Great Ideas

Rev. Daniel S. Schatz

BuxMont Unitarian Universalist Fellowship

January 27, 2008 

I have never had a feeling politically that did not spring from the sentiments embodied in the Declaration of Independence. I have often pondered over the dangers which were incurred by the men who assembled… and framed and adopted that Declaration of Independence. I have pondered over the toils that were endured by the officers and soldiers of the army who achieved that Independence. I have often inquired of myself, what great principle or idea it was that kept this Confederacy so long together. It was not the mere matter of the separation of the Colonies from the motherland; but that sentiment in the Declaration of Independence which gave liberty, not alone to the people of this country, but, I hope, to the world, for all future time. It was that which gave promise that in due time the weight would be lifted from the shoulders of all men. This is a sentiment embodied in the Declaration of Independence. Now, my friends, can this country be saved upon that basis? If it can, I will consider myself one of the happiest men in the world, if I can help to save it. If it cannot be saved upon that principle, it will be truly awful. But if this country cannot be saved without giving up that principle, I was about to say I would rather be assassinated on this spot than surrender it.

- Abraham Lincoln

impromptu remarks at Independence Hall

Philadelphia, Pennsylvania – February 22, 1861

You said to me “The greatness of one's country is beyond price.  Everything is good that contributes to its greatness, and in a world where everything has lost its meaning, those lucky few, who, like us young Germans, are fortunate enough to find a meaning in the destiny of our country, must sacrifice everything else to it.”  I loved you then, but at this point we diverged.  “No,” I told you, “Everything must not be subordinated to a single end.  There are means which cannot be excused, and I should like to be able to love my country, and still love justice.”  You retorted “Well you don't love your country.”

That was five years ago.  We have been separated since then.  And I can tell you that not a single day has passed during those long years without my remembering your remark “You don't love your country.”  No, I didn't love my country, if pointing out what is unjust about what one loves amounts to not loving.  No, I didn't love my country, if insisting that what one loves measure up to the finest image you have of her amounts to not loving, then I do not love my country….

What is spirit?  We know its opposite, which is murder. What is man?  There I stop you, for we know.   Man is that force which ultimately cancels all tyrants and gods.  He is the force of evidence....

-Albert Camus, First Letter to a German Friend 

My heart is moved by all I cannot save:

So much has been destroyed

I have to cast my lot with those who,

age after age,

perversely, with no extraordinary power,

reconstitute the world.

- Adrienne Rich

Sermon:  “Great Ideas”

      From age to age people of conscience find ourselves confronted with a moral imperative.  Perhaps an injustice has lingered for too long; maybe the wisdom of the time has at last overcome our reticence to upset the social order.  Such a moment happened in this country when religious people of conscience – among them many Universalists and Unitarians – at last came to the realization that the ownership of human beings was a scourge against all that was holy, and must be abolished.  Again we spoke up – or many did – when our nation at last began to wake to the right of women to vote and hold public office.  The civil rights movement of the 1950s and 60s found its strongest base in the African American churches of the South – as well as liberal religions like Unitarian Universalism. People of conscience have often lifted our hands and voices for justice.

      Other times, voices that should have spoken loudly have sat silent when confronted with abuses against humanity.  Where was the religious voice against the internment of Japanese Americans during World War II?  A few Quakers and one Unitarian church spoke up; nobody, as far as I can tell, listened very much.  Where was moral outrage at the slaughter of innocents in Rwanda?  Where is the voice of conscience to defend human rights in our own country – rights not only embraced by the United Nations, but enshrined in our own founding documents?

      The abuses of our day are those committed in the name of an ill-defined war against an ill-defined enemy.  The events leading up to these abuses are clear enough – on September 11, 2001, nineteen men, supported by a radical Islamic terrorist network, hijacked four planes and attacked the symbols of our nation’s power.  Nearly three thousand women, men and children died in that attack.  Our outrage, fear and grief were entirely justified – and the world grieved with us.  No country deserved such tragedy. 

      We had an opportunity in that moment.  We had the chance to demonstrate to a world suddenly made ready to listen what freedom truly means.  We had a chance to stand strong against the horror which had been perpetrated while standing equally strong for the values of human dignity and human rights.  Our words were noble – we spoke of respect for the religion of Islam; we identified the terrorists as an exception, and not a norm.  We spoke of freedom and the American spirit.  And while we were speaking, while the people were grieving, we began to watch that freedom erode and that spirit fade into a kind of chauvinistic nationalism.

      Young Moslems were rounded up by the hundreds.  Many were sent to a prison camp on a military base in Cuba – often with little or no notice to their families.  For the first time I heard the term “disappeared” applied to people in my own country.  Few were informed of the charges against them; legal council has been granted only grudgingly and without much meaning.  Prisoners have been subjected to repeated hearings until the desired decision has been reached.  No longer are the people innocent until proven guilty.  Now we discover that some have been tortured. 

      Meanwhile we have witnessed the abrogation of basic civil rights and liberties – the right to be protected from unreasonable searches, the right to privacy, the right to a speedy trial by jury with counsel and hope of appeal.  Telephones are tapped with no warrant.  Libraries are required to hand over the records of their patrons, while denied even the ability to say publicly that such a request has been made.  I am reminded of E. B. White’s comment that a certain editorialist had “tripped over the first amendment and thought it was the office cat.”  Now our own government is doing the same.  This is what we know about, and it is frightening enough.  The thought of what we don’t know terrifies me.

      All of this, we are told, is temporary – just to get us through the current crisis, just until we win this war on terrorism.  These are emergency measures, the result of extraordinary times and an unprecedented threat.  We will return to the full protections of our constitution and our traditions as soon as the threat is removed.  Besides – these unprecedented powers are only used against terrorists.

      There are three problems with such assurances.  The first is that the enemy of “terrorism” is amorphous to such an extreme that arguably it can never be defeated – only contained, or better yet, made irrelevant.  One cannot wage war against a tactic.  So how long must we endure the decay of freedom?  The second is that those who have instituted this new order have endeavored to keep much of it secret while arguing that no legal authority is necessary.  If our nation’s actions are morally acceptable, why do we keep them hid?  If they are legal, why do we commit them on foreign soil, and claim that the constitution does not apply there?  Thirdly, unless someone has been given a fair trial, how are we to know whether they are terrorists are not?

      This sermon comes with a confession.  I, like many, have been guilty of wishful thinking.  I have been guilty of sitting and waiting for something to be done about it all while human beings are daily subjected to crimes against their personhood, committed brazenly by a government which has refused to accept moral or legal responsibility.  I have allowed torture to be committed in the name of protecting me.

      There have always been times when fear or a sense of powerlessness have led good people to ignore the great crimes of the day.  There is nothing, we reason, we could possibly do to have an impact on the actions of our government.  We take comfort in our personal innocence; the government is, after all, not the same as the people.  And for the most part, we continue to live our lives much as we always have.  We are made perhaps a little less comfortable for our complicity, but we manage to bear the occasional twinge of guilt and get through the day.

      I am reminded of Aesop’s fable about a horse and a stag.  These two animals had lived together in the forest for many years, but argued over who had the rights to graze the finest grass or drink from the clearest waters.  Over time their animosity became warfare, and then the warfare became deadly.

      The horse knew he could never defeat the stag as things stood, so he went to the man and said, “Will you help me defeat the stag?  One day I will return your favor.”  The man agreed, telling the horse, “I will only be able to help you if you allow me to put this bridle on your head and saddle on your back.”  The horse willingly lowered his head.

      It didn’t take long for the man on horseback to overcome the stag, who fled at once before the hunter.  The horse was ecstatic, saying, “Thank you, my friend!  I will not forget your kindness – and one day I will return the favor.  Now, will you remove this saddle and bridle?”  But the man only laughed, kicking the horse in the sides and saying “Giddyap!  You’re wearing my saddle and bridle now – if you didn’t want to belong to me you should never have put them on.”  The sad and suffering horse was made to serve the man for the rest of his days.

      I confess that I am guilty.  I too have bowed my head, watched as the saddle and bridle were lowered – and hoped for the best.  I take some small comfort in that I am not alone in this; few of us have done enough or demanded enough of our national leaders.  But I do not want to wear this saddle and this bridle for the rest of my life.  I do not want this to be the nation we create.

      I went back and re-read the Constitution this week.  It’s a good read, and a book that appeals to me as a religious person as well as an American citizen – after all, many of its ideas grew from the same Enlightenment thought as our own Unitarian Universalist tradition.  The rights and protections outlined in the Bill of Rights are there not just because it is good government, but because the framers of the Republic – many of them Unitarians – fervently believed in the right of conscience and the dignity of all individuals.  These rights were for them a matter of faith.

      They are meaningful not because they grant some special privilege to American citizens, but because they define the basic human rights of all people.  Like Abraham Lincoln, who saw in the Declaration of Independence a promise for all nations, I believe our constitutional protections must apply equally to every person, regardless of citizenship, race, religion, guilt or innocence.  They must apply to everyone or they mean nothing.  Having accepted the bridle and saddle of compromise to those rights, we risk losing both our freedom and our conscience.

      But in the most despicable acts carried out in our name, we risk losing far more than that.  As the evidence of our government’s crimes mounts and our voices continue to remain too quiet – we risk losing the very soul of our nation.  We risk losing the souls of all of us who have stood helpless for too long. 

      What good is a name and a place, if the ideals upon which it was founded have been destroyed?  What is the United States of America, if its freedoms have been lost?  Who are we, if we have lost the great ideas upon which we were founded?  Where is your soul, America?

      I can no longer remain silent.  I am weary.  I am weary of hearing from official after official, candidate after candidate, that the practice of strapping down a human being and pouring water in his mouth until he begins to drown might be repugnant, but isn’t legally torture – merely because it doesn’t leave a visible mark. If a physical act committed on any person is morally repugnant, than it is never acceptable – under any circumstance.  There can be no exceptions.  This is torture.  I am weary of a Congress that condemns the act, but does nothing about it, because they are afraid it might lose them an election.  I am weary of being told that “the right to safety comes before all other rights,” when our greatest heroes have always taught that safety without freedom means nothing.

      Where is our soul?  America, where is your soul? 

      I am weary of slogans and nationalism.  I am weary of racism.  I am weary of hearing the word God invoked as if the deity somehow loved Americans better than other people.  The God in my Bible loves justice, mercy and compassion.  If such a God were to love one country more than others, it could only be for that country’s ideals – and we are fast losing those.

      There are some who would not want to hear these words, who honestly believe that an evil committed in the name of good can be justified.  I recognize that many who express the kind of sentiment I speak today have been accused of a lack of patriotism.  Nothing could be farther from truth.  A nation is little more than an ideal, and if we sacrifice the ideal of America in the name of its protection, then we are left with nothing whatsoever.  In the words of Camus, “I should like to be able to love my country and still love justice.” 

      Many of us feel helpless – it seems impossible to have any impact.  I feel that turmoil almost every day – we want to do something; we don’t know what to do.  But I am also finding it more and more difficult to live with doing nothing.  The dangers of remaining complicit mount over time.  The saddle and bridle become increasingly difficult to remove.  Our integrity stands in peril.

      We can do something.  It may not feel like much, but surely it is better to act than to remain acquiescent.  Our souls demand no less, and we can do something.  We can travel to Washington –  or to local offices and meet with our representatives and Senators.  We can tell them how we feel.  If we are unable to travel than we can write letters and faxes.  If we are unable to write letters and faxes we can make phone calls.  If we are unable to make phone calls we can sign petitions.  If we are unable to find a petition we can support human rights organizations.  If we are unable to find an organization we can start right here, with our own Peace and Justice Committee at BuxMont.  During Social Hour today this Committee will have a table with information about what you can do and what we can do together to restore the soul of our nation.  We can join with others in Bucks and Montgomery Counties to speak out against and protest torture with every fiber of our moral beings, because it is the great crime and shame of our country today.  We can press for the return of our civil liberties and against laws that permit the violation of our Constitution.

      No task is of more moment to people of conscience.  There is no religious imperative greater than the preservation of human dignity, the protection of democracy, the growth of justice and freedom.  This is our sacred calling as people of goodwill and as Unitarian Universalists.  At stake is nothing less than our own integrity.  Let us rise as one to the moment and reclaim the soul of our nation.

Sorrow will one day turn to joy.

All that breaks the heart and oppresses the soul

will one day give place to peace and understanding

and everyone will be free.