Keith Troughton wrote an interesting and thought-provoking article in last month’s Oscailt. For those of you who missed the article, Keith suggests that we might, each of us, design our own individual Unitarian badge. As an extension of this he invites us to ‘go one better and treat the exercise as a serious meditation to think about what draws you closer to the spirit we know as Unitarian’.
For several reasons I don’t normally wear badges or emblems, but my Unitarian identity is of great importance to me and I am also fascinated by symbols, so I have been unable to resist Keith’s challenge.
My preferred Unitarian symbol, without question, would be the familiar flaming chalice. This has become the internationally recognized symbol of the Unitarian movement, and it has always seemed to me to be everything a good symbol should be: its origins are historical and specific, and yet at the same time its message is inclusive and aspirational. Successful symbols take on an independent life of their own; that the flaming chalice has done this is evident every time the lighting ceremony forms part of a Unitarian gathering.
The original design for the flaming chalice was drawn by a Czech refugee and cartoonist, Hans Deutsch. He was commissioned to do so during the second world war by an American Unitarian, Charles Joy. Joy was ‘stationed in Lisbon to help refugees from Nazism escape to safe havens and felt the need for an identifying symbol to represent Unitarianism to the world.’1 Gradually, versions of the symbol were adopted and used by Unitarian groups and individuals world wide, and it is now universally accepted as our ‘badge’ of identity.
I find its historical significance very satisfying. The flaming chalice resonates with past influences, and if we so choose we can relate the shape of the chalice to the Christian cross. Yet this symbol speaks to our contemporary condition – it was born in a particular time and place and out of a specific humanitarian need. I like its simplicity – cups and flames are part of our everyday existence. As I see it, the cup represents human involvement and community, and the flame contributes an elemental dimension as well as representing every sphere of human endeavor. In my imagined badge the flaming chalice is surrounded by a circle. This circle is my mandala, as important for me as the chalice itself, if not even more so. It represents the world in which I live and of which I am a part and on which I depend. It also represents all the concentric circles in which I move, from the innermost one of my immediate family and close friends to the increasingly wider ones of the various groups to which in one way or another I belong, and ultimately to the circle which embraces the whole of humanity.2
The chalice is at the exact center of my circle. This is for two reasons – firstly because my Unitarian beliefs are central to my life, and secondly because anything that is off center makes me profoundly uneasy. The central position of the chalice fulfils another function: it divides my circle very pleasingly into four equal quadrants, thus inviting me to place a satellite symbol in each one.
Four is a good sturdy number and symmetrically much more satisfying than three. There are four seasons of the year, four winds, four phases of the moon, four points of the compass. Four includes left and right, up and down, two parallels, two pairs and two opposites. My four chosen symbols are as follows, in no particular order:
Firstly, a fish.
This of course was the first symbol for Christianity, but my fish is both more specific and more general than that, though perhaps not altogether unrelated to it. My fish is the magnificent salmon, Fionn MacChumhaill’s Salmon of Knowledge. But it also represents what to me is one of the most important things that there is - the natural world. This fish is every salmon that swims the Atlantic. It represents rivers and the sea, migrations and journeys and the homing instinct, the cycle of life, beauty, strength, energy and survival.
My second symbol is a star.
This too, and perhaps not altogether coincidentally, is a Christian symbol. Stars, however, have guided travelers other than the Magi - mariners, explorers, philosophers, astronomers, poets. My star represents the aspirations of all of these, and by extension of all of us, but above and beyond this it represents the universe, the whole dizzying unknowable unimaginable cosmos, together with parallel universes, black holes and whatever else may exist beyond the limits of our comprehension.
Third symbol:
an open book. Unitarians love words and story and so do I. So while this book contains the myths and legends that have shaped my culture, it tells the Unitarian story too, and my own story along with that, and perhaps all our stories that we write for ourselves and tell to each other. It represents language and communication, and also stands for companionship, for the meeting of minds, for entertainment, enchantment, and delight. It represents more than words. If you look more closely at the pages you will see that they are illustrated. There are musical notes in one corner, the theatrical masks of comedy and tragedy in another, and a small hunched figure is seated at an easel at the edge of the page.
Fourth symbol:
a flower. It should be a specific one, because I like botanical precision, but it is hard to make a choice. One of my own favorites perhaps, a daffodil, or a rose? Or one of the little wild flowers that say so much more than the cultivated varieties no matter how beautiful these are? A harebell? A wild pansy, known as heartsease? Perhaps it shall be a poppy, an unpretentious obliging flower that is as much at home in the flower-bed as in the wild, that can look as casual as a daisy or as exotic as an orchid. But the poppy has already achieved its own status as a symbol and I would not wish to usurp that. So I shall settle for the summer harebell of the open windswept uplands. There is magic and miracle in my harebell. This flower will be a symbol for all the flowers that I love, both in the garden and in the wild, their infinite variety, their shape and colour, their fragility and their beauty. It symbolizes too that much neglected component which we all take far too much for granted: the soil. It represents the cycle of the seasons, of growth and decay, and it suggests weather patterns and landscape – a lot for a little flower to carry, but that is the nature of symbols.
Where else but in Unitarianism would one find a religion spacious enough to encompass all of the above, tolerant enough to accommodate it and wise enough to encourage such personal exploration!
1 See The Flaming Chalice (leaflet) issued by Essex Hall.
Text by the Revd. Art Lester 1993, adapted by Matthew Smith.

2 See the chapter entitled ‘Circles, Poles and Spheres’ in The Unitarian Way (p.31 – 37) by Phillip Hewett (publ. Canadian Unitarian Council, Toronto 1985)

Jennifer Flegg January 2005