The Unitarian Universalist Congregation of Salem, Oregon

THE CALL OF CONSCIENCE

The Reverend Richard R. Davis

September 20, 2009

             Twenty three centuries ago the Macedonian conqueror Alexander the Great expanded his empire into the Asian subcontinent in the regions now known as India , Pakistan and Afghanistan .  When Alexander triumphantly strode into this land some Buddhist monks witnessing this conquest began beating their feet on the dusty ground.  Why?  It was a form of spiritual protest symbolizing the fact that despite this ruler’s brutal and aggressive campaigns to conquer the entire world, he actually occupied no more land than the ground covered by the two soles of his feet; furthermore, although he had delusions – and insisted that others share this delusion - of being a god he was, in fact, mortal like everyone else, he would die and become like the dust the monks pounded with their feet; in truth, Alexander could not truly conquer and possess the world.  His influence in this ancient land would be fleeting.

            Yet not as fleeting as might have been wished.  Alexander’s militaristic influence insinuated itself into India history. His example of brutal conquest and rule by force caught the attention of an ambitious Indian soldier from humble origins, Chandragupta Maurya, who observed how this conqueror from the west used his military skill to conquer others.  Once Alexander was gone and his empire had collapsed in south Asia , Chadragupta consolidated power and conquered others, eventually coming to rule his own vast empire.  In spite of his great conquests he never conquered his constant fear of assassination and political intrigue. He was engaged in warfare until the day he died.  Some years after his death, his grandson, Ashoka, became emperor in 269 B. C.

            Ashoka was by nature less aggressive and more fair minded than had been his father and grandfather, but he was the ruler of an empire whose role was to conquer and rule by force.  After all, the ancient empires were restless political entities – always needing new resources and thus, new lands and peoples to subdue.  Thus it was that in the ninth year of his reign Emperor Ashoka, in an effort to gain access to a sea trade route, launched an attack on the stubbornly independent kingdom of Kalinga on the east coast of India . 

            The ensuing battles were fierce, leading to the displacement of around 150,000 people and the deaths of several hundred thousand.  After his conquest of this kingdom Ashoka ventured out to see the consequences of his war of aggression – he saw the burnt houses, scattered corpses, bereft widows and wailing orphans.  He became sickened by these gory, tragic sights.  “What have I done?” he asked himself in anguish.  “If this is a victory, then what is a defeat?  Is it valor to kill innocent children and women?   Someone has lost her husband, someone a father, someone a child.  Now the vultures feast.  O, what have I done?”  

Thus came about one of the most consequential moral awakenings in human history.  Hitherto, no conquering ruler known to history ever had humanitarian regard for those who died as a consequence of war.  But as one of Ashoka’s edicts (inscriptions that Ashoka had carved on monuments around his realm) notes: “When an independent country is conquered … those who dwell there … all suffer violence, murder and separation from loved ones.  Even those who are fortunate to have escaped …suffer from the misfortunes of their friends, acquaintances, colleagues and relatives.”  

A major contributing factor in Ashoka’s moral awakening was his encounter with Buddhist teachings which taught that a person should strive to see oneself in others and come to have infinite compassion for all beings. 

Those who only see the dark side of organized religion and politics should study the subsequent reign of this great emperor –it’s a good antidote to cynicism.  Good people, working through existing institutions, can do good things in this world.  Ashoka converted to Buddhism and is the person most responsible for its spread through ancient Asia .  And, like a good Buddhist, he also promoted religious tolerance throughout his realm.  He took Buddhist ideals to heart and resolved to live a life of virtue, to rule justly and compassionately.  And he was remarkably faithful to these ideals – he worked for peace in his realm, he planted trees, he dug wells, he constructed way houses for weary travelers and instructed his officials to attend to the suffering of his subjects, most especially the poor.

Judging from his edicts Ashoka was not simply a good man, he was also a wise one.   He understood the subtle intricacies of the human heart and mind.  Consider the edict that proclaimed: “One only notices one’s good deeds, thinking, “I have done good,” but on the other hand one does not notice one’s harmful deeds, thinking “I have done badly.”  Now, to be aware of this is something really difficult.” 

Ashoka’s ancient insight is confirmed by modern psychologists who have discovered, through a multitude of clever experiments, that the human psyche is hard wired to have a self serving bias – it’s futile to deny this – if you say that you’re the exception and don’t have a self serving bias that will only prove the point.  We are more inclined to be aware of the good deed we do than the harm we may have unwittingly caused or allowed to happen due to our inaction. 

The human mind is endlessly creative in producing rationalizations for harmful behavior, usually by shifting the responsibility somewhere else.   These rationalizations are compelling because they often have a good deal of truth to them.

When you have somehow fallen short it’s not unreasonable to shift some blame to your parents –after all, they raised you, and taught you by their good or bad example.  It’s especially hard to undo our early childhood conditioning.  And you can certainly take society to task for some of your failings, too – the social, political and economic pressures of life can shape and severely distort the human personality.  No question about that.  Finally, a person can blame God or fate or cosmic forces for how you turned out. After all, you were brought into being by forces greater than yourself.  

When you look at life from an analytical perspective, people’s personal shortcomings often have origins that lie beyond themselves.  We know, for example, that many child abusers had cruel parents who abused them; and the parent of those parents were the same to them and so on down the generational line.  Everyone got caught up in systems of abuse whose origins stretch back beyond memory.  As the poet W.H. Auden wrote:  “What all schoolchildren learn/ Those to whom evil is done/ Do evil in return.”  This is often true and explains a lot.  Really, some blame can be shifted.  You are not to blame for all the ills that plague the world. 

Which calls to mind one of the great flaws in conservative political philosophy; conservatives tend to place the blame for society’s ills on the individual – no one is given any slack for being born in poverty, or for being abused – each person is supposed to be fully responsible for his or her actions in the world, whether they were born in the ghetto with fetal alcohol syndrome or the gated community with a silver spoon in their mouth.  

We see the weakness in that line or moral reasoning, which is why, as Unitarian Universalists, we consider social action integral to our faith.   We know that unjust systems place far too many at a great disadvantage, that it is disingenuous to have people obsess about personal morality when the system itself is immoral and unjust.  The playing field is not level – that’s why our prisons are so full of those who are economically disadvantaged or members of racial and ethnic minorities.

Yet there is a danger here, too.  When you follow this line of moral reasoning to its extreme you encounter a weakness in a liberal philosophy which shifts accountability away from the individual to some larger, impersonal entity – the multi-national corporations, the military, prison industrial complex and the medical industrial complex, the CEO’s and the “masters of the universe” on Wall St.  In the final analysis that turns us all into helpless victims of the sins of society who can be tempted to live in a state of perpetual outrage and indignation toward the sins of others. 

In fact, we’re not helpless victims.  We have power – the power to make choices, to create or to destroy.  We’re not powerful emperors who can control vast realms, but each of us exercises power in some realm of life.  

This is why, in every religious tradition, there is some time in the cycle of the year, some time and place, where each individual is invited to look at her or his life, to assess and confess, to acknowledge and seek to atone.   Too often such practices become rote, meaningless rituals.  Yet they rest upon the rock solid recognition that we lose our moral balance if we forget to honestly, humbly look within and include ourselves in our moral and ethical inventories of life.  It’s all too easy to habitually conclude that all that is wrong with the world is always perpetrated by some others out there who don’t think right or who are motivated by inordinate greed and hatred.  This is the thinking that leads to bloody crusades and scapegoating and demonizing others.   It’s a form of spiritual blindness that invariably leads to blind hatred and intolerance. 

Some years ago I was at a Buddhist meditation retreat.  Very early in the morning, before I had had time to don the armor of my psychic defenses, there was a confessional chant which went:  “All the harmful karma ever committed by me since of old/  On account of greed, anger and folly, which have no beginning/ Born of my body, mouth and thought – I now make full open confession.” 

As I was chanting I took exception to this sentiment – I’m not a bad person guided by greed, anger and folly – but then, midway through the chant I got it.  And strangely enough, it felt quite good to get it, to feel some genuine humility.  Yes, I am not exempt.  I, too, am part of the problems we have on earth – maybe not a huge part, but a part nonetheless.  I felt a call to live with this awareness – to look within and ask myself, from time to time – “what have I done that has caused some harm?”  “What have I not done that allows harm to continue?”  And finally, “what can I do to make it better?” 

After all, you and I do have a vow to honor (mentioned in the hymn we sing today) to “keep with the web of creation your vow, (get quote) ---- and ---- as love shows us how.”   Keeping that vow means looking at life with honest awareness, self knowledge and deep insight.