Philosopher Henry David Thoreau’s Walden has long been a source of wisdom for Unitarian Universalists. This excerpt, from the chapter titled “Conclusion,” calls us to a higher purpose than the deep meditation in solitude usually envisioned when Walden is invoked.

from Walden, “Conclusion”

by Henry David Thoreau (July 12, 1817 – May 6, 1862)

I left the woods for as good a reason as I went there. Perhaps it seemed to me that I had several more lives to live, and could not spare any more time for that one. It is remarkable how easily and insensibly we fall into a particular route, and make a beaten track for ourselves. I had not lived there a week before my feet wore a path from my door to the pond-side; and though it is five or six years since I trod it, it is still quite distinct. It is true, I fear that others may have fallen into it, and so helped to keep it open. The surface of the earth is soft and impressible by the feet of men; and so with the paths which the mind travels. How worn and dusty, then, must be the highways of the world, how deep the ruts of tradition and confortuity! I did not wish to take a cabin passage, but rather to go before the mast and on the deck of the world, for there I could best see the moonlight amid the mountains. I do not wish to go below now.

I learned this, at least, by my experiment: that if one advances confidently in the direction of his dreams, and endeavors to live the life which he has imagined, he will meet with a success unexpected in common hours. He will put some things behind, will pass an invisible boundary; new, universal, and more liberal laws will begin to establish themselves around and within him; or the old laws be expanded, and interpreted in his favor in a more liberal sense, and he will live with the license of a higher order of beings. In proportion as he simplifies his life, the laws of the universe will appear less complex, and solitude will not be solitude, nor poverty poverty, nor weakness weakness. If you have built castles in the air, your work need not be lost; that is where they should be. Now put the foundations under them.

. . .

I desire to speak somewhere without bounds; like a man in a waking moment, to men in their waking moments; for I am convinced that I cannot exaggerate enough even to lay the foundation of a true expression. Who that has heard a strain of music feared then lest he should speak extravagantly any more forever? In view of the future or possible, we should live quite laxly and undefined in front, our outlines dim and misty on that side; as our shadows reveal an insensible perspiration toward the sun. The volatile truth of our words should continually betray the inadequacy of the residual statement. Their truth is instantly translated; its literal monument alone remains. The words which express our faith and piety are not definite; yet they are significant and fragrant like frankincense to superior natures.

Source: excerpted from the chapter “Conclusion” in Henry David Thoreau’s Walden, in the public domain. For further reading, see Rev. Patrick O’Neil’s brilliant sermon, “Out from Walden.”

This piece needs no introduction:

Out From Walden

By Rev. Dr. Patrick T. O’Neill

2005 Sermon of the Living Tradition
Delivered at The Service of the Living Tradition
At The General Assembly of the UUA
Ft. Worth, Texas June 24, 2005

Dedication:
Listed among the roll of ministers remembered this evening in the year of their death is the name of my first Unitarian Universalist minister, the Rev. David Osborn, whose wife and partner for his many years of ministry, Janet, also died this year. Some thirty-three years ago, it was at their dinner table in Oradell, NJ, that I first shared my secret longing to become a minister. I dedicate this sermon in love and everlasting gratitude to David and Janet’s memory.

The Sermon:
When I found myself enrolled in theological school in Chicago a year after that fateful, confessional dinner at the Osborns’ home, our great UU professor James Luther Adams reminded us in his church history class that the word “tradition” in church history can be translated with two very different meanings in Latin. The first root word of tradition is “traditum,” a heavy-sounding word, which means “the unchanging inherited weight and authority of history.”

But a second, much lighter translation of tradition is the Latin word, “traditio,” meaning “a sense of the living customs of a community; the ongoing creative dance of ever-evolving meaning and practice.”

As illustration of the difference between Traditum and Traditio, JLA offered us the larger-than-life example of Tevya, the devout dairyman of Anatevka, in Fiddler on the Roof. When first we meet Tevya, he explains to us that Tradition – the heavy obligation of Traditum – determines virtually every aspect of his family’s life and his life as a man, as a husband, and absolutely as a Papa.

But as the story unfolds, we watch how this good man’s tradition-bound heart is repeatedly and ultimately challenged and overruled by his love for his three daughters, and we listen in on his anxious conversations with God as his independent-minded daughters, one by one, teach him the primacy of love over custom, teach him to choose L’Chaim, Life, the dance of traditio, as the highest ultimate reckoning with his heritage. As he explains to God his daughter Tzeitel’s decision to marry for love rather than by arrangement: “They gave each other a pledge- unthinkable. But look at my daughter’s face-how she loves him….and look at my daughters eyes, so hopeful.”

Tradition!

(Read on … )