A sermon by the Rev. Daniel Schatz, delivered at BuxMont Unitarian Universalist Fellowship, March 16, 2003

Readings

Universalists are often asked to tell where they stand.  The only true answer to give to this question is that we do not stand at all, we move.  We grow… as all living things forever must do.  The main questions with Universalists are not where we stand but which way we are moving, not what positions we defend, but which way we are marching…

What may… be… disturbing to minds that tend to inertia, which are dreading changes, and stoutly demanding final and authoritative statements and definitions, is that they will never get what they want in this or in any other possible world.  What such people think they want is not what they truly need.  No human word has ever reached or ever will reach finality of meaning.  Each living age always has defined religion in the light of its own experiences, and all ages to come will do the same.

- Lewis Fisher, Which Way?

The really interesting thing about science is not the answer but the questions.  The questions are part of reasoning one’s way through from one step to another.  And it is the questions, rather than the sometimes spectacular answers, that make science such a fascinating experience.

Sermon

Every once in awhile I find myself at the receiving end of a strange kind of  diatribe.  It usually happens when I identify myself as not only a Unitarian  Universalist, but a Religious Humanist to boot.  “The trouble with Humanists,”  the argument begins, “is that you place human beings at the top of everything.  Instead of worshipping God, you worship humans.  That’s idolatry and it’s  wrong.”  I’ve heard the same story many times and in many ways over the  years.  It’s been said directly, and it’s shown up in theological texts from scholars I admired.  It all seems to come down to the idea that Humanists worship humans, regarding them as the center of existence.

I have been a Unitarian Universalist all my life, and a Religious Humanist for all my adult life, and no idea could be further from my theology than the that of the world revolving around humans.  We are neither the center nor the highest aspect of creation.  When presented with such an argument, I tend to respond that Humanists do not worship humans any more than Presbyterians worship presbyters, or Lutherans worship Martin Luther, or Anglicans worship angles.  It’s a hollow accusation based on bad semantics.

It’s not that there aren’t valid criticisms people could make.  Those who know a little more rightly charge many Humanists, and indeed religious liberals throughout history, with too much pride in what humanity has been able – and will continue to be able – to achieve.  As early as the 1840s, the Unitarian transcendentalist minister James Freeman Clarke loudly trumpeted “the progress of mankind onward and upward forever and ever.”  I remember quoting that once to a seminary professor, who said, “That’s so poetic.  I wonder if anyone believes it anymore.”

While I’m not so far from believing that we have it within ourselves to continue to progress, I doubt sincerely that we have the ability to achieve everything we set our minds to, or even that the measure of our progress should be achievement.

The late science fiction author Douglas Adams wrote of the age old argument between human beings and dolphins – which is the more intelligent species?  “[Humans] always assumed that [they] were more intelligent than dolphins because [they] had achieved so much – the wheel, New York, wars and so on – while all the dolphins had ever done was muck about in the water having a good time.  But conversely, the dolphins had always believed that they were far more intelligent than [humans] – for precisely the same reasons.”

It puts me in mind of a cartoon my mother keeps on her refrigerator – a team of biologists are attempting to decipher the sounds made by dolphins, to see if there is intelligence in their communication.  One scientist, wearing headphones, reports: “We’re getting another one of those strange Aw Blah Es Pan Yol sounds.”

The measure of our progress is neither in knowledge nor achievement, but in understanding.  Knowledge can only take us so far.

Indeed, my favorite course in college was one in which knowledge couldn’t help much at all, and achievements were dubious at best.  It was one of the most innovative fields of scholarship known to higher education, and that it has not spread very far beyond the University of Texas I can attribute only to academic snobbery.  The field, invented and taught by Professor Douglas Stott Parker, was Parageography – the study of imaginary worlds.  From Odysseus to Saint Brendan to Dante to Spenser to Tolkien and Roger Zelazny – this was the cutting edge of creative education, surpassed only by a course I took the following year - “Advanced Parageography”.  There were more books assigned than anyone could reasonably have read in a semester (including all three Lord of the Rings novels), and each student was required to design their own world in what our professor (or, as he liked to call himself, Preceptor and Guide) referred to as not a final project, but an Esemplastic Telos.  For the final exam, or “terminal praxis,” we were required to study in detail the professor’s own teaching world, “High Thefaerie,” and spend three hours responding to extremely detailed questions – the answers to which were not in any of the material provided.

Texas was a big state university, the kind in which some students come the first day, pick up the syllabus, buy and read the books and course packets, and leave, returning only to turn in papers and take the final exam.  Thus educated with knowledge, the understanding gained from actually sitting through lectures and discussions would be largely irrelevant to the end result, which was a letter on a college transcript – preferably at least a C.  So it was that one year, a young woman who the Professor barely recognized took up her blue book at the end of three hours, and with tears in her eyes said, “How could you possibly expect us to know that?”  Parker stared at her.  “I didn’t,” he said.  “You were supposed to make it up.”

Knowledge can only take us so far.  There are times when we need a quality beyond knowledge, be it creativity, a sense of awe, or the will to stretch ourselves.  Sometimes we need the freedom to explore beyond our knowledge, into the realms of our limitations.  In truth, we are limited in every realm.  We don’t know everything and we can’t do everything, and so we must seek, imagine, and inquire.  While we may take pride in our discoveries and creations, none of them are perfect and none are without limits.  Even the most basic areas of knowledge are as yet incomplete.  As people of the inquiring mind, this is an article of faith with most Unitarian Universalists

It’s a difficult concept for some people to understand, especially those whose religion is based on any kind of received dogma or perfect revelation.  “The scriptures,” we are told by some, “are absolute truth because they were inspired by divine revelation.”  A Unitarian Universalist would be unlikely to accept this without comment, were it not for the bounds of decorum and restraint, which some of us sometimes follow.  “A divine revelation,” we might ask, “to whom?”  Even if there were a perfect revelation of divine truth, how could it possibly be contained perfectly in human language and human thought, which is as limited as the people who created it?  And even if it were, whose understanding of the divine truth should we accept?

What do we make, for example, of the beautiful Song of Songs, which takes the form of a love poem and which for centuries was considered one of the most important books in the Bible?  Is it, as Jews have sometimes said, a metaphor for God’s love of the chosen people?  Or is it, as Medieval Christians suggested, an allegory of Christ’s love for the Church?  Or could it be, as some philosophers maintained, a description of the relationship between the passive and active intellect?  Or is it just a wicked good love song?

Each of these theories has been held and believed and loved and lived by.  Which is the divine truth?

There will never be a definitive answer to that question, because as human beings we are limited in the time and in the scope of our being.  We can no more escape these limitations than we can escape the realities of birth and death.  It is inherently who we are. We can never transcend our humanity.  Everything we experience, everything we know, every revelation from every source is filtered through that humanity.  There can be no claim to absolute truth, because the same revelation might strike two people in two completely different ways.

But wait, one might cry.  Can’t we at least look around at the world, at the planet earth – can’t we look at nature and know something remarkable?  Can’t we look at the diversity of life and understand something of the nature of life’s creator?  Wouldn’t that be absolute truth?

But again, human limits require humility.  The 19^th century scientist J. B. S. Haldane was once asked what you could tell about the Creator from looking at the works of nature.  He replied, “an inordinate fondness for beetles.”  There are more and more different types of beetles than any other form of life on earth.  So whether life’s creator is a being called God, a force called evolution, or some amalgamation of the two, the only thing we can really know is that beetles are well loved.

Beyond that, we would tend to disagree.  The more conservative theists and Christians may point to the “fact” of humanity’s position at the head of creation and surmise that nature is a garden, a dominion for humanity.  The Hindus may look at the diversity of nature, but emphasize the common elements, seeing divinity in all things.  The pagans may see a multiplicity of divine influences.  The scientific humanists see natural law at work.  The process theologians see an unfolding series of events.  The Taoists would probably smile and offer you a cup of tea.

It isn’t that we don’t know anything.  We know what we have experienced, and all that we experience is filtered through our human minds.  No matter what we observe, we observe it with our limited, human point of view.  This does not mean that there is no truth.  It does mean that all truth is subject to further inquiry.  It means that all religions, whether they consider themselves to be Christ-centered, God-centered, Earth-centered or Spirit-centered, are in fact human-centered.  Religion – not reality, but religion – is and must be human centered.  It is a human product – our attempt to make sense out of all that we experience, the continuing revelation of reality, in the light of all we do not know.  While our spiritual paths emphasize different aspects of this human experience of nature, life, or the divine, ultimately we are still human beings having and relating to these experiences.

If God were to speak to me this afternoon and give me the true knowledge, it would still be a knowledge filtered through my limited human mind.  I would describe it to others in my own terms, using my own previously held beliefs, opinions, and ways of making meaning as a reference.  I might even conclude that someone, having heard this sermon, was playing a practical joke on me, or that I was dreaming or having an episode of some sort, especially if the true knowledge were something like, “eat more beets.”  Or I might be convinced, but the moment that the revelation hit I would be making sense out of it in my relatively simple, human way.  There can be no unfiltered, direct revelation of truth.

I am a Unitarian Universalist Humanist not because of my pride in human achievement or potential, but instead because of my acceptance of the need for humility in the face of human limitations.

Yet with that humility comes also an opening up, a freeing of the spirit.  That there can be no final achievement, no ultimate knowledge beyond any doubt, no experience that is unfiltered by the human mind, is the most tremendous blessing that has ever been bestowed on our kind.

It means we have a future.  It means progress is real.  It means that we can balance our growth in knowledge and power with growth in spirit and understanding.

If we arrived at the absolute truth of it all, there would be no reason to keep searching.  There would be no growth for us, either as individuals or as a society.  We’d be done with growth and change and exploration and learning and mystery and awe.  We’d know it all.  How boring.

We wouldn’t have the beautiful diversity of philosophical and religious thought or of culture if we all had a line on the One Truth.  We would all be the same and we would be utterly stagnant.

It is our limitations that free us to explore.

Our limitations are what give rise to the vibrant diversity of human experience and understanding.  Our limitations are what give rise to art, poetry, and music– creativity in every form.  Our limitations are what give rise to the drive of exploration, science, progress, religion.  And I submit that our limitations even give us the ability to love and the persuasion to community.

After all, despite pretensions of pride, in our hearts of human hearts, we each know we are limited and imperfect.  We must, or we would have no patience for error, for poor judgment, for wrongdoing.  There would be no love, because love in a world in which perfection is possible would too often demand such perfection.  It is only in the forgiveness and understanding of our failings that we can relate to others in authentic partnerships of intimacy and community.

And it is only when we open ourselves to these kinds of partnerships that we can surpass our limitations in any way.  For while one may gain limited wisdom, two may share much more, and a third may add yet a new perspective.  No matter how much knowledge one human being may possess, our understanding is constrained when we possess that knowledge alone.
We need other people.  We need them to keep us honest, and we need them to enhance our understanding and appreciation of the world we live in, the revelations of experience that grow in us every moment of our lives.

Never let your pride, your opinions, even your convictions, stand between you and the humanity and wisdom another may have to offer.  You may be astonished at whose perspective might change your life.

When I was in Junior High School, the youth group at my church volunteered to help at the special Olympics.  We were “Special Huggers.”  Each of us would adopt an athlete and spend the day with them, encouraging them as they competed in footraces, long jumps, wheelchair races, or other events.  I was assigned to a young man, about my age, who was a fast racer, but whose life was shaped by mental disabilities.  I have seldom known a fourteen year old with a kinder heart or a fiercer sense of determination.  I have seldom known a human being with as much humor and honesty and openness of spirit.  Although I was the volunteer assigned to make his life a little better that day, I have no doubt who grew the most from that relationship.  He taught me to laugh loud and long, to live in this moment, and to love the moment through all of its hardship and joy.

We need one another.  We need every morsel of wisdom this world has to offer, whether it comes from the great philosophers or your three year old niece.  And if we approach one another with both conviction and humility, our world will be the brighter.  Our voyage of exploration – the liberation of limitations – need never end.

Be a sojourner for justice,
but do not let your passion squash the voices of the free.
Be a lover of truth,
but do not mistake your truth for the truth of all that is.
Be a giver and sustainer of life,
secure in your acceptance of the limitations to your power.
Fill your heart with love and understanding.