considers organic life “to be a systems concept, and that the particular components used to realize this concept may be quite different, planet to planet, ... Dr. Golumb explained that the replication of organic life on earth requires long molecules of nucleic acids, which he referred to as the punched tape that contains complete instructions for making all parts of an organism....” (Christian Science Monitor). How rudimentary, even primitive the old Ape-Man arguments seem in light of cosmic evolution. “What is man that Thou art mindful of him?”

Consider the macrocosm – the giantism of the universe whose enormity overwhelms the most extravagant imagination. Reviewing (S.R. 1/26/63) Sir Bernard Lovell’s book, THE EXPLORATION OF OUTER SPACE, scientist Ralph Lapp describes the range of the radio-telescope, “our own modest galaxy, a cartwheeling configuration of some 100 billion stars, is but a pinprick of light in the firmament of space. For every person on planet Earth, there are a billion galaxies beyond our Milky Way. Light waves (or radio waves) take eight minutes to reach us from the Sun. They take eight billion years to travel across the “abyss of time” to touch our galactic shore. The radio telescope looks backward in time seeing things as they were billions of years ago. It is possible, though by no means sure, that this backward look will decide between the conflicting theories about the evolution of the universe – whether it began as a big bang and since has been expanding and will sometime fade away, or whether it had no beginning and will have no end but is always in the process of continuous creation.” “Little lamb who made thee” amid these vast proportions?

Consider the microcosm – the elusive invisibility of uncountable billions of bacteria and virus made known by the electron microscope and intricate analysis. We no longer speculate about how many angels can find space on the head of a pin; we know that staggering numbers of invisible species exist there, everywhere else and always have, but never known to man when he pondered long ago theologies of creation and destiny.

Consider other parts of the framework – the insights about our strange, individual dispositions – our impulses springing from sub-conscious motives, our rationalizations, our turbulent emotions, many times aggravated in their effects by our strenuous efforts to conceal them. Hemingway (I think) wrote a short story about a kitchen helper who, holding a knife against himself, asserted that he had the courage to kill himself – this exhibition for the purpose of trying to impress the cook. When the cook scornfully called his bluff, the helper plunged the knife in a successful suicide. The tidal emotion in his ebbing life was a huge regret that pride was the cause, not the wish to die.

Not only are we realizing the necessity of dealing more ably with our destructive emotions, but also many perceptive observers see a great many people getting less and less real gratification from their work. Occupational boredom can be one of the most de-humanizing influences, because we need to feel that our work is creative; we need a zest for living and these are hard to come by for many who push one button, pull one lever or assemble one spring. Dr. George MacLeod, who reestablished the religious community on the island of Iona, frequently takes one of the least attractive tasks in the community – cleaning the latrines. He says, “So that I will not be tempted to preach irrelevant sermons about the dignity of labor.” (quoted by Robert McAfee Brown, THE SPIRIT OF PROTESTANTISM, p. 116).

Then there is the newer framework of our expanding urban metropolis. This is a commonplace assertion that Boston, Massachusetts to Washington, D.C. now comprises one vast urban complex and there are other continuous urban city areas. The suburbs in the opinion of some planners are doomed to become just as much an asphalt wasteland as many decaying inner cities. The “slurb” is a new term for the suburb interlaced with choked expressways, embellished with the neon glow of shopping plazas, characterized by weary mothers endlessly transporting children and fathers who leave when dawn breaks and re-appear when night falls, if they are not traveling out-of-town.

There is rootlessness and de-personalization. One of the most irritating volumes of correspondence I am currently pursuing is trying to straighten out a mix-up of oil company billings. The machines made an error. Another man and I have the same number on our credit cards. Our names are different, he lives in Yonkers and I in Rochester, but what seems agonizingly difficult to overcome is the fact that the same number appears on both our cards and the god of machines seems reluctant to grant his grace. The telephone companies warn us that soon we will no longer be able to dial Hamilton 6 or Chapel 4. A reporter inquired, would you have picked up the novel, Butterfield 8, if the title had been “288?” Somewhere in the news, there was an item, more pathetic than amusing about the lonely one in the city who would phone the automatic time recording, not to find out the hour or temperature, but just to hear the sound of a human voice.

Then the most vital part of the newer framework, the achievement of human harmony in a world where the perils of complete incineration are so obvious that they have become trite. This is our road to Jericho and the parable of the Good Samaritan is not easy to apply. One of the points of the parable that Jesus told was that the “good” one, the one who helped his neighbor was a Samaritan, despised by the audience that listened to Jesus. Nor do we have a follow-through wherein we are informed how the Jericho road may have been patrolled to prevent the re-occurrence of crime.

The newer framework of our lives confronts us with a most difficult paradox: how to we keep order on the world road and how, to quote a writer from the War/Peace report (Jan. 63), “how do we incorporate into our emotions and ethics a word, ‘multimegadeath war” - megadeath, the shorthand for one million dead?”

Thus we have a double framework for our times: (a) the emphasis on awareness that one’s religion is among many in the world, each with something to teach, each with a good deal to learn about wisdom, kindness and insight; (b) but more vital to achieving a mature faith is to confront the newer framework for human life which has been created by science, politics, economics, industry, social change and welfare possibilities so awful we shrink from candid appraisal, and peace hopes so potential with human advance that we dare not trust our visions.

If individual or group religion is to claim the name of universal, then it cannot retreat to any position that does not deal with this world of today:

The universe is immeasurably large beyond our most advanced probing instruments.

The universe is incredibly small; our most delicate microscopes but hint at ultimate components.

Energy and matter are varieties of one reality. To put it another way, the material and immaterial are different appearances of the same unity.

We face the depersonalizing agonies of occupational boredom in a “slurb” earmarked by exhaustive haste in trivial pursuits.

The Jericho road today is far more perilous; the Samaritan’s obligations [are] far more ambiguous than the situation of old which stimulated the wonderful parable of Jesus.

All these great potentials and ominous portents are our world. Unless our faith migrates into these areas with sustaining qualities which help man wrestle and master this strange world of his creation, then it is a religion of antiquarian interest, but little current relevance.

Most of us would agree that right living is more important than right belief. But it is also true that we are under the mandate of our predominant beliefs and ethical codes, as well as being pushed by our buried feelings. Furthermore, our hearts inquire for meanings beyond correct conduct. We are blessed with capacity to think and imagine, and thought and imagination seek meanings which transcend the profit of the hour or the loss of the day.

Let me pose three questions which seem perennial in the human adventure, but which deserve honest interpretation in these newer frameworks of Universalism:

First, in our experience, what is there that pulls us toward the idea that men have called God? For most of us, there is little excitement or fascination in fencing with the allegorical or symbolic interpretations of the creation story of Genesis. Long ages ago a myth took form to explain how the world and all there is in it came to be. It is an arresting myth in epic style. But it will not satisfy the hungers of reasoning man today.

In our experience, what idea of God is both comprehensive enough to include the vast reaches of stellar space, the incredible minuteness of chemical structures, and at some time sensitive [and] personal enough so that we will feel at home in this universe, our dwelling place?

It may have been a shepherd singer who was close to nature, morning and night, who first sang (Ps 104):

“O my Lord, thou art very great!
Thou art clothed with honor and majesty,
who coverest thyself with light as a garment,
who hast stretched out the heavens like a tent,
who has laid the beams of thy chambers on the waters,
who makest the clouds of thy chariots,
who rides on the wings of the wing,
who makest thy winds thy messengers,
fire and flame thy ministers
Thou didst set the earth on its foundations,
So that it should never be shaken.”

To us this is wonderful religious poetry; to the Psalmist, it was first-hand religious experience; there is an infinite distance between the two concepts. We cannot recapture his religious experience; we cannot accept his simplified view of God’s hand in Nature. We cannot dismiss our knowledge and language and go back to Judean hills and thrill to the overarching sky as we tend sheep.

Yet we will lose if we fail to embrace the world of our experience; come to terms with its creating power, its cosmic processes of growth and change, the thrill of deep space and the mystery of molecular structure.

Secondly, in our experience, how do we reconcile the problem of evil? In the Old Testament, Job is the superb biblical example of punishment without crime. God and the Devil wager that Job, the obedient servant of God, can be driven to repudiate his faith by the constant visitation of unmerited suffering. The wager is carried out. Job loses his wealth; his children die tragically; he is afflicted with a skin disease; his wife bids him, “curse God and die.” Job denies his personal guilt, but refuses to repudiate God. The dilemma in Biblical Job is left unsolved, but the effort is magnificent.

Today, the problem is no less, even though we cannot take as either real or humane the artificial device of God and the Devil wagering on man’s capacity to endure suffering. But, there is still unmerited suffering without measure in our world; every family experiences it; every one of you could cite dozens of examples: children incinerated in Hiroshima, girls strangled in Boston or killed violently in our suburbs, the dust of millions of innocent victims of the extermination camps clouds the brightness of civilization’s promise.

In Archibald McLeish’s modern rewrite of Job, “JB,” the answers are not adequate for everyone. J.B. and his wife, Sarah, find their consolation in none of the accepted ways of salvation – orthodox religion, psychoanalysis, or Marxism. They find meaning and dignity in human love. Sarah says,

“Blow on the coal of my heart.
The candles in the churches are out.
The lights have gone out in the sky.
Blow on the coal of the heart
And we’ll see, by and by.”

There is immeasurable potential of evil which could be unleashed on hundreds of millions of persons, who do not deserve this overflowing cup of suffering. Can such disaster be accepted while [we are] still striving mightily to re-assert human dignity and find goodness life?

In order to arrive at strong religion, to such ethical discourse we may address ourselves; to deal with such issues may bring us great riches of faith.

Thirdly, in our experience, how do we deal with the meaning of life, beyond whatever individual share of years, happiness and sorrow may be our individual lot?

The sixth chapter of Isaiah describes the overpowering religious experience of that young prophet. He knew the experience of God; he realized the purpose of life for him; he accepted the assignment that purpose implied. Such experience is personal; its impact and commitment cannot be assimilated secondhand.

Images of Biblical Heaven and Hell, doctrines of last things, when the world will be ended with a supernatural deluge of destruction, one final and irrevocable day of judgment – these archaic conclusions no longer have more than passing meaning for most of us. What in our lives stirs us to deal with the meaning of the universe of our experience, the purpose of life – its creation, growth, decay, death?

What is more empty than the life of a man studded with achievement, furnished by acquisitions and decorated with diversion, but who has never taken the time to wrestle with the meaning of life? But we know also that in every age, men and women have grasped their own experiences and derived from it meanings which enabled them to live life with gladness and die death with courage.

To such purposeful discourse we may address ourselves; to deal with such issues may bring great riches of faith.

These newer frameworks for faith have little room for a bland collectivity of inoffensive religion and inert ethics. There is little room for mindless comfort. We have a task to use the resources of civilized goodness in confronting the world of our experience to construct a faith offering enough serious options to gather loyalties from all segments of our diverse and pluralistic world. I would conclude with Tennyson’s forward-looking lines from Morte D’Arthur,

“The old order changeth, yielding place to new,
And God fulfills himself in many ways,
Lest one good custom should corrupt the world.”