Diana Butler Bass: September 2009 Archives

ABC's Nightline has been running a series on the Ten Commandments in which they explore the issues and dimensions of each commandment in contemporary society.   Tonight's commandment:  Thou shalt not commit adultery.

The series is interesting and, in many ways, inclusive.  After all, the Ten Commandments form the ethical basis of the world's three great monotheistic religions.  Jews, Christians, and Muslims draw inspiration from them and, throughout history, developed the insights of the commandments in theological, moral, social, and legal arenas.  They are very important spiritually, morally, intellectually, and culturally.

But for all their inclusiveness, their interpretation is often the source of division.  It is one thing to say, "Thou shalt not...." and it is often a completely different thing to figure out how the "shalt nots" relate to human experience.  For, despite the moral idealism of the commandments, everyone knows that human beings actually do the "shalt nots."

"Thou shalt not commit adultery" is a good example of the problem with the commandments.  Martial fidelity is a practical way of honoring and respecting one's partner.  To be faithful--even when one might not "feel" like it--is a fundamental way of respecting another human being by taking into their feelings, emotions, and commitments before simply acting on one's personal inclinations.  To stop and think about the effects of one's actions on a larger community (in the case of adultery, thinking about a spouse and children) often inhibits bad choices.  That's a big part of morality--to reflect on one's actions in advance and to consider the communal consequences of behavior.  Moral frameworks--like the Ten Commandments--provide guidelines for such reflection.  And, as such, they form a vision for what constitutes the good society--a society that honors God and neighbor.

The problem comes with the obvious fact that human beings--even reflective and caring ones--don't always act in a way that honors God and neighbor.  We both flaunt and break the commandments on a regular basis.  So, what does society do with the violators?

Throughout history, religious groups have tried to enforce the Ten Commandments through legal means.  We might all agree that theft and murder are wrong and that thieves and murderers should go to prison.  But what about the "lesser" commandments--like adultery?  In Jesus' day, women caught in adultery could be stoned--and that is still the case in many countries around the world.  In early American history, adulterers could be whipped, jailed, divorced with their permission, or forced (as in The Scarlet Letter) to wear a public mark of shame. 

To point up the problem with adultery is only the beginning.  What of those who swear, lie, or worship other gods?  Should society make swearing a crime?  Idolatry?  Being angry at your parents?  Where does this end?  In some sort of Taliban-style legalism where the religion police enforce a literal interpretation of each of these Ten Commandments?  Do we rank the commandments in order of importance?  The bad ones get the most punishment?  The minor ones get overlooked?  The Ten Commandments--for all their moral grandeur--quickly descend into an ethical quagmire of angels dancing on the head of pins. 

The answer is obvious:  Very few people take the Ten Commandments literally.  We contextualize them, trying to discern the origin, intent, and purpose of these commandments in order to create a way of life that demonstrates the deeper wisdom of these teachings.  And we recognize the human disposition toward breaking them--and, to a greater or lesser degree, we offer forgiveness, understanding, and reconciliation toward one another in regard to the Ten Commandments.  And religious communities argue about how much forgiveness, understanding, and reconciliation is appropriate in any given denomination or tradition.   

Taking the Commandments out of context is spiritually and politically dangerous.  To hold up these ten commandments--in Hebrew they aren't even called "commandments;" rather, the Hebrew word is "terms"--to hold up these ten terms of the moral law without reference to the larger intent of the words leads to legalism, violence, and repression.  God intended for the Law to be joyful, a pathway for a way of life of devotion and respect for one other, a blessing and not a curse. Indeed, Jesus--a rabbi himself--made this point.  When asked what was the most important of the commandments, he replied:  "Love God and love your neighbor as yourself." 

That is the summary--the intended wisdom--of the Ten Commandments.  The ten terms of the law should bring us to the basis for a good life:  love.   Is it loving to murder, steal, curse, violate our vows, lie, envy or demean another?  That should be the first question of morality--and it is what the Ten Commandments teach.  

Earlier today, I wondered if the President would return to hope in tonight's health care speech.  He did.  And he did even more.

President Obama made the moral case for health care reform by appealing to the best aspects of American character, reminding us of our history, and by making people accountable for their actions.   He called us to neighborliness and generosity.  He drew a life-affirming picture of a caring community, asking everyone to do his or her part, outlining the responsibilities of deep democracy.  What was striking about his speech is that he made no specific biblical reference, cited no one religious tradition, and praised no single ethical system.  Instead, he developed a moral case based on compassion, care, and common humanity drawing from the general principles of "do unto others" and "love your neighbor as yourself."  He invited all of our religions, spiritualities, and ethical systems into the meaningful work of healing. 

At the same time, the speech was not saccharine or pie-in-the-sky.  This wasn't a vision of some perfect future.  The moral case was interwoven with solid, sometimes surprising, policies drawn from an array of sources.  He leaned toward a progressive vision, borrowed freely from a number of sensible centrist proposals, and even affirmed the Republican call for tort reform.  President Obama asked us to move beyond the purity of ideology to enact real social justice--to do the right thing, the fair thing for the community.  And, in doing so, enlarge our own hearts to become a better society, one with wider arms outstretched. 

The speech was also deeply civil.  Following on a heated summer of fear and despair, he moved us past hatred by keeping his cool (even when being shouted at by a Congressman), by insisting on honesty, calling out lies, and modeling the sort of behavior he expects of other leaders.  It was plain speaking--in the old style of Harry Truman--clear, detailed, dignified, and urgent. 

Oh, yes.  There were things that were missing from the speech.  As a progressive, I wish the American family's compassion could embrace undocumented immigrants.  I also wish we could create some sort of system that better served the complexity of choices that women face regarding their own health.  I do think that a single-payer system would be the best idea for a great nation.  But you know what?  It isn't about me.  It isn't about what I think and what I want.  It isn't about what progressives want in terms of policy.  It is about us--all of us in the largest sense.   

Almost 2,000 years ago, a fellow named Paul wrote to a fractured community in the ancient city of Corinth urging its members, "that all of you be in agreement and that there be no divisions between you, but that you be united in the same mind and the same purpose."  People had divided into camps, calling themselves by the names of their leaders, and casting others out of the community.  Paul called this foolishness and begged the brawling Corinthians to "seek wisdom" by working together and having a common purpose.  Wisdom begins by understanding the "we" that is needed to accomplish that which is healing, beautiful, and just.

Tonight was about the moral "we."  President Obama delivered a hope-filled speech that called us to stop being part of a camp--and instead see our "camp" as the wider American family.  Those of us who are rich, who are poor, who are in-between, those who are ill, who are healthy, who one day may be infirm.  We are in this together.  He made the case that we need each other, that we have a common purpose of caring for each other and making a better future together.  He did it inclusively--inclusive in his ethical reach, inclusive in his political reach, inclusive in his reach toward civility.    

He renewed hope by reminding us that in healing cynical and hate-filled divides we might become a healthier people, that if we--even just some of us--overcome the spiritual sickness of division, we may just heal our nation. 

 And if that's not progress--and progressive--I don't know what is. 

I was too young to remember President John F. Kennedy.  My mother worked on his campaign and hauled her baby (me) along with her to pass out literature.  She assures me that one of my first words was "k-e-n-d-y."  I was barely four when he was shot.  Years later, I asked my mother what was so special about President Kennedy.  Without hesitating, she replied, "He gave us hope.  Hope that things could change.  We needed that."  She paused and a look of sadness swept across her face. "And it was taken away.  Too soon.  They killed hope."

Hope may be shot, taken in an instant of murderous violence.  But, this summer, we have witnessed another way of killing hope--vicious rumor, cynical politics, manipulation, lies, gossip, and fear mongering.  Hope doesn't die in an instant.  Instead, it is has been walking a way of sorrows and put on a cross, whipped, laughed at, life slowly beaten away, breath halting, and joints stretched in pain.  It is a gruesome image, but it needs to be.  Without hope, a people and their civilization cannot survive.  The Bible teaches that.  History teaches that.  To purposefully kill hope is a sin, especially when its only replacement is fear.  No society can flourish with fear as its base.

Over the summer, mainline Protestant clergy have reported to me an increase in fear in their congregations--overt xenophobia and nativism, racist epithets, terrified elderly people thinking their government was about to murder them, threats not to preach on anything related to health and healing (what then, I ask, can clergy possibly preach about if not health?), congregants stocking up on weapons, and people coming armed to church.  One such clergyperson (an army vet), joked that he was looking for a clergy supply store that sells Kevlar vestments to wear while celebrating the Lord's Supper.  

Churches are in the hope business.  Yet, even they are struggling to hold on to hope.  "I feel so alone," one of my minister-friends confided.  "Just a few months ago, it seemed like we could change the world.  Now, everyone is running for cover.  People are scared."  Over and over again, I've heard the same refrain:  What can we do to stop the fear?

Well, one way to overcome fear is to preach healing.  Because Christians are also in the healing business.  Actually, the three great monotheistic faiths all teach that God's desire to heal a broken universe is the central point of faith, that shalom--peace, healing, surrender, and salvation--are the very reason for human existence.  In great religious traditions and in lively spirituality, hope and healing are interconnected.  You can't have one without the other.

For some reason, the White House seems to think that HOPE is a noun.  Once you put it on a poster, or have millions of people vote for it, then it simply is.  But hope is not a noun.  Hope is a verb.  It is active, ever-living, restless.  It needs to be nurtured, taught, envisioned, shared.  Hope for healing; hope for community; hope for global brother- and sisterhood; hope for transformation; hope for a world where neighbors do unto others; hope for a future of grace, mercy, and love. 

Hope is that business of faith communities.  But it is also the business of political leaders.  And that's what President Obama needs to get back to tonight.  Sure, he needs to talk about health care and public options, costs, job creation, and policy points.  More than anything, we need the President to lead back to hope.  You can't have health without hope.  The fear mongers have had their season.  But the hope-killing time is over.  We who know the active power of hope need to stand up.  It is a time for growing hope again.