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By Rev. A. Powell Davies D.D.
September 18, 1954
It is commonly assumed that the purpose of language is to convey
meaning; but this is not necessarily so. Language can be used to
obscure meaning; it can be vacant of meaning; it can transmit a
false meaning so as to hide or disguise the truth. There is no
assurance at all that merely because words have been spoken,
something substantial has been communicated.
This seems to have been understood by the writers of the Old
Testament, or at any rate by one of them, since we read in the Book
of Job that God himself once complained of it. “Who is this,” he
asks, “that darkeneth counsel by words without knowledge?” And he
goes on to demand that Job conduct himself like a man and give
forthright answers to the questions that will be proposed to him.
It would be a good thing, I believe, if this could be made a
contemporary requirement. For it would be hard to imagine a time
when there was more darkening of counsel by words without knowledge.
Again and again, language is used, not to describe a situation
accurately, or to characterize a person honestly, but to convey
false impressions—impressions which may have come to confuse even
the speaker himself so that he may suppose them to be tolerably
reliable. The fact is, apparently, that language may become a
substitute for reality, like the pieces in a chess game or a pack of
cards, whereupon the mentalities of those affected by the
substitution are possessed by a sort of systematic fantasy—a
fantasy, that is, in which there are uniformities, sequences,
enunciable identities and indeed an entire false world superimposed
upon the real world, which it supersedes and hides.
One of the most recent cases in which this process may be seen at
work—and on, I suppose, that would occur to almost any of us, once
we began to consider the matter—is that in which the term “Fith
Amendment” is employed as a prefix. A person who refuses to testify
to the truth or falsehood of Communist associations and who seeks
the protection of the Fifth Amendment against the possibility of
self-incrimination is called a “Fifth Amendment Communist.” He may,
of course, be a Communist. This is the question that remains in
doubt. But what he certainly cannot be is a Fifth Amendment
Communist, since the Fifth Amendment to the United States
Constitution is designed to protect him, not to incriminated him.
However, by the use of this epithet, the entire question of guilt or
innocence, truth or falsehood, is passed over and the victim
becomes, through the misuse of words, a condemned person without
benefit of trial, and irrespective of the realities. And this
happens, as I say, because a repetitive form of words has been
substituted for what is actually so, and takes the place of reality.
Now, it seems, the tables have been somewhat turned and we are
hearing at times of a “Fifth Amendment Senator”—a Senator, that is
to say, who refused to testify before a Senatorial Committee about
such matters as personal finances, possibly because his testimony
might embarrass him. Now, as a matter of fact, this Senator did not
take refuge in the provisions of the Fifth Amendment; he merely
stayed away from the Committee hearings. But this makes him in the
eyes of some who have become familiar with his won vocabulary, a
“Fifth Amendment Senator.” I do not pretend to be much upset by his
predicament. In a rough-and-ready way, there is a certain justice in
it. “With what measure ye mete,” says the New Testament, “it shall
be measured to you again.” Nevertheless, if we have a proper regard
for fact, we shall note that the Senator, whatever else may be true
about him, has not sought the shelter of the Fifth Amendment. But
the, as I say, words and realities can be far apart these days. I
have even been told that in secluded placed in the mountains of
Kentucky, some of the farmers make a beverage which is now being
referred to as “Fifth Amendment Bourbon.”
The worst offenders in the use of the words to obscure realities
are, of course, the Communists. They have developed it into an
elaborate art. By ‘peace’ they mean an unrestricted opportunity for
Communist aggression; by ‘people’s democracy’ they mean a political
system in which the people have no voice and which is deeply
antagonistic to democracy; by ‘truth’ they mean whatever they have
decided it is best for them that we believe—and so with most things
else.
But the Communists are not the only ones who use words to “darken
counsel.” We do it in the United States—and we do it habitually.
Suppose a person were to drive from here to Richmond, Virginia, and
took literally the advertisements he saw at the succession of
gasoline stations. He would no sooner have put ten gallons of the
best of all gasolines into the tank of his car than he would have to
empty it out to make room for the one and only gasoline that was
better than the best. If, while he stopped for lunch at a picnic
reservation, he glanced at his newspaper, he would be in even worse
trouble with the advertisements of television sets. Each of them is
so much better than all the others, producing a brighter picture by
the twiddling of fewer knobs, that he might conclude that the only
thing to do was to wait until the controversy had been settled—or
some informed and candid friend might tell him what the
advertisements never discuss at all: namely, that no matter what
make of television set you buy, there will seldom be anything on it
that is worth seeing.
To come, however, to the particular word I am offering for
consideration this morning, how many people have any clear idea what
they mean when they call an idea or a person radical? To what extent
do they consult the realities at all? What do they do except play
with words as children do with toy money? Or perhaps I should say
with toys that are turned into weapons—weapons that are very
carelessly used.
According to the dictionary, radical means that which goes to the
root of things: which, surely, must often be an excellent thing to
do. But this is not at all in the minds of those who use the word
most frequently. When they call a person a radical, they want to
convey that he is working for changes—usually political or economic
changes—which to other people seem disagreeable or dangerous. And
very frequently, they associate these changes with Communism.
Now, it is true, I think, that in certain respects, a Communist is
radical. He wants to change our political and economic
system—indeed, our entire way of life—and he is willing to do it by
force. This does go to the root of things; in fact, it uproots them.
Yet, the changes themselves are not progressive—by which I mean
beneficial to human welfare. They are reactionary—by which I mean
they revert to practices which have been condemned by human
experience and which we hoped had been left behind in the past. A
person can be a radical and be utterly opposed to Communism—that is
to say, he can wish to go to the root of things and make drastic
changes and yet repudiate entirely the sort of changes that
Communists would make. That thing a really adult mind would be
interested in would not be what name can the man be called, but what
does the man want? Let us discover it, weigh it, consider it, and
decide whether it is beneficial or harmful, good or bad. Nothing
whatever has been contributed by condemning the man with a senseless
epithet.
Today, however, if you hold non-conformist views of any sort, you
are likely to be called a radical. This is not true, of course, of
all views. I happen to hold the non-conformist view that the budget
of the United States should be balanced. But no one will call me a
radical for this. They will probably say they agree with me, but
that they are opposed to higher taxes. But if I say that I believe
that everyone should have economic security in old age, or that a
way should be found so that all who are sick should have good
medical care, or that we should have a large-scale economic program
to help the peoples of Asia—then, I am a ‘radical.’ Not a red
radical, but quite blushingly pink! At the same used to be said, of
course, if you believed in radical equality and non-segregation—but
that is a bit more difficult now. After all, it is not very
convincing if you call the Supreme Court of the United States
radical, or refer to its decisions as being colored in one degree or
another with pink.
And as I understand it, that is certainly confirmed by religion. Who
was more radical than Jesus? He wanted people who hat each other or
who are bored with each other, who irritate each other or are
utterly cold to each other. Well, Jesus said that they should love
one another. They should go to the root of things—within themselves.
And as a result, they should love God with all their hearts and
their neighbors as themselves. Which, of course, Christians,
although deeply respectful to Jesus, have steadfastly refused to do.
To get this requirement out of sight, they have built up a whole
system of fantasy—the creeds and dogmas and the entire fabric of
orthodox theology. This makes it possible to substitute words for
reality. You can recite the Apostles’ Creed and feel orthodox; this
saves you from having to recite the Sermon on the Mount and know
yourself a miserable sinner.
Words, words, words! It is the most ancient of all the tricks man
plays upon his mind—but it never seems to grow old. Substitute a
system of words for the realities—and then keep your mind safely
within the system and the realities locked out.
“Do unto others as ye would that others should do unto you.” Is
there any command more than that that goes to the root of things?
Anything more radical? Would it not change the world—and all the
people in it more drastically than any proposal that has ever been
put forward?
The conclusion is inescapable that if Jesus walked the earth today,
he would be regarded not only as a radical but as a very dangerous
one. Yet he would propose no new political system; at least, he
didn’t when he did walk the earth. I doubt that he would say much
about systems of economics. He didn’t think these things were
sufficiently radical. He would say things about people. As, of
course, he did, and very emphatically, about the Scribes and
Pharisees. And that is what would be so upsetting. He would look at
people and at what they were doing, and he would tell what he saw.
It would be the truth and it would be unbearable.
But it would also be the truth that could save us—if we acted upon
it. That is how it often is with things radical. A surgical
operation can be radical—some of them are called so quite
accurately. But it can be much more dangerous not to have the
operation than to undertake it. To conserve life—or anything else
that is precious—radical measures are sometimes necessary.
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