First Unitarian Society of Minneapolis

Rev. Kendyl Gibbons
First Unitarian Society of Minneapolis
September 19, 2004

"Many forms of Government have been tried, and will be tried in this world of sin and woe," Winston Churchill once observed. "No one pretends that democracy is perfect or all-wise. Indeed, it has been said that democracy is the worst form of Government - except for all those others that have been tried from time to time." The present season in American cultural life seems to be measuring the truth of that statement. No matter where your views may fall on the political spectrum, or which candidates you may support, it is hard not to feel that there is something particularly rancorous in this election campaign. It is apparent not just as usual among the contestants themselves, but flavoring our entire public arena with a venomous bitterness that makes it all but impossible to have the kind of intelligent, measured and reflective conversation upon which democracy in theory is meant to rely. And it is all too easy to suppose that the intensity of that feeling of ill-will is the measure of the cupidity, stupidity, and dangerous incompetence of whichever side we personally would like to see defeated in November.

It is of course necessarily true that I have my own opinions, as each of us does, about the desirable outcome of this election, and nobody here needs me to tell you what to think - and small good it would do me if I tried! I sincerely hope that everyone in this room is registered to vote, and that you will get yourselves to the polls on election day, for if we do not, the cause of democracy is lost before a single ballot is counted. In fact, I grew up with the impression that voting was the one sacrament recognized in the liberal religious tradition; democracy was a kind of holy word, and when I got to seminary, one of the modern interpretations of theology that we studied was 'democratic faith'. It has been axiomatic, I think, for most of us all our lives, that 'governments derive their just powers from the consent of the governed', and that this consent is re-established in the process of every election, democracy being the only legitimate political structure, and the only form of government compatible with that other holy word, 'liberty'

I grew up also in the comfortable conviction that the liberal project of making the world a better place was well on its inevitable way to completion. Naturally, there were still significant obstacles to be overcome; it would take time to get all the bugs worked out of the system, while increasing population numbers made the task ever more burdensome, and the ignorance and selfishness of those people not yet on board with the program needed correcting. Yet despite these troublesome details, the outlines of liberation, equality, enlightenment, general prosperity and democratic self-determination throughout the world were understood to be visible on the horizon. The liberal religious tradition, in the role of herald to this improved world community, had rejected the old notions of human sinfulness, and invited us to contemplate instead human potential; the hope, creativity, reason, and compassion of which we are all capable at our best. It was heady stuff, and of course at times it can get silly, but for a long while it was implicit not only in our little UU corner of the religious world, but as a kind of base line that seemed to run throughout at least American society.

I want to suggest this morning that part of the bitterness we are experiencing in this year's election campaign has to do with our culture's loss of that comfortable conviction that democratic government and progressive social policy represent the inevitable and desirable future for human society on this planet. And that sense of disillusionment is not to be found solely amongst those for whom issues of collective safety trump concern for individual freedoms. Certainly, it is easiest to persuade citizens to dispense with personal liberties that they would otherwise insist on, when they believe that they are, or soon might be, under attack - and a sense of invulnerability within our national borders is one of the illusions lost since 9/11 three years ago. But the thing is, as I watch this election unfold, it isn't just the right wing that seems agitated, spiteful, and reactionary - it's also the people I agree with, and I feel it myself. If I had the ability to short-circuit the democratic process, and make the presidential race turn out the way I want, I'd have to think about it - and for some of us, it might not even be a debate. I understand the feeling. I understand it, but I don't like it. I don't like finding it in myself, and I'm not happy seeing it in candidates I support, or in people I respect. If I really do believe what I have always thought I believed about democracy and freedom, then I ought to be willing to accept the decision of the majority, even if it isn't what I would have chosen. Otherwise, my commitment to democracy is only a expedient rationalization for getting what I want when it goes my way, to be discarded as soon as it becomes inconvenient.

This campaign is highlighting what Thomas Sowell once called 'the vision of the anointed'; the tendency, which is as tempting to liberals as it is to conservatives, to assume that we know better than the unenlightened masses, and that we are at once so clever and so compassionate that we ought to be making the decisions on everyone else's behalf, for their own good. Now, there may be excellent reasons to think that my ideas, or our ideas, or my candidate, are in fact better than the alternatives - be assured that I profoundly believe that there are such reasons - but the impulse to have those ideas imposed on other folks, without necessarily bothering to earn their assent, is the antithesis of a real belief in democracy.

It seems to me that a real belief in democracy rests upon a certain set of convictions about people in general; that we are sufficiently intelligent to understand the issues that confront us, and sufficiently willing to make choices for the good of all of us, that in the long run our collective judgment will be superior to that of any one individual, or set of persons. Democracy also rests upon the assumption that the enlightened self-interest of the majority will constitute the overall general good. These are assumptions rooted in the optimism of the Enlightenment, and I suspect that it is their being called into question, not just by our opponents (we're use to that), but in our own minds, that is making us so crabby. Too often we explain to ourselves and others why our perspectives are not embraced by our neighbors, co-workers, and in-laws, by describing our fellow citizens as fearful and passive dupes of a manipulative media and/or a corrupt administration, or else as selfish consumers, exclusively concerned with their own comfort and security. The trouble is, if we accept these characterization, we can hardly maintain our own self-proclaimed role as the keepers of faith in human dignity and the democratic process.

I am not, at this moment, arguing the truth or falsity of this image of the American electorate; I am only saying that if we buy into it, we are left in a painful paradox. Either we have reasonable confidence in the good sense and good will of the public consensus, or else we have rejected the fundamental premise of democracy. In that case, we may as well begin seeking the most effective ways to assure that our perspective achieves power however we may, at which point we will be indistinguishable by method from any form of tyranny you would care to name.

I can't speak for you, but I'm not prepared to go there yet. I'm not ready to give up on the disciplines of democratic method that I have been taught, throughout my life, are the true sources of legitimate power in the ongoing transformation of our political and social world. I remain committed to the Enlightenment faith in the human capacity for both reason and altruism, even as I grit my teeth in recognition of the obvious fact that these capacities are not always exercised as I would wish. But what I know is that if I yield to my own temptation, even in thought, to just make everybody else do what I think would be good for all of us, then I have violated something that is more precious than any particular presidency or political issue; something that it seems to me is at the heart of this faith that we share. Let me show you four disciplines, or habits of thought, that I believe characterize both democracy and liberal religion. They have to do with the ways in which we offer ideas for the consideration of others.

The first is clarity of purpose, whereby we distinguish between the values we seek to serve, and the particular proposals which at a given moment attempt to implement those values. Programs and initiatives and budgets and amendments - and even candidates - come and go; they may be elected or adopted or defeated; they may, in the end, have been good or bad ideas, depending upon how well they were conceived and their unintended consequences, but they are not in themselves the essence of our values. We want justice, equality, opportunity, a sustainable environment, quality of life, discovery and creativity - and different people will have differing ideas of how best to realize these goals, and even of what they mean, and that is not only okay, it is essential to both democracy and a liberal church. As soon as we bind ourselves to only one possible answer to any significant problem, we have lost the spirit of openness and innovation that makes us free, and with it the power to build a better world than any one of us alone might imagine.

The second principle common to the democratic method and a free faith is a commitment to persuasion. Whether in the public square, or in the work of theologians, if an idea has merit, it should be possible to convince others through dialogue, example, and moral argument. People can be induced to say things they don't really believe, through bribes or by threats, but force can never actually change a mind, or a conscience, and the only assent that can lay the foundation of a church, a city, or a nation, is that which is freely given. We must always be prepared to lay out patiently the reasons for our beliefs and positions; it is never appropriate to assume that anyone who doesn't agree with us has to be either stupid or malevolent. The commitment to persuasion enacts a fundamental respect for our fellow citizens and our fellow seekers, based on the understanding that no one has the authority to tell someone else what to believe without earning their agreement. And it is through persuasion that the power to put ideas to work in the world is gathered.

The third expectation that is shared by liberal religion and democracy is the discipline of self-correction. From the beginning, our faith tradition has taught the notion that 'revelation is not sealed', meaning that new truth is always being discovered, and that we must be prepared to revise our understanding, no matter how venerable and long-established the subject may be. Politically, this means that a democratic society is always open to new data, and willing to reconsider laws or policies in the light of new information. To welcome correction, rather than to hide from it, is the mark of maturity in either a government or a religion. Centuries ago, the early Unitarians in Poland published a revised second edition of their catechism with a foreword which defended the changes, saying, "We do not think we ought to be ashamed, if in some respect our religion improves." The commitment to self-correction recognizes that no knowledge is ever complete or perfect, and that all decisions and insights are fallible. It is inevitable that we shall find we have been mistaken from time to time; power lies in the ability to assimilate revised information, and having a greater commitment to the truth than we have to our previous viewpoints.

Finally, democracy shares with free religion the practice of connection; the call to cultivate relationships among people, and to consider the well-being of others along with our own interests. The traditional New England town hall meeting persists as an image of democracy at work because it embodies this principle; that people come together to reason with each other, and to understand one another better. The democratic process assumes that if we are aware of what others need, we will take that into account in our decisions. The liberal faith community also summons us to build connections, to know each other, to participate in the lives and struggles of our fellow seekers, of our neighbors and our fellow citizens. Our fullest humanity is realized when we live in a web of rich connections, when we have such sympathy and understanding for the people around us that we are committed to their well-being, and could not exploit them for our own purposes. Power comes, as Marge Piercy suggests, when we join together; when we keep each other sane, rent a house, make a circle, fill a hall.

My friends, these are intense days ahead of us. The outcome of this election matters, perhaps as much or more than any election any of us has ever witnessed. But it also matters that we who have loved democracy as an article of our faith do not give up on it now. It matters more than ever that we keep faith with the disciplines of a democratic system, so that we can hold accountable anybody who thinks those disciplines can be dispensed with. It matters that we stay in touch with the sources of our power, even when we are frustrated; it matters that we practice clarity in our values, persuasion and self-correction, that we keep building connections, even when others don't - especially when others don't. It matters, more than ever, that institutions like this one exist, where freedom is taught as a principle of community, and we call each other to see beyond self-interest to the common good. It matters that we continue to believe in human dignity, and expect each other to live by our hopes rather than by our fears; that we persistently affirm the goodness of which humanity is capable. Too much was sacrificed laying the foundations for our freedom for us to allow ourselves to be betrayed into giving up now, and we have only begun to know the power that is in us if we would join our solitudes in the communion of struggle. Our faith, the faith of the larger liberty, will not always be the ascendant perspective of our popular culture, but that does not mean it matters less. Indeed, it is in days like these that the witness of our faith has the most to offer, and communities such as this make a crucial difference.

Courage, then, and let us hold high the light of what we have always said we believe. It is the source of that power which takes away nothing from the dignity of others, that makes us free, and that might yet save the world.