Muhammad Ali, Part I: Racism and Religion

Muhammad Ali  1942-2016

In my last blog, a tribute to my spiritual director, Scott Haasarud, I recalled him teaching me that when our children turn 16, they decide we don’t know anything, and, when they turn 26, they can’t get enough of us.

I never understood why my Father loved history so much: that is the main subject he taught in school.  It was many years before I finally understood why it was so important to him, and what history could mean for me.  Now, to be a theologian one soon comes to understand that the search for truth must always be done within a context, and the way you come to understand a context is to study the history out of which the truth statement came.  This is step one in all theology, including preaching.  It is not just what the Bible says, for instance, but what the context is in which it says it.

What I learned in recent years is that a great way to learn from history is to read biography, and then go to the very context in which that biography occurred to go even more deeply into the heart and soul of the person you are studying.  My earliest entries in this Meandering Spirituality blog grew out of a lengthy trip I took to civil rights sites as I read about Martin Luther King, Jr., and the other civil rights leaders.

My most recent foray into this type of history study was my trip in late June to Louisville, where I visited the Muhammad Ali museum, his childhood home, and his gravesite.  I am reading David Remnick’s King of the World and watching Ali’s fights and news conferences on the internet.

What I have learned over the years, and has been confirmed and clarified since his death, is that I totally had Ali wrong, and that there is much to learn from him, including his own understanding of his spiritual journey, and the evolution of that journey throughout his life.  

And what a journey it was!  One would have difficulty thinking of another American who was so reviled at one time and yet so beloved later in his life, not only in America, but around the world.  And the primary issues involved in that journey are two of the most pressing issues we struggle with today: racism and religion, including the differences and similarities between Islam and Christianity.

When I grew up in North Dakota in the 1950’s most everyone knew who was the heavyweight boxing champion of the world, whether or not you cared about boxing.  I was a fan of Floyd Patterson, who lost twice to Sonny Liston, in 1962 and 1963, lasting barely two minutes in each of his two fights before being knocked out.  It was then that Cassius Clay, Jr. appeared on the scene, having been the light heavyweight Gold Medal winner in the 1960 Olympics in Rome, and then having worked his way up to a heavyweight title fight against Sonny Liston in February of 1964.

Cassis Clay was a loud-mouthed braggart, telling the world over and over again that he was “the greatest” and “the greatest of all time.”  This included, “I am the greatest.  I said that even before I knew I was,” and “It's hard to be humble when you're as great as I am."

He taunted his opponents, predicting in which round he would knock them out, and used his strange form of poetry to describe what would happen.  Perhaps none of his poems was more known than his description of his approach to fighting George Foreman, which would be to “float like a butterfly, sting like a bee. His hands can't hit what his eyes can't see. Now you see me, now you don't.  George thinks he will, but I know he won’t.”

In his first title fight, against Liston, he taunted Liston for a year, including at their weigh in, and said of Liston: “He’s too ugly to be the world champ. The world champ should be pretty like me!”

My life was built around playing sports at that time, and I was taught to be humble, respect your opponents, play fair, and, when you scored a touchdown in football, to “act like you had done it before,” and hand the ball to the ref.

I found Clay’s boasting and taunting to be outrageous.  However, now I know the context.

Cassius grew up in the very poor, segregated, west side of Louisville.  He was fortunate to have both a father and mother as he grew up, and he, and his younger brother, Rudy, had their basic needs met.  Here is the home in which he grew up, which was just renovated and can be visited, as I did (and where I met and talked theology with Rudy, now Rahaman Ali.)

Muhammad Ali's Restored Childhood Home (ages 5-19)

One of Cassius’s prized possession was the red and white Schwinn bike his father bought him when he was 12.  He rode it everywhere, including one day downtown to the Columbia Auditorium, which was hosting a black merchant bazaar.  After a few hours of consuming free popcorn and ice cream, Cassius and his friend left the auditorium to discover his bike had been stolen.

Cassius was directed downstairs to the boxing gym, which was manned by a white policeman named Joe Martin.  When Cassius said he was going to find whomever had stolen his bike and “wup ‘em,” Joe suggested that perhaps he should first learn how to fight.

Joe would become Cassius’ trainer for the next 6 years, leading him to that gold medal in Rome, which he brought back to Louisville proudly, and wore all the time, even while sleeping.

Cassius Clay, Jr. Age 12

One day after returning from the Olympics Cassius went to a restaurant but was denied service because he was black.  Legend has it he was so incensed that he threw his Olympic medal into the Ohio River.  Whether or not this is true, the segregation he continued to experience as Olympic champion certainly disillusioned him.  

Leading up to the time of Clay, boxing was run largely by the mob, which set up and promoted the fights, and sometimes had fighters throw fights.  Clay wanted nothing to do with this.  However, how then would a poor kid from Louisville ever get a shot at the heavyweight title?  He explained his approach in a first-person piece in Sports Illustrated a week before defeating Sonny Liston, titled “Why I Roared.”

“Where do you think I would be if I didn't know how to shout and holler and make the public sit up and take notice?  I would be poor, for one thing, and I would probably be down in Louisville, my hometown, washing windows or running an elevator and saying, ‘yes suh,’ and ‘no suh’ and knowing my place. . . . .I said to myself, how am I going to get a crack at the title?  I knew I’d have to start talking about it—I mean really talking, screaming and yelling and acting like some kind of a nut. . . . One thing people can’t stand is a blowhard, and the more I blew, the more people would come out to see me get beaten.”

Ali has admitted he was really scared before that first title fight.  Liston had a devastating knockout punch.  Ali’s trainers were afraid he might be hurt so badly and he might never be able to fight again.

However, for years Ali had worked on his approach.  From the time he was 12 and took up boxing, he watched film and talked to boxers, and compiled his own collection of insights and strategy.  He was also, from the beginning, relentless in training.  He never drank or smoked, he tried to eat a very healthy diet, he ran endless miles and trained constantly.  He once said about all this:  “I hated every minute of training, but I said, ‘Don’t quit. Suffer now and live the rest of your life as a champion.’”

You can read elsewhere (and watch on the internet) the unique strategy he used to beat Liston.  And in my next four blogs I will write about his faith, his view of war, the price he paid for both, and finally, about his global compassion and spirituality.

But we would likely never have heard of Muhammad Ali if he had not looked beyond the context in which he was raised, worked relentlessly at learning his trade, figured out a unique way to become known, and was willing to take on a challenge others thought impossible.  He described his attitude this way:

“Impossible is just a big word thrown around by small men who find it easier to live in the world they’ve been given than to explore the power they have to change it. Impossible is not a fact. It’s an opinion. Impossible is not a declaration. It’s a dare. Impossible is potential. Impossible is temporary. Impossible is nothing.”