What is Tolerance?

The French Enlightenment writer and philosopher, Voltaire, famously asked, "What is tolerance? It is the consequence of humanity. We are all formed of frailty and error; let us pardon reciprocally each other's folly."

Freedom, reason, and tolerance are the traditional underlying values of Unitarianism. They are also the three pillars of a good society. The news over the past few months has shown only too graphically how the lack of these values can lead to suppression, unreason and intolerance. In both politics, and on the world stage, intolerance of the other has led to fiercely adversarial situations, violence and death. Why do we find it so difficult to pardon each other's "frailty and error"?

The old Unitarian leaflet, A Faith Worth Thinking About, presented values which Unitarians share, including "mutual respect and goodwill in personal relations" and "constructive tolerance and openness towards the sincerely held beliefs of others."

Outsiders may find it difficult to understand how the Unitarian movement holds together, placing, as it does, so much importance on the freedom of individual belief based on reason and conscience. Yet I believe that tolerance, this openness to new thoughts and ideas, and the refusal to "other" others, is a key concept in Unitarianism; indeed it is what has kept it green and growing down the centuries. Our movement has been underpinned by a process of continuous and continuing revelation. At different times and in different countries, different ideas have been considered to be most important. But our tolerance means we have a tigerish determination to fight for the right of others to enjoy the same freedom to worship in whatever way they choose, so long as it doesn't harm anyone else. Our "fellowship in diversity" (happy phrase) aims to be tolerant towards others. As Joyce Grenfell beautifully puts it, we believe in "loving in spite of human imperfection."

But Unitarian tolerance is NOT just another way of saying "anything goes". There was a fascinating article in our magazine, The Inquirer, many years ago, entitled, Tolerance: what's your limit? It covered both the spiritual and practical aspects of tolerance, a distinction which I think it is important to stress. On the spiritual side, for example, Sarah Tinker, lately minister at Kensington Unitarians, wrote of attending a Build Your Own Theology course: "I learnt that Unitarians, by and large, are spiritual folk who can stand the terror of uncertainty - who can accept that, in matters religious, 'We just don't know for sure'. By sitting together in religious education groups Unitarians are doing far more than just 'tolerating' each other. By truly listening to one another - by creating spaces where we can share one another's stories, hopes and fears - we affirm the right of individuals to express themselves fully and to be heard and accepted for who they are, unique human beings."

David Arthur's contribution was more pragmatic and for me, it summarises what Unitarian tolerance is (and isn't) about: "We Unitarians reckon to be tolerant folk. 'Freedom, reason and tolerance' we proclaim from the rooftops. But what does it mean to be tolerant? Is there a line to be drawn, and if so, where do we, or should we, draw it?

        Let me deal with a tolerance that isn't. We all know Unitarians who say: 'Of course I'm tolerant of other religions; if they choose to believe all that nonsense, that's okay by me!' That is not tolerance; that is condescension. Tolerance of other religions means, 'I recognise that your belief is different. Mine works for me, but I accept that yours is valid for you. And if you get benefit and meaning from it, then good for you.'

        Are there limits to tolerance? Oh yes. 'All are welcome here', says our hymn. Well, actually, no. I would not  welcome those whose beliefs advocate paedophilia, female circumcision, slavery, stoning adultererr to death or homophobia, etc. The Pagan motto of 'do as you will, provided you do no harm' is relevant here. So I draw a line. Let's not kid ourselves that there are no limits to tolerance. Where do you draw your line?"

I agree. So while I would agree with Voltaire that we need to recognise each other's frailty and error, we have to draw a line when that frailty and error leads people to harm others. We must be intolerant of others' intolerance.

  

 

The Path to Contentment

This week's quote, by Roman emperor and Stoic philosopher, Marcus Aurelius, really speaks to my condition, as the Quakers say. It reads, "Think of what you have, rather than of what you lack! Of the things you have, select the best, and then reflect how eagerly you would have sought them if you did not have them."

The basic idea is about appreciating what we have, rather than continually chasing after what we don't. To appreciate what we have, we need to be awake and aware of the multiplicity of good things all around us. For example, I just (a couple of minutes ago) took the above photo of this week's postcard using my iPhone and sent it to myself via e-mail. A few seconds later, it was in my inbox and I was able to download it to my laptop, then select it and put it into this blogpost.

Which today, it is tempting to take completely for granted. But honestly - wow! At times like this, I am stunned by the miracle of modern computer technology. That I am able to take a photo of a physical object using my phone, and can then edit said photo, before sending it instantly to my inbox, download it, and use it. I am old enough to appreciate what a miracle this is. To realise how completely impossible it would have been in the days before the IT revolution. 

And that is one small and fairly frivolous example. I could offer a multitude of others - the instant connectivity that mobile phones bring us; the blue sky, white clouds and large and magnificent tree outside my window; the fact that I will be going to visit my two beautiful grandsons later this morning; that my husband has made a wonderful recovery from major surgery. There is so very much to appreciate. So very much to be grateful for. I realise how very blessed, how very privileged I am, to be me.

A wise Unitarian, John Naish, once wrote, "Enoughness is the path to contentment." And I think that is the nub of Marcus Aurelius's message. At times like this, I remember a prayer quoted by Rachel Naomi Remen in her book, My Grandfather's Blessings, which I have shared on here before:

Days pass and the years vanish

and we walk sightless among miracles.

Lord, fill our eyes with seeing 

and our minds with knowing.

Let there be moments when your Presence,

like lightning, illuminates

the darkness in which we walk. 

Help us to see, wherever we gaze,

that the bush burns, unconsumed.

And we, clay touched by God,

will reach out for holiness and

exclaim in wonder,

"How filled with awe is this place

and we did not know it."

May we all have the sight to perceive and appreciate the everyday miracles in our lives. Amen

Mary - an Extraordinary Mother

Mary, the mother of Jesus, is perhaps the most enigmatic of all mothers. Her story is simply told. According to the Gospel accounts, she was a young Jewish girl, betrothed to an older man, Joseph. She received an angelic visitation informing her that she was to be the mother of the saviour of the world, whose father would be God. The first thing about her that takes my breath away is her great faith - instead of having hysterics on the spot, which I think would have been quite justified in the circumstances, she accepts her fate: "Here am I, the servant of the Lord; let it be with me according to your word."

(image: Wikimedia Commons)

I have often wondered what it must have been like for her, bearing and raising such an extraordinary person. Even if we don't believe that Jesus was the divinely-begotten son of God, which most Unitarians don't, he was still very far from an ordinary man.

Mary has complete faith in him and continues to follow him, wherever he goes. She is there at the foot of the cross when he is crucified at the end of his ministry. And according to the Gospel of John, one of his last thoughts is care for her, when he hands her over to "the disciple whom he loved." In the Book of Acts, she is mentioned as being one of those in an upper room with some of the apostles, devoting herself to prayer.

And then she disappears from Biblical accounts. Yet she went on to become one of the most venerated figures in Christianity, not to mention Islam. Later Church traditions argue that not only was she a virgin when she conceived Jesus, but remained one for the rest of her life. Some go even further and state that she was born free of original sin, so that she could be a suitable vessel for the carrying of the son of God. Catholics in particular reverence her as the Blessed Virgin Mary, and she is often prayed to, to intercede on behalf of humankind.

But it is as a mother, an ordinary human mother, that she moves me. She brought him up, took care of him, taught him the best she knew, did her best to give him a good start in the world. Then, as all parents must, let him grow into adulthood. I know that 2000 long years separate us from Mary, but I believe that parenting has not changed. Her concerns must have been much the same as ours. I wonder with what mixture of pride and stomach-knotting fear she watched her son embark on his public ministry? In spite of the message from the Angel Gabriel, at the beginning of it all, it must have taken an awful lot of faith to stand by and let him get on with it, knowing the dangers he would face, and feeling powerless to do anything about it.

I believe that mothering, that parenting, of whatever kind, is the most important job in the world. All of us need somebody we can depend on to love us unconditionally. As Dave Tomlinson writes in How to Be a Bad Christian, "The heart of Christ's message was the love of God. He brought to ordinary people - downtrodden by ruthless rulers - the sense of their belovedness. Each person Jesus touched knew, perhaps for the first time, that their life mattered; that they were loved and cherished."

I cannot believe that he would have been able to do this, had he not experienced this kind of love for himself, growing up. So I think that the most we can do for anyone we care for is what Mary did for her son, to love and cherish them, so that they know they are beloved. So that they in their turn can go on to love others, as Jesus did. As we do, the best that we can.

 

Tempering Our Passions

The other day, I was talking with a friend, and she mentioned that she was planning to begin a doctorate in a couple of years' time, about the life of a little known person whom she'd become fascinated by. While she was speaking about it, her whole body became animated: her eyes lit up, her voice grew warmer, and it was easy to tell how passionate she felt about sharing this man's story with the wider world.

And I noticed my own reaction: I was delighted that she'd found something she felt so strongly about, yet relieved that it wouldn't be my job to put in all those years of effort. Which surprised me. A few years ago, my reaction would have been quite different. I would have been thinking, "Oh, wow! I wanna do a doctorate too!" Instead of, "Meh. Sounds like too much hard work to me." This passion was hers, not mine.

My dictionary defines passion as "a very strong feeling", whether it is an emotion, e.g. love, hate, anger, enthusiasm; or of liking something e.g. a hobby or activity; or of sexual love; of a "state of being very angry". Whichever definition you go with, passion is a Very Strong Feeling. 

On the positive side, our passions can motivate us, enthuse us, keep a bright flame of desire burning in our hearts and minds, as we labour to achieve a particular goal. Which is marvellous, if that goal is a positive one, like my friend's, to share an important true story with the world. In which case, we can safely give our passions free rein and follow where they lead.

The danger can come when the passion is ignited by words of hatred, words of fear. When we are swept up by another's originating emotions and find ourselves acting irrationally, hatefully, harming others, inflamed by falsehoods and lies. Or when we find ourselves losing our temper or being impatient with someone else, because they hav annoyed us or don't agree with us or dare to oppose us.

As has been happening only too frequently in the past week or so, when the Far Right has inflamed people's passions, inciting riots and acts of vandalism and violence. 

So we need to learn to temper our passions. "Temper" in this context means to "act as a neutralizing or counterbalancing force to something. e.g. 'their idealism is tempered with realism'" In much the same way as a blacksmith tempers steel by reheating and then cooling it. 

(image: PxHere)

We need to apply the cold water of reason and fact checking to our passions, rather than letting another's words or images inflame them.

You may have noticed that most of the descriptive phrases in this post have been elemental - to do with the fire of passion, or its tempering in cold water. Which reminded me of the words of John Greenleaf Whittier, a Quaker hymn writer:

"Drop thy still dews of quietness,

till all our strivings cease:

take from our souls the strain and stress,

and let our ordered lives confess,

the beauty of thy peace."

Amen

Nurturing Stability

Benedictine monks and nuns take a vow of stability, as the website of Mount Michael Abbey in Elkhorn, Nebraska explains: "Benedictine monks vow stability to the community in which they choose to live. This vow helps the monk persevere in the search for God. The promise is that the monk will stay with the other members of the community for mutual support in searching. While an individual monk may at times become discouraged in his search for God, the vow of stability helps him to see that others are searching as well and have a sense of the proper direction for that search."

(image: PxHere)

This kind of stability is rare in today's world. Most of us do not live in the place where we were born, and will move into different communities many times during our lives. Yet I believe that when we find a nurturing community, a safe and sacred space in which we can explore what gives our lives truth and meaning, that is very precious.

Because it is much easier to find, and then maintain, some spiritual stability in community than alone. Yet even if we are members of a spiritual community, it is still likely to be somewhere we only go once (or perhaps twice) a week. For the rest of the time, we are thrown back on our own resources and must find ways to nurture stability in our lives. Which is much more difficult to do alone than with the support of another (or others).

I have to admit that I am a little envious of those of my friends whose life partners are on the same spiritual path as they are - it must be wonderful to be able to meditate daily (for example) with someone else. It is easier to hold ourselves to account, if someone else is expecting us to show up. Which is why (in one sense) members of monastic communities have it easy. The very stability which restricts them to one community also provides that community. And being in community with friends is wonderful and spiritually enriching - which is why I used to come back from Summer School each year with my spiritual batteries recharged, feeling on top of the world.

I think our modern lives can easily become unbalanced: it seems to be almost our default wasy of being to be always on the go, always chasing the next item on the To Do list, and never taking time out to reflect, to meditate, to spend time with the Divine. And that is what the Benedictine vow of stability enables.

It is somewhat ironic that, the more we love our jobs, the more we see them as a vocation rather than a job, the less time we seem to have to just do nothing. Do Nothing. Sit. Relax. Simply Be. But it is vitally important to make that time. Because if we simply carry on beavering away, not looking after ourselves, we will eventually burn out. And then wonder why...

Time for spiritual reflection, time out of our everyday lives, is such an important thing. It brings our lives back into balance, back into stability, helps us to take a long, reflective look at the matters which are concerning us, and hopefully allows us to move back into our lives with lower stress levels. I honestly believe that it doesn't matter what form this "time out" takes, so long as we have the intention to step away completely from our mundane, everyday lives. For me, a walk in the woods is a vital part of my life. As I walk, I notice God's creation all around me: the trees, the bushes and hedges, the wild flowers, the birds singing - so loud and present, but so difficult to spot. It reconnects me with the Divine, with God's presence in my life.

How do you nurture stability in your own life?