Let me begin by telling you about a man I knew in earlier days. His name — Averell Harriman — may be familiar to some of the older folks in the audience but probably not to most of you. I think he may have led the most interesting life of the 20th century.

His father — E.H. Harriman — started the Union Pacific Railroad and was one of the great industrial magnates — or robber-barons, as they were called — of the late 19th century. At age 24, young Averell became a vice president of the railroad, which was one of the largest corporations in America, and by 41, he was chairman. When the New Deal started, he became a confidante of President Franklin Roosevelt. During World War II, he became Roosevelt’s emissary to Joseph Stalin, the Soviet dictator, and then Ambassador to the Soviet Union. After the war, he was Secretary of Commerce and Governor of New York. He ran for President and held a key State Department post during the Vietnam War. He was one of the richest men in America. He was one of the best athletes of his era. His wife was once Winston Churchill’s daughter-in-law. The list goes on. You get the point. He was a remarkable man.

Quite a few years ago — in his last years — I got to know Harriman and had a number of memorable long visits with him. During one of them, he told me a remarkable story.

Harriman spent his college years at Yale and — as he recounted — wanted more than anything else to be on the crew team. But the crew coach at Yale had other plans. He wanted Harriman to be the coach of the freshman crew team. And he told him that to learn how, he would have to travel to England — this was in 1912 — and spend two weeks with the crew coach at Oxford, who was the best in the world. So Harriman goes to the Dean of the College at Yale to seek permission to go. After giving it some thought the Dean says to him, "OK. I’ll give you permission if you promise to be on the way home at the end of two weeks." So Harriman gives his word and takes the next boat to England. Don’t forget this is 1912. No airplanes.

As soon as he gets there he starts having the time of his life. He then discovers that if he can only stretch his visit by one week he could be in England for the Henley Regatta, which is the premiere rowing and social event of the year. So he begins wrestling with his conscience. He’d given his word — but he was aching to stay. Finally, late one night, he decides. He says to himself: "I’ve given my word as a Yale gentleman and I have to keep it. It’s a matter of honor." So two weeks after arriving, he’s on his way home. Harriman’s telling the story like it happened yesterday. It was on a rainy fall afternoon that I’ll never forget, in this extraordinary library in his home in Georgetown. He pauses for a moment. Then he leans forward and says: "If I’d waited the extra week, I would have sailed back to New York — on the Titanic."

I’ve thought about this story a hundred times over the years. And I guess the obvious point of it is that moral behavior is a great protection. He didn’t know there would be any benefit to obedience; in fact, it seemed just the opposite. But, in the end, taking a stand for principle — doing the right thing — literally saved his life.

I especially thought of the story — and its moral — last year, when the Student Presidential Board and the administration were making some very good, very needed, and very extensive revisions to the College’s disciplinary procedures. That process generated a good deal of healthy discussion about the College’s moral standards, which — to finally get to the point — is what I’d like to talk about today. And the main reason I want to talk about it is that I’m concerned that when we do talk about this subject we so often miss the real point of it.

I want to try what may be impossible: to explain what I mean here without sounding dogmatic and judgmental. What I’d like to do is to take the discussion of Principia standards out of the realm of Principia rules and put it precisely where it belongs — in the realm of what’s required for the thing that we all need most, which is growth Spiritward. Here’s what I mean:

The problem is that when the subject of community standards is raised, it inevitably evokes thoughts of guilt, or punishment, or being thrown out of school, or being judged by others. And because we think of this first, the discussion always gets stuck on the subject of consequences — the consequences of violating Principia rules — and rarely gets into the real issue, which is why Principia, unlike almost every other college in the country, would even bother to have such rules in the first place. And because this happens, we lose our ability to bring clarity to the issue. And because this happens, we forfeit one of the greatest potential benefits of being at Principia, and that’s the chance to bring clarity to the reasoning behind the rules.

In fact, the reasoning behind the rules has little to do with maintaining social order at Prin. It has everything to do with ensuring that you will be of maximum benefit in your service to mankind — that you will have what you absolutely need most in life, and that’s a clearer sense of God’s unconditional love for you. Nothing else comes remotely close in importance.

Maybe it’s the fault of generations of well-meaning parents and teachers and administrators — myself included, probably — who seem to convey the sense that if a young person smokes, or has a drink, or engages in premarital sex, that somehow God will come down from heaven and point an accusing finger — or worse. Maybe it would be simpler if that were the case. But it isn’t. The real issue is not that we’ll be punished, although sin — defined to include everything from smoking to jealousy to racism — obviously entails penalties because it retards spiritual progress. The real issue is that moral behavior has its rewards; that moral behavior — as Averell Harriman’s story so nicely illustrates — is a protection to us in our daily lives; that moral behavior is part of what’s required, in Mrs. Eddy’s words, to "assimilate more of the divine character" so that our lives can become shining lights in a world enshrouded in the darkness of moral confusion and relativism (Science and Health with Key to the Scriptures by Mary Baker Eddy, p. 4:20-21).

If we don’t get this point we may be abiding by the rules for precisely the wrong reason. Fear of punishment is not the right reason to do the right thing. Love of God and the desire to grow spiritually is the right reason, and brings rewards that — to put it as simply as I can — are beyond measure.

Let me zero in — laser-like — on the point. As Christian Scientists, everything we do in life has to have a positive motive — even when what we do is to make a conscious decision not to do something, like smoke or drink or envy or hate.

Let me illustrate, and then I’ll explain what I mean here. My wife and I lived in Jerusalem for a number of years. One day we walked into an elevator in a high-rise apartment building. A man was standing there — clearly an Orthodox Jew by his dress — and he asked us to press the button for the 10th floor. He told us he’d been standing there for a long time. But he couldn’t press the button himself because, since it was a high Jewish holiday, he wasn’t allowed to work. Pushing the button would have constituted "work" under orthodox Jewish law. He may well have been a good and righteous man and we were delighted to help him. But as this little incident illustrates, there’s always the risk that mere abstinence can become a substitute for the requirement for real devotion, which is the daily work of getting rid of habits of thought and character traits that impede spiritual growth.

My point is that we have to be careful not to assume that there is any great virtue in abstinence, per se, or abstinence just to avoid punishment. To be sure, when it comes to wrong-doing of any sort, abstinence is always better than indulgence. But, as Mrs. Eddy notes: "Fear of punishment never made man truly honest" (Science and Health, p. 327:22 only). Hitler didn’t drink, but that didn’t help him much because that decision wasn’t linked to any obvious desire to grow in spiritual stature. It’s the linkage here that’s crucial.

I sometimes hear people say: If I don’t smoke and drink I’m a good Christian Scientist. If I may say, that’s nonsense. Being a good Christian Scientist doesn’t have to do so much with what we’re giving up — although it’s important that we do give up impediments to spiritual growth — but with what we’re striving towards. The two things are obviously connected. If we focus on the "giving up" and ignore the "striving towards" then we’ve missed the point entirely. Translated into day-to-day Principia experience: If all we focus on are the rules of Principia and ignore what these rules are designed to support — namely, laying the foundations for spiritual progress for the rest of your life — then the whole discussion gets off the mark.

It’s not forswearing a drink, or anything else, that matters; it’s what the foreswearing represents. And what it should represent is a determination to remove any obstacle, any dependence, that would diminish our reliance on God and our dedication to the business of spiritual growth. Glorifying God, which should be the motive behind abstinence, has everything to do with spiritual growth. Unless we get this point, our important and ongoing discussion of community standards — as I’ve said — will be stuck at the level of Principia rules rather than where it should be, which is focused on the spiritual growth that these rules are designed to nurture, and the protection they’re designed to provide.

Here’s a case in point: drinking. Someone gave me an Ann Landers column recently. I confess, I’m not an Ann Landers regular. But she had a good point. She’s had 40 years of letters from people whose lives have been broken by alcohol, and she says all of them started drinking pretty much the same way. They began drinking because they needed support; because they wanted to be accepted socially; because they wanted to have friends; because they wanted to be witty and gay; because they wanted — by bragging about binge drinking and hangovers — to demonstrate their manhood. In the end — deep down — because they maybe just wanted to be loved. Bless their hearts. Don’t we all. But looking to satisfy that longing by drinking took all of them off in directions that led to great heartbreak.

I heard someone say once, with great compassion: "When I see someone drinking, I don’t say, ‘There’s someone cool.’ I say, ‘There’s someone who’s wrestling with a sense of inadequacy and incompleteness.’

You see, the mistake here is that the good folks Ann Landers was writing about all thought that drinking was the key to freedom. What they had to learn the hard way — all of them — is that it was a form of bondage. And here’s how the bondage works: It’s slavery to the belief that our self-worth can be measured by — or depends on — the contents of a glass. That worth is judged by whether and what we drink rather than by who we are. You have to wonder, by the way, whether a person judging us on this basis would be the kind of friend we’d ever want or need in the first place.

Now, here’s a point that quite a few students passing through this hallowed place over the years have had a hard time grasping. When Principia sets a standard — on drinking, for example — it’s not because the school takes great delight in imposing restrictions. It’s that drinking itself is the restriction. It’s not the rules but the abridgement of the rules that brings bondage. It’s the not drinking that’s the freedom.

And what everyone from Mrs. Morgan on down has wanted most is for Principia students to have freedom. What everyone from Mrs. Morgan on down has wanted most is to have you understand this crucial point: that if you define your happiness and self-worth on the basis of social custom, you have put them both on the most fragile possible basis. It’s a basis that will collapse. Principia maintains standards not because it wants to punish but because it wants to bless. Because it wants to help lay the only possible basis for permanent happiness, for solid and happy relationships and marriages, and for everything else you want and deserve in life.

Now, I know when we say this, we’re rowing upstream against a culture that sometimes seems irresistible. Look at the power of the ads for cigarettes and alcohol. They’re all pitched to social acceptance. Beautiful people; the warm company of friends — all this is yours if you drink Bud or smoke Kools. What you need to know is that the whole purpose of the ads is to create a deep sense of inadequacy. The point being that if you feel inadequate — if your social life doesn’t quite measure up to the one the beautiful beer-drinking men and women in the magazine ad have — there’s a better chance you’ll buy the product that, the ad implies, opens the door wide to friendship and social security.

Let’s be clear about this: You don’t need a Bud or anything else to make you more manly, more womanly, more attractive, more acceptable, because you have all you need right now: imperishable beauty; a secure and abiding sense of the Father’s great love for you; a confident sense of the worth and, yes, the greatness of your true spiritual selfhood. If we’re clear about this, we’ll never feel the pangs of an unsatisfied human longing. We’ll never feel tempted to base our happiness on that which is injurious and perishable. As the sons and daughters of God, you are, right now, in the words of the hymn, "satisfied, complete, divinely fair" (Christian Science Hymnal, hymn 149).

When I was with The Christian Science Monitor, living in the Middle East, one of my frequent stops was Cairo. I remember being in the Cairo airport late one night waiting for a long delayed flight. At one end of the terminal was a huge ad for Marlboro cigarettes, which I’d passed dozens of times before and smaller versions of which I’d seen everywhere else in the third world, being that it’s one of the most ubiquitous advertising symbols next to Coke. But this time — since I had time to kill — I stopped and studied the ad. I probably looked at it for half an hour. I must have looked a bit silly sitting there trying to figure out why those ruggedly handsome cowboys, flanked by that gorgeous Western scenery, were such hugely successful advertising symbols.

I finally reached the obvious conclusion: It was because those cowboys represented the absolute ideal of manhood — and womanhood as well: strength, self-reliance, independence, and self-confidence. That was it. That’s why these ads are so compelling, because that’s what we all want to be: strong, self-reliant, independent, and confident.

Then I got the real revelation, that a million other people have probably gotten before me: That the symbol of the ad and the reality of smoking are exactly 180 degrees apart. Smoking is not about strength. It’s about weakness. Smoking is not about self-reliance. It’s about reliance on others for approval. Smoking is not about independence. It’s about dependence on others for a sense of self-esteem. Smoking is not about self-confidence. It’s about a sense of inadequacy. It was a fascinating revelation to me that the message of the ad was the exact opposite of the truth. And that’s why we have to be so alert, because we live in an era in which we’re constantly on the receiving end of messages that try to turn reality upside down.

We also have to be alert to the more subtle argument that dependence in moderation is OK. The old question always comes up: Well, I can see that getting drunk is bad, but what’s wrong with an occasional drink? It can’t hurt anything. Well, the basic truth is that it can, but in ways that are often very subtle. Because whether it’s one drink or ten, the same principle is involved, namely, that we’ve made the decision to rely, to some greater or lesser extent, on material means to gain dominion. And to the extent that we’ve made that decision we have, in effect, broken the First Commandment by giving power to matter, not to God, to endow us with what we need.

As one thoughtful Christian Science Sentinel writer put it some years ago, "Moderation isn’t really an answer to the drinking question . . . For Christian Scientists, the real issue isn’t how much freedom to give up; it’s whether to give up any freedom" at all (Nathan A. Talbot, "The Question of Drinking," Christian Science Sentinel, October 11, 1982, p. 1742).

Now, if the question is pre-marital sex, I guess there are a couple of ways to think about this one. There’s no doubt where the culture is on the matter. I haven’t seen a movie since Bambi when boy and girl haven’t gone to bed together on the first date.

And all the arguments that rationalize pre-marital sex seem pretty convincing on the surface: that many dating couples have more loving relationships than many married couples — which may well be true; that sex is just a way of expressing love and if two people are in love, why not? As Christian Scientists we need to plunge below the surface in our reasoning — far deeper than our highly permissive culture does.

Even humanly speaking, the problem is usually more subtle than, say, getting pregnant. I think the most common and underrated problem is that outside the permanent commitment of marriage, sex is much more likely to be a substitute for, rather than a complement to, real intimacy. Let me say that again: outside the permanent commitment of marriage, sex is much more likely to be a substitute for, rather than a complement to, real intimacy. If you’re poised to make one of the most important decisions of your life — whether or not to get married to someone — it’s pretty important to be sure that the real ingredients of intimacy are present in the relationship, because no marriage can last without them. Mrs. Eddy describes them as "kindred tastes, motives, and aspirations" (Science and Health, p. 60:4). Outside of marriage, sex is more likely to be the counterfeit of real intimacy. And when it is, it can completely cloud our judgement and open the door to great disappointment. That’s disappointment you don’t deserve.

Mrs. Eddy says something really interesting in Science and Health: She says that "chastity" — which means the confining of sexual relations to marriage — is the "cement of civilization," and that without it "there is no stability in society, and without it one cannot attain the Science of Life" (Science and Health, p. 57:1). That’s a remarkable statement. And I guess there are two ways to think about it. One way is to write it off as the quaint view of a Victorian moralist that is no longer relevant in this more liberated, enlightened age. We might even say that if Mrs. Eddy were to write Science and Health today that she would be much more relaxed about the whole matter.

Here’s the other way to think about it: It’s to reckon with the fact that Mrs. Eddy was the second most enlightened person in human history. And that maybe — just maybe — she understood better than we do yet the subtle nature of the damage done by violating the moral law — any moral law — because better than anyone next to Christ Jesus she understood the subtle, destructive workings of animal magnetism. I guess we’ll all need to make our choice about this individually.

Lots of folks in this world — probably most by now — have sex before marriage. They’re not bad people. That’s not the issue. And the issue here isn’t condemnation. The issue is that your happiness, your right to right companionship, are just too important to be jeopardized. The ultimate question here is: What is it that best promotes enduring stability and happiness? Averell Harriman didn’t take the Titanic, remember, because he thought hard and with great integrity about his options. And he decided to take a stand for principle. We need to think hard, and with equal integrity, about this issue. More than ever before, we need to rely on the insights we can gain as Christian Scientists rather than on the deceptive wisdom of the popular culture.

Now, all of this requires a good deal of moral courage on our part — not only for ourselves but for others as well. I had a memorable conversation with a student about moral courage a couple of years ago — a student who has now graduated. When I talked with him he had just come back from a social suspension. He was a wonderful guy and a great athlete. When we talked, he was reflective. "I hang out with guys who have a lot of physical courage," he said to me. "But I didn’t see the moral courage so much. Lots of people knew I was on the wrong track, but none of them reached out to help before it was too late. I didn’t want them to condemn me," he said. "I just wanted them to have the courage to be honest with me. Physical courage is easy. They all had that. It’s the moral courage that was the hard part for them."

We talked a good bit longer, then he said something really instructive: "This business about non-judgement is really deceptive," he said. "It passes for friendship, but I realize now that it’s the counterfeit of real friendship, because when someone’s on a bad course and you don’t help, you are judging because you’re saying, in effect, that the behavior is OK." I think maybe my friend was on to something.

Now, let me be really clear about something here, so there’s no confusion. I hear people say sometimes that all Principia cares about is smoking and drinking and sex. Let me assure you: nothing could be further from the truth. It is true, of course, that smoking and drinking are a bit easier to discern with the naked eye than, say, envy or hidden malice. But it would be a huge mistake to say that merely because someone doesn’t smoke or drink that he or she is a moral person, even though he or she may hate their neighbor or be self-righteous or environmentally irresponsible, or whatever.

Everything we do here is based on the Bible and Mrs. Eddy’s writings, and they make it overwhelmingly clear that the cornerstone of spiritual growth is the commitment to divest ourselves of every quality — every trait of personality — that militates against spiritual growth.

Let me address one other thing before I wind this up, and that’s the prevalent notion that it’s necessary to experiment with sin to know it’s bad. That’s a fascinating proposition to take root in a community of Christian Scientists and, with all due respect, I guess I’d have to say that sometimes it has the feel of a fairly transparent rationalization. Whenever I hear it I think of Mrs. Eddy’s comment in Science and Health about the pointlessness of taking a fish out of water and burying it in dirt every day so that it will thrive better in its own natural environment (Science and Health, p. 413:12-16). That’s not a process we need to go through, with fish or with Principia students.

St. Augustine wrote once of his dissolute youth: "Simply what was not allowed allured us." That’s pretty much the way it’s been through history. Trying things that people say is wrong certainly passes for rebellion and what is youth for, the old argument goes, if not to rebel a little. Well, look closely.

I hear from time to time of people going off campus to drink — or maybe on campus to drink. Consider this: They are not the rebels but the conformists. This doesn’t make them bad. We don’t love them less. But please be clear — they are conforming exactly to the cultural stereotype, playing out the role all the ads, all the sit-coms, all the folklore about youth and drinking have imposed on them. The real rebel declares his independence from the cultural stereotype. The real rebel says: I’m so clear about who I am and what I am that my decisions won’t be dictated by Hollywood or Madison Avenue or anyone else.

Mrs. Eddy is on the mark, as usual. We don’t have to "suffer the illusion," she says, that we have to "yield to a sinful temptation on the ground that sin has its necessities" (Science and Health, p. 381:4). Sin does not have its necessities. We can let intelligence replace experience and save ourselves a lot of trouble. To say that drinking is being rebellious is a little like saying smoking Marlboros is demonstrating strength and independence. Neither statement could be farther from the truth.

Let me make a concluding comment here.

I suppose the obvious question is, why does all this talk of moral standards matter so much? It’s not a subject that figures largely at most other colleges. In fact, at most colleges there’s the full expectation that experimentation with sin is a normal part of the process of reaching maturity. You try it. You learn. You grow. That’s real life. Well, actually, it’s not real life. And the reason it’s not real life is as simple as the simplest proposition in Christian metaphysics — that man does not have to go through all sorts of difficult mortal experiences on the road to becoming spiritual. That’s the bedrock assumption we work with around here. Principia is not in the business of taking faltering adolescents and making them better adolescents. We’re in the business of seeing you — seeing ourselves — as expressing the strength, the incredible beauty, the bedrock goodness, the spiritual poise that come with being God’s likeness. This is the most amazing thing any college could ever do.

Mrs. Morgan suggests that the most sacred trust the faculty and staff have here — the most sacred trust we have towards each other — is the work of helping others to find the Truth that frees us from all the sadness, all the heartache, all the misdirection that comes when we deviate from what’s right.

Let’s be clear that the single most compassionate and loving thing anyone could ever do for you is to hold you to a high standard.

There’s something else here that’s even more important. You have so much to give to this world — more than maybe you can comprehend yet. We shouldn’t be tied down with the small stuff. Any college students in the world can devote their time to experimenting with drugs or alcohol or whatever. The whole world says you need to spend half your time in college figuring these issues out. Well, it’s just not so. You’re cut out for something so much better, so much higher, so much more important, so infinitely more satisfying.

Yes, the Principia experience can help clarify the social issues that come up in college, and that’s great. That’s one of the reasons we’re here. But we need to get on with the main thing. And the main thing is seizing the incredible opportunity that comes with being a Christian Scientist. We’re part of the tiniest fraction of humanity that has access to the truth. We’re blessed — you and I — beyond any possible measure. And this is the reason this subject is so crucial: You have a world to heal. And clarity on these issues — on moral issues — is absolutely essential to your ability to heal it and to be of service to mankind. It’s that simple.

It’s just like Paul says: We need to be "blameless and harmless, the sons of God, without rebuke" so that we can "shine as lights in the world" (Philippians 2:15). Mrs. Morgan says much the same thing. She says that nothing we learn at Principia academically, athletically, socially or any other way is worth anything unless that learning is accompanied by growth in grace, in character, in moral rectitude — unless we are more honest and more steadfast in the right.

"[O]ut of Principia," she says, "should grow a type of Christian manhood and womanhood which will be an influence for righteousness throughout the world" (Education at The Principia, p. 34). That word "righteousness" falls on the ear a bit uncomfortably in the age of Fox TV. But without it, without righteousness, we cannot do the great work we’re called on to do — the only work that will bring to each one of you the greatest possible satisfaction in life. And that’s the work of healing, of redeeming, of speaking to the dumb — to all those people in the world who so need the comfort and clarity you can bring to them — the words of Truth, and hearing them answer with gratitude and rejoicing.

You see, in the end, that’s what this subject is all about. It’s not about Principia rules. It’s not about guilt or condemnation. It’s about gaining the clarity we absolutely have to have if we’re going to come anywhere near to realizing the great potential we all have as Christian Scientists. That’s the point here. And it means that we think about these issues with each other with the greatest spirit of love and support and understanding. We are, after all, all in this together — all of us. And what we’re in together, exactly, is the business of letting our examples make morals for mankind. These are Mrs. Eddy’s familiar words, actually, and I’d like to end by letting her explain the absolute bottom line of this whole subject. She says in three profound sentences what it has taken me 40 minutes to roughly approximate.

"Beloved children," she says (and she’s talking to all of us here, not just youngsters), "the world has need of you, — and more as children than as men and women: it needs your innocence, unselfishness, faithful affection, uncontaminated lives. You need also to watch, and pray that you preserve these virtues unstained, and lose them not through contact with the world. What grander ambition is there than to maintain in yourselves what Jesus loved, and to know that your example, more than words, makes morals for mankind!" (Miscellaneous Writings by Mary Baker Eddy, p. 110:4).

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