"P.T. Barnum"

Liturgical Materials for Sunday the 6^th of February 2000

Mark Belletini, Minister First Unitarian Universalist Church of Columbus, Ohio

Opening Words [Next] [back to top]

We are here
after a week of steel skies and tumbling snow
to worship, to restore our spirits
and encourage ourselves to deeper loving.
The mystery and glory of the universe
and the power of strong community
both speak to our heart of hearts here.
Silence and song, come.
Reason and passion, come.
Compassion us* and bring us to life abundant.

* Note: Although taught to never use a noun as a verb, I went to see the film "Titus" just before writing these words, and Mr. Shakespeare used compassion as a verb in a beautiful way, and I was moved to learn from him.

The First Reading [Next] [back to top]
The First Reading comes from Gretel Ehrlich's 1988 book Heart Mountain

History is not truth versus falsehoods, but a
mixture of both, a mélange of tendencies,
reactions, dreams, errors, and power plays.
What's important is what we make of it;
its moral use. By writing history, we can
widen thinking and deepen sympathy in every
direction. Perhaps history should show us not
how to control the world, but how to enlarge,
deepen and discipline ourselves.

The Second Reading [Next] [back to top]
comes from P.T. Barnum, an excellent and compassionate biography of the great American showman, written in 1995 by Philip B. Kunhardt, his son of the same name, and his brother Peter.

Even in his own day, people knew that with Barnum they were dealing with someone bigger than life. As the 1850's unfolded no one could define him in ordinary terms. "He represents the enterprise and energy of the 19th century," wrote one admiring contemporary. No, "he represents the material, practical side of our times," wrote another. Still others saw him as exemplifying something crass and self-serving in the American character. To this day a negative aura surrounds him. Much of the criticism is unfair. Barnum spent his whole life trying to bring pleasure to others; he had huge respect for his public, and it has been proved that he never even said the phrase he is most often remembered for: "There is a sucker born every minute." His goal was to awaken a sleeping sense of wonder, to help open the eyes of his fellow citizens to the amazing diversity of the human and natural world.

Sermon: P.T. Barnum [Next] [back to top]

During June, while I was back in California after General Assembly, my dear friend Kevin took me to the circus for my birthday.

It was an old-fashioned, single-ring circus under a tent easily pitched or struck within an hour or two. It was located on a rough and dusty dirt parking area in Oakland, near the Coliseum and the Bay. It was only going to be in town for a week or so.

The circus was humble, no big extravaganza. It had a small sideshow with miniature horses and that sort of thing, and a few small amusement park rides for very young children. The circus performers were all human…there were no elephants or palominos for bareback riding. There was no portly ringmaster, and I heard no words spoken…once the taped music started, the performers simply did their acts: on the high wire, in clown costumes, on the gymnastic teeter-totter, or in a spherical cage with death-defying motorcycles.

It was a Mexican circus, and the troupe were pretty much all members of the same family. They all had stunning Mayan features and compact, lithe, and remarkably flexible bodies. They were skillful. Yet if they made a mistake, missed a hand-hold or something like that, they simply redid that section of the act. They were not ashamed that their skills were not perfect, once and for all. We all rooted for them when they redid an act. We laughed and clapped. I didn't tell Kevin, when he told me he was taking me to the circus, that I never liked circuses much in my earlier years. My parents never took me to one, and I rarely saw one on TV. The few times I actually went to the circus when I was a young man, I always had ten or twelve children with me from the Residential Treatment Center where I worked. And I found myself so preoccupied making sure the troubled kids remained within my line of sight that I didn't much pay attention to the acts and was aware mostly of blaring, tinny music and swaggering bombast coming at me from all sides. The circus never grabbed me. And, truth be told, it sort of irritated me.

But this circus in Oakland, called the Circus Chimera, was different. It grabbed me completely. It transported me into a place of wonder and joy that warmed me for hours afterward.

Now of course you may say that this circus was different only because I wasn't working with disturbed children and because it was a birthday gift from a friend I dearly love…and to be honest, I suppose that could be partially true. But only a very small part.

You see, I think I've changed a lot too since I first went to a circus as an over-taxed young man. Through the years I have come to understand the centrality of play in my life, the importance of doing things for the sheer wonder and joy of doing them instead of to achieve something. I used to always chain everything I did to a purpose. I always wanted practical results, some product I could bob in my hand. Anything else seemed frivolous to me. And if I failed at producing a product, I counted myself to be "a failure."

But as I have matured, I have come to understand for myself that without play, without some things in my life done for the sheer fun, skill and wonder of them, not the glory of the results, my life tends to drift into perfectionism. And perfectionism…the belief that I can and must achieve wholeness, completeness, finality and rightness at all costs, is the way death itself dresses up like a malevolent clown who seduces people to die before they actually are dead.

It was the circus Kevin took me to that reminded me of these things. It was the circus which brought me great joy.

And the circus, folks, was invented by a man named Phineas Taylor Barnum, a 19th century forebear of ours, a Universalist and a showman.

There can be no doubt about it: P. T. Barnum is the most famous person in our entire religious history, both on the Universalist and Unitarian sides. As our reading from his biography by the Kunhardt family makes clear, he was "bigger than life" from the very beginning.

He was far more famous than the Unitarian Ralph Waldo Emerson, (who despised him, by the way.) He was known by the citizens of Europe much better than either the forceful Unitarian Quaker Susan B. Anthony or the powerful Universalist preacher, Olympia Brown. He was, in many ways, the world's first "celebrity" in the modern "rock star" sense of the term.

And even if you don't know all the details of his biography, the names of his first and second wives, the names of his daughters and grandchildren, or the street where he was born in Danbury, Connecticut, I tell you now, P.T. Barnum has been a very big part of your life for years without you knowing it.

The theologians and shapers of North American Universalism- Hosea Ballou, Clarence Skinner, Ken Patton, Olympia Brown - are almost all forgotten now, yet every school child has heard of the Barnum and Bailey Circus, no?

People often associate the phrase "show business" with Ethel "There's no business like show business!" Merman, but it was Barnum who first made the term popular long before Merman was born.

I still hear people say, "I'm happy as a clam."

They are quoting the irrepressible Barnum without knowing it.

People have heard the names of famous characters in Barnum's employ,"Tom Thumb" and "Jumbo the Elephant," even if they are not quite sure why.

And just recently I saw a poignant television show about two amazing young sisters, sisters who are called Siamese Twins (since from birth they have been joined at the forehead ). This, despite that neither of them have anything to do with Thailand at all. It was Barnum who invented the phrase in reference to Chang and Eng, two Chinese twins in his employ who, when they were born in Bangkok were joined by a tube at the stomach.

I also think it's fair to say this: for good or ill, P.T. Barnum had more practical effect on our own century and nation than any other single human being of the last century. Besides inventing the circus, he pretty much invented the whole idea of a modern science or natural history museum. It's clear to me that he literally invented and perfected the concept of "fame for its own sake." He raised the concept of entertainment from a sometimes want on a Saturday night to an almost daily need for the whole of North America.

And first and foremost, he invented and brought to new levels the concepts of advertisement and promotion, without which the United States of America would not be recognizable as America. Ads, billboards, ploys, commercials, sales, posters, hawkers, gimmicks and even tell-all autobiographies all have their source and encouragement in Phineas Taylor Barnum.

Now on top of all this, he was a philanthropist, a man who endowed the Tufts College (a Universalist school for higher education) with a great deal of money, and who, no matter how far he traveled, always supported his Universalist Church generously, both at the parish level and at the denominational level.

And boy did he made a lot of money, that P. T. Barnum! Though he earned and lost fortunes many times, he was a millionaire in an era when that actually meant something. Today, according to popular wisdom, any middle class or working stiff can become a millionaire by simply answering questions on a television show, or, against all odds, by winning a state lottery or a pot of gold at a casino. But P.T. Barnum was the very first millionaire in the last century who achieved his wealth by a method which is now the most popular method in our own century: overwork and relentless self-promotion.

You may perceive by my tone that, though he accomplished a lot in his life, I am not going to lift up Mr. P.T. Barnum, Universalist extraordinaire, as a pure exemplar, a sort of saint from our history.

You are right, at least partially. And it gets worse before it gets better. P.T. Barnum early in his career was involved in a slave trade transaction, and as a young man defended slavery in theory.

He cynically played to middle-class white fears about blacks. At times, his exhibits portrayed black Africans as stupid or uncultured.

And yet (and this is where it gets better), throughout his whole life he changed and progessed in his attitudes. He went from defending slavery to becoming so concerned about abolition that he changed political parties, leaving the Democratic Party of his youth (which supported slavery,) and joining Lincoln's Republican Party, which stood staunchly against it. He staged productions of Uncle Tom's Cabin and other abolitionist plays, and turned many a soul around to his new views.

He also changed in his attitudes toward people who were not like him, or most other people, in other ways.

Back when P.T. Barnum was alive, if you were a dwarf or very obese or very tall or very skinny or had a beard on your feminine cheek, or if you were born without two or more of your limbs, no one ever saw you. You were a complete embarrassment. You were kept indoors, hidden from polite society, considered a horror, whispered about by people who pitied you, or loudly reviled by people who were scared of you. P.T. Barnum was one of the first people of the 19th century to see "supreme worth" in human beings, no matter what shape they had. He was the first person in our nation's history to get folks who were different from everyone else around them to "flaunt their differences" and claim them as their uniqueness, not their shame. You may say to me that he "used" them and their differences to make his own fortune…but ordinarily, they came to him and asked to be in his shows, for at least there they could do something. And, they knew that Barnum saw them as being fully human as himself. The modern attitude of being told by our parents "don't stare" when confronted with certain disabilities is hardly sensible by comparison…it leads to pity and does not permit "ordinary" children…or adults…to actually confront and come to terms with real differences.

P.T. Barnum made a lot of progress in his life. Why? I am convinced that his fervent belief in the teachings proclaimed by his Universalism, the faith that decried the idea of hell for anyone either after death, or on this earth, demanded such progress of him.One cannot claim to be a Universalist --then or now-- and refuse to grow more socially aware, more compassionate for other human beings and more informed of the realities of other lives however different they are from your own.

With every step he took as he matured, P. T. Barnum took his Universalism seriously and worked to root "hell" out of his world…the hell of race- contempt by Euro-Americans for those Americans of African descent; the hell of shame and misery for those of differing abilities and body types; and the hell of being a child in a day when children were seen more as wealth than sovereign human beings.

Still, as I said earlier, P.T. Barnum was no saint or ultimate exemplar. He never achieved perfection, and he had many faults by both modern and contemporary standards. He was unconscious of how his concern for fame would affect our American century, where the worship of celebrity and novelty is nearly an organized religion, and where almost everything…church, school, work or free-time… must either be entertaining or perish. He was highly unconscious of his racial pandering, and the effect of his overwork on his family. He had no clue how his approach to life would pave the way to the shallow consumerist culture we have now…where constant advertisements convince us we need things we don't, and where our worth as human beings is too often tied to our looks, our popularity, or (God help us) our faithfulness to style and trend.

P.T. Barnum was no saint and he was not perfect. And yet I think we can learn from him anyway, for as Gretel Ehrlich reminds us, history is not truth set against falsehood, but rather a"melange" as she says, a blended mixture of dreams and power plays together.

History, she says, does not teach us how to control the world, and make it over according to our own little moral lights, but rather, asks us to enlarge, deepen and discipline ourselves.

I think this is true. And thus, despite his flaws, when I look at the life of P.T. Barnum, I am suddenly filled with questions for my own life.

He was unconscious of so many things. But wasn't he a human being like me? So that bids me ask…of what am I unconscious? What don't I see? What don't I hear? What prejudice moves me that I am not even aware of?

I can be critical of the galloping consumer culture that is his legacy. But don't I live by that culture? Have I not been shaped by it all my life, and lived by its benefits? Do I claim to lift myself above the reality of my life?

When I was in grammar school, I always received two grades for each subject. One was for my actual achievement. One was for effort. My father always told me that he counted the grade for effort as the more important of the two.

I would have to agree. And this helps me look at P.T. Barnum, a character from our common history, with a bit more humility and less judgmental swagger.

Now when I look at the moral lessons of Barnum's life, I criticize him less, and I find myself asking "What effort, what progress have I made in my life?" Barnum, despite his bombast, actually covered quite a bit of ground in his years. He allowed his Universalist faith to drag him where he might not naturally have gone without its moral force. He went from slave-trader to abolitionist, which shows a great effort of spirit and covers a startling distance for a single lifetime. He went from a parochial life in New England, where there was very little visible diversity, to being a champion known round the world for his commitment to reveal the full and wondrous diversity of life. He went from a childhood prankster and joker to a showman who brought, to a true-believing puritan and grimly perfectionist world, a circus of color and laughter and whirling wonder, pleasure and joy.

Yes, he was a bombast and shameless self-promoter. Seen from our twentieth century vantage, we might not give Barnum "A" for some of his "achievements," which we might justly call into question. But I think "A" for effort, for sheer progress in a single life time, is the best and most honest evaluation we can give to this amazing forbear of ours.

The history of P. T. Barnum's life reminds me, and I hope reminds us all, of three important realities to help us respond to our ancient inclusive Universalist faith with our own faithfulness, so that we too might "deepen and enlarge ourselves," in Ehrlich's great phrase.

One. To live a deeper, disciplined and less superficial life, or if you will, a spiritual life, requires us to admit daily that we ourselves are not conscious of everything, and furthermore, that becoming perfect and finished is not an option. Progress we can make daily. Perfection or sainthood or a sense of being righteous is forever, and quite gladly, beyond our reach. To live a spiritual life is to admit we are of the world, not outside it. Barnum never achieved perfection but he made decided progress. That must be our hope, too.

Two. To live a deeper, more disciplined, less superficial life, or if you will, a spiritual life, means to let yourself be claimed by the inclusive and demanding vision that you yourself claim. Barnum, as imperfect as he was, did not try and steer his way through life by mere impulse and whim, but disciplined himself to respond to the vision of his Universalist faith. He didn't follow his naturalized impulse to accept the race-divided culture of his day, and recoil from all differences, but instead learned to face those differences, welcome them, and resist aspects of his culture which did not welcome them. He didn't write people out of the picture but invited them in. He did not count anyone as ultimately lost…because he himself had found his own deeper self…in the Universalist Church.

Three: To live a deeper, more disciplined and less superficial life, or if you will, a spiritual life, means to open yourself to pleasure and wonder and joy. It means to live less by picky, petty criticism for what is imperfect and more by praise for what is making good progress. It means to never fail to notice and affirm beauty and skill and strength and connection in this world of ours. It means to celebrate more, and to be immediately wary of any time that you begin to feel either judgmental or worse, righteous. Barnum broke through the perfectionist "Puritan" culture of his day and found the joy in play, in pleasure, in beauty, cooperation and skill. That joy, as the second reading puts it, led him" to awaken a sleeping sense of wonder, and to lead his fellow citizens to the amazing diversity of the human, and natural world."

I think we would do well to find the joy in doing something similar in our own day and age, despite our very real unconsciousness, and despite our frailties and mistakes and even our need to be right.

I suppose it's best to sum up all this by quoting not a Universalist forebear like Barnum, but a famous American poet, himself the son of a Unitarian parish minister, namely e.e. cummings, who will bring us back to the circus full circle:

"Damn everything but the circus."

Prayer in Yoruba Style  [back to top]

Egun mojuba iba e.// (chanted)
Egun gbogbo mojuba iba e.//

I pay homage to the Ancestors.
All pay homage to the Ancestors.
Hank Aaron , play for us.
Alvin Ailey, dance for us.
Josephine Baker, sing for us.
Count Basie, ravish us..
Mary McLeon Bethune, teach us.
Gwendolyn Brooks, stun us. //
Ella Fitzgerald, move us.
Dorothy Height, organize us.
Bayard Rustin, prophesy us.
Langston Hughes, rapture us.
Shirley Ann Jackson, study us. //
Fannie Lou Hamer, hold us.
Rosa Parks, sit down for us.
Leontyne Price, overcome us.
Moms Mabley, entertain us.
Quincey Jones, compose us.
August Wilson, play us. //

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Last update: 02/14/2000