There is a cartoon of two Boy Scouts walking down the street, presumably looking for someone to help. One says to the other, "I can think of at least a half-dozen good deeds we could do if we got paid for them."
"Do a good deed daily," was one of the mantras drummed into me during my Boy Scout days. It was not a bad slogan in a way; we ought to do good deeds. One of the dangers of this, however, was that I might think if I did one good deed early in the morning, I'd be off the hook for the rest of the day. Or it might suggest that virtue is somehow a matter of accumulating a certain number of good deeds.
How, then, should we relate to these words of The Rev. William Sloan Coffin, Yale Chaplain and minister of Riverside Church in New York City? "No good deed goes unpunished."[1] What did he mean by that? Is it simply a cynical corollary of Leo Durocher's epigram that "nice guys finish last"[2]? Is it merely hyperbole? After all, some good deeds are rewarded.
I think Coffin was doing battle with a biblical dogma that has much currency in our land - the attitude that there is a direct correlation between virtue and reward, vice and punishment. We assume that virtue will be rewarded and vice punished. People who work hard will flourish and those who don't will fail. It is part and parcel of the Protestant work ethic, now simply the work ethic, stripped of religious meaning.
That ethic dates back to the Hebrew biblical tradition. I recall my bible professor's lecture on the Pentateuch - the first five books of the bible. He summarized a set of ethical laws - the Deuteronomic Code - with the words, "do good and prosper." This was the message from the religious leaders of the time to keep their followers in line. Prosperity automatically follows goodness. In our words, "honesty is the best policy." Why? Because "honesty pays."
This maxim, however, not only encourages wishful thinking, it also distorts the reality of moral behavior. As one ethicist points out, "When you think of it, it's incredible that we would want to sell morality as a good business policy. It's just the other way around - we need to be moral even when being so entails personal sacrifice. Isn't that the whole point of a commitment to morality?"[3] If personal decisions were not hard, we wouldn't need ethics.
This "do good and prosper" motto is illustrated in the story of the Rabbi who "committed an infraction grave enough to call down a judgment from Above. The Divine voice notified the Rabbi that because of his sin he had forfeited his place in heaven. He would be barred from Paradise in the world to come. Upon hearing this judgment, the Rabbi burst into a joyous dance. Perplexed, his students asked him how he could be so cheerful upon hearing that he was refused entry into Paradise. The Rabbi explained: 'All my life, I always suspected that my good deeds had an ulterior motive. Whenever I fulfilled the commandments, I envisioned the reward I would receive for my good deeds. Now, for the first time, I can serve God purely without any personal hidden agenda.'"[4]
The good Rabbi had discovered the importance of being good - for nothing - or, should we say, for the simple joy of being good.
There are other biblical illustrations of our theme, "no good deed goes unpunished." For example, it is hard to imagine Jesus saying: "Take up your cross and follow me - it'll make you feel good." And yet it seems to me that much of the "pop Christianity" of our time sends exactly this message. Belief in Jesus will enable you to prosper in the marketplace; to win on the football field; to triumph in the election.
But in one survey of ethics among Americans, when the word "sacrifice" was used to describe feelings around helping, the percentage who were willing to help dropped off precipitously.[5] The language of sacrifice drops out of our vocabulary and is replaced by that of success. It won't cost much to be a Christian - or a Unitarian Universalist. No sacrifices required.[6]
A fictional illustration of the Jesus ethic is the story of Jesus and the Grand Inquisitor from Fyodor Doestoevski's novel The Brothers Karamazov, one of the most gripping scenes in literature. It is the 15th century Spanish Inquisition. Jesus has reappeared and he is outraged at what he sees being said and done in his name. Jesus meets the Grand Inquisitor and states his intention to go out among the people and set the record straight. "Not so fast!" warns the Grand Inquisitor. "No way will I let you do that to these well-meaning people. They've grown up with their version of Christianity, as their parents and parents' parents did before them. Their religious convictions provide meaning in their lives. Think how crushed they'd be if you told them that their beliefs were all wrong. . . . It would be like pulling the life jacket from a drowning man. You would deprive them of all hope. How dare you! Their religious beliefs work for them. Leave them alone."[7]
Dogma and authority are pitted against the hard teachings of a sacrificial ethic. As the story concludes, the Grand Inquisitor condemns Jesus to death as a heretic: "I shall burn Thee for coming to hinder us. For if any one has ever deserved our fires, it is Thou. Tomorrow I shall burn thee." As in fiction, so in history. For a lifetime of good deeds Jesus was punished by death on the cross - a sobering rebuke to the Deuteronomic school's mantra "do good and prosper."
As one observer wryly noted, while many have been martyred for not assenting to the creeds, no one has ever been executed for not following the Golden Rule.
A more contemporary fictional illustration of how good deeds may be punished is found in Peter Sellers' film, Heavens Above. Sellers plays the Reverend John E. Smallwood, who becomes vicar of a church in a contented English village. The village enjoys the benevolence of the wealthy Despard family and the success of the pill it manufactures - sedative, pepper-upper and laxative combined, a perfect trinity. The vicar persuades Lady Despard to "Go and sell that thou hast and give to the poor," as the Bible advises, and she freely distributes food, driving butcher, baker and candle-stick maker out of business. And when Smallwood pronounces that the trinity of Father, Son and Holy Ghost is more efficacious than the triple-actioned pill, sales go down, unemployment goes up and mob violence ensues.[8] The film ends with the good vicar being sent rocketing into outer space where he thinks he will be missionary to whomever might live there.
Smallwood wanted to do good in the worst way, and he did - in the worst way. Without taking account of the risks inherent in his action, he blundered ahead with a literal New Testament morality. He innocently produced results that were nearly catastrophic for the very people he sought to help. We learn that it is not easy to apply the high-minded ethics of the first century to the complicated world of today. And we also learn that often, despite our best intentions, we are sometimes punished for our good deeds.
But we don't have to reach back into religious history to discover the dilemma of doing good in a world which may or may not reward it. A minister friend of mine wrote about his "bright, amusing daughter who loves you as much as you adore her. Somewhere along the growing-up process she became addicted to heroin and is now almost beyond hope - almost because ultimately no one is ever completely beyond hope. But 20 years of anguish and broken promises have taught you that she is beyond your ability to help her. She alone can take the steps toward change. Once again, she has written a desperate letter asking for financial help so she can get off drugs. For years you complied with such requests, yet she remains an active addict. Now you think perhaps you should stop. Maybe in this case 'no' is a positive word, a gesture of love, even though it will seem to her like rejection and a denial of parental love."[9]
What should he do? What advice would you give him? Now the easy shibboleths, the pious preacherly advice, the easy way to virtue will not help. Now one must resort to ethical reflection and moral action. My friend's presumably good deeds as a loving father have brought him and his daughter a kind of punishment.
But back to the Boy Scouts. The Boy Scouts of America may have won a legal battle last year when the Supreme Court upheld their right to exclude gay men from leadership roles, but they suffered a moral defeat. When it agreed that the BSA had a right to dismiss James Dale because of his avowed homosexuality, the Court in effect legitimized homophobia. This "right to discriminate" is a hollow victory for an organization purporting to guide young boys in moral, social and spiritual development.
The term "morally straight" from the Boy Scout Oath never meant homophobia in my years as a scout or the father of scouts. That interpretation of "morally straight" is an invention of a few men who exhibit a limited biblical knowledge and would impose their narrow interpretation on others.
They fail to understand the biblical injunction of the Hebrew prophets who proclaimed justice for all and of Jesus, who never spoke about homosexuality and urged his followers to "do unto others as you would have them do unto you." I feel strongly about this because scouting has played such a major - and until now - positive role in my life. I decided to become a minister at the 1951 National Boy Scout Jamboree in Valley Forge. A few years later I received the God and Country Award given jointly by my church and BSA. I am an Eagle Scout, as are both of my sons. I have worked with many boys on the Unitarian Universalist Association's church/scout Religion in Life program.
Recently, however, because of our denomination's support of gay rights and our broad understanding of the 12th point of the Scout Law - "a scout is reverent" - the God issue - our program has been decertified. This was the culmination of a long and arduous struggle to encourage BSA to practice what it preaches - respect for another's faith.
And now this. In May of 1991 I wrote the BSA Executive Director to express my views; in October of 1998 I wrote a similar letter in response to a fund raising appeal from our own Otetiana Council. To date I have not had the courtesy of a reply.
My suspicion is that many - if not most - local scout leaders are terribly embarrassed by the Texas-based Boy Scout organization. It is tragic that outstanding leaders are denied opportunity to serve. It is even more tragic that many gay boys may be denied participation in an organization that otherwise teaches self-reliance, respect for others, environmental responsibility and service to community. This discrimination in a uniform sets a terrible example for our society - a mockery of the mandate to do good deeds.
But what to do? I know the Boy Scouts do many good deeds; they have provided meaningful experiences to millions of boys, including my own. They have sought to involve inner-city and minority youth. They collect goods for food shelters and much more. So when a local troop to which my sons belonged asks to use our building for a Court of Honor what do we do?
One year ago I provided some building use credits for them so they could use our space. I was assured the troop did not discriminate on the basis of sexual orientation; that there were homosexuals among leadership and scouts. But this year I could not bring myself to do it again - would I not be supporting an organization whose official policy was at variance with the fundamental beliefs of my church in the inherent worth and dignity of all people? No good deed goes unpunished - this was no easy decision - I would be punished no matter what I did.
Practically speaking, we need a policy to deal with this issue - to engage in dialogue with scout leaders; to try to persuade local troops and the local council to help change national policy. Or perhaps we ought to sponsor a new organization that brings the best of scouting without discrimination - Scouting for All. That would require a tremendous effort. That issue is still in process. It only illustrates my point that no good deed goes unpunished.
What do I conclude from all this? Of course, not every good deed is punished - the phrase is rhetorical to make a point. Doing good is not about keeping score. Our mandate is: Do good for its own sake. Learn the importance of being good for nothing. When we are honest with ourselves we know that life is not necessarily fair - there is no eternal law written in the nature of things that renders prosperity for goodness or poverty for evil. This understanding is not really cynicism but simply a frank recognition of the "sheer randomness of our fortunes."[10]
Lest we become discouraged by this hard reality, I think of a man of heroic proportions who illustrates the courage-to-be even knowing that his good deed would be punished - Pastor Martin Niemoeller, a German U-boat commander in World War I who became a pacifist. He led the Confessing Church in its resistance to Nazism in World War II while many of his colleagues collaborated.
His death in 1984 was especially poignant to me since I had spent a treasured few hours with him during my 1978 sabbatical in Germany. To him are attributed these familiar, but disturbing words: "In Germany the Nazis first came for the Communists and I did not speak up because I was not a Communist. Then they came for the Jews, and I did not speak up because I was not a Jew. Then they came for the trade unionists, and I did not speak up because I was not a trade unionist. Then they came for the Catholics, and I did not speak up because I was not a Catholic. Then they came for me - by that time there was no one to speak up for anyone."
Not all of us are called to be heroes or heroines. Many of our decisions to do good are clear - we know what we need to do. But on another level are actions we must take for which we will not be paid. We may be required by conscience to say and do that for which we may very well be punished. It is a hard truth, but one well worth pondering in an age of ethical weakness and easy morality.
In a bottom-line world it is not easy to practice an ethic of being good - for nothing. But that is what is required of us. I can think of at least a half-dozen good deeds I could do and ought to do and I know I'll never ever be paid for them; I may even be punished for them but it doesn't matter. It really doesn't matter.
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