Many other studies conducted in recent years have shown just how disliked the nonreligious are. For example, psychology professor Adrian Furnham found that people gave lower priority to patients with atheist or agnostic views than to Christian patients when asked to rank them on a waiting list to receive a kidney; legal scholar Eugene Volokh has documented the degree to which atheist parents have been denied custody rights in the wake of a divorce; psychologist Marcel Harper has found that many Americans consider secular people to be selfish and immoral; psychology professor Will Gervais found that many Americans consider atheists to be untrustworthy; and finally, sociologist Penny Edgell found that nearly half of all Americans would disapprove of their child wanting to marry an atheist, and when compared to other religious or minority groups such as African Americans, Mormons, Muslims, and Latinos, “atheists are at the top of the list of groups that Americans find problematic.”
All of the above needs to be contended with—and countered. An initial goal of this book, then, is to disabuse Americans of their dislike or distrust of the secular, not just because I am secular myself, but because the reality of secular men and women’s lives and values indicates just how wrongheaded the dislike or distrust of nonreligious people truly is. People who don’t believe in God are not immoral; most have very sound ethical orientations and moral principles, and in fact, on certain measures, secular people appear more tolerant, more law-abiding, less prejudiced, less vengeful, and less violent than their religious peers.
It is by stepping into this important arena—looking at how secular individuals construct and experience their morality, and what actually constitutes the primary ethics that undergird life without religion—that we’ll begin our foray into the world of contemporary secular life and culture.
Chapter 1
Morality
My father was recently getting his teeth cleaned. The friendly dental assistant, Brittany, was chatting to him about the weather, her boyfriend’s new paintball gun, and the Kardashians. Somehow, religion came up. She asked my dad what church he goes to. He said that he didn’t go to church. She asked him why not. He said because he was Jewish. She asked him if he went to synagogue. He said no. She asked him why not. He said because he was an atheist. The twinkle in her eye immediately flickered out. She was crestfallen.
“But if you don’t believe in God,” she said, dental instruments held pensively in midair, “how can you be a good person?”
“Well,” my dad replied. “Remember Jiminy Cricket? I let my conscience be my guide.” Brittany couldn’t quite remember who Jiminy Cricket was, but she did like the idea of my dad having a conscience. And yet she just couldn’t quite wrap her brain around the idea that my father could be a good person without religion. In her mind, being moral and having a conscience were only possible with an abiding faith in God.
It is a widespread, all-too-common, taken-for-granted “truth” among many Americans today: morality comes from religious faith and involvement. The corollary to this belief is the assumption that without religion, one can’t be moral. In other words, to be secular (or an atheist, heaven forbid) means that you must be immoral. This notion is not only held by dental assistants like Brittany, but is put forth by professors such as James Spiegel of Taylor University in Indiana, who in his book The Making of an Atheist argues that atheism is essentially, integrally predicated on immorality. Supreme Court justice Antonin Scalia recently shared his opinion that atheists favor “the devil’s desires.” And as broached in the introduction, various national surveys consistently report that a majority of Americans associate a lack of belief in God with a lack of personal morals.
And yet, as I suspect you already know, it simply isn’t so. No one who is secular themselves, or has any good friends or relatives who are secular, could ever cling with any tenacity to the notion that secular people are intrinsically or inevitably immoral.
How Can You Be Moral Without Faith in God?
Even if one doesn’t hold to the prejudice that secular people are immoral, it is nonetheless a fair matter for inquiry: What does underlie secular morality, at root? How do individual men and women navigate their moral lives without a religious compass? And as Brittany’s dismay implies, if secular people don’t believe in God, or divine judgment, or heaven or hell, how do they construct their notions of ethical conduct, decency, and goodness?
In beginning to answer these questions, we can start with the words of George Jacob Holyoake—the man who first coined the very term “secularism” back in 1851. Holyoake was from Birmingham, England. He worked as a schoolmaster, lecturer, writer, and magazine editor. He was also an atheist, and he even spent six months in jail for giving a speech deemed hostile to Christianity. According to Holyoake, secularism is not about being against religion. Rather, it is something positive, a personal orientation predicated on a this-worldly ethos—that is, guiding beliefs and principled ideals that are concerned with the here and now, people and nature, life and existence. As he explained in a publication from 1896, “Secularism is a code of duty pertaining to this life, founded on considerations purely human, and intended mainly for those who find theology indefinite or inadequate, unreliable or unbelievable. Its essential principles are three: (1) The improvement of this life by material means. (2) That science is the available Providence of man. (3) That it is good to do good. Whether there be other good or not, the good of the present life is good, and it is good to seek that good.”
It is good to do good. Nice enough. But what is good? For contemporary secular people, the answer to that is simple: the Golden Rule. Being good means treating others as you would like to be treated. That is the bedrock of secular morality. Not harming others—and helping or assisting others, should they seek such assistance or help—is pretty much it. For the nonreligious, morality isn’t about abstaining from sex or avoiding alcohol, or doing what someone in authority tells you to do, or not doing something because you fear the otherworldly consequences if you do. Rather, secular morality hinges upon little else than not harming others, and helping those in need, both of which flow easily and directly from the Golden Rule’s basic, simple logic of empathetic reciprocity.
Given its easy applicability and inherent reasonableness, it shouldn’t be surprising that the Golden Rule is remarkably widespread the world over. And it is also ancient, predating many of the famous moral precepts one finds in Christianity. Though it was undoubtedly articulated countless years prior, a version of the Golden Rule was first written down by the ancient Egyptians; a piece of papyrus from as far back as 600 BCE contains an inscription stating, “That which you hate to be done to you, do not do to another.” The Golden Rule was also recorded in ancient China, among the teachings of Confucius (551–479 BCE), who in his Analects taught, “Do not impose on others what you do not desire others to impose upon you,” and “What you would require of your friend, first apply in your treatment of him.” In ancient Greece, Thales (c. 624–c. 546 BCE) argued that humans live most virtuously and justly when “we never do ourselves what we blame in others,” and Isocrates (436–338 BCE) reasoned that “those things which provoke anger when you suffer them from others, do not do to others.” The rabbi Hillel of ancient Israel, living in the first century BCE, preached that “what is hateful to you, do not do to your neighbor.” All of these formulations predate Jesus’s teachings, found in the Gospels, that “all things whatsoever ye would that men should do to you, do ye even so to them,” and “as ye would that men should do to you, do ye also to them likewise.”
Although we find other versions of the Golden Rule within all of the world’s religions, from Buddhism to Islam and from Jainism to Bahaism, not a single one of these religious articulations of the Golden Rule requires a God. All that is required is basic, fundamental human empathy.
But how is basic, fundamental human empathy developed? Simply by living among other empathetic humans. As the great English philosopher John Stuart Mill so wisely quipped, “Though direct moral teach
ing does much, indirect does more.” In other words, while people can certainly be taught to be considerate of others via sermons, lectures, bedtime stories, and so on, what really does the trick is actual lived experience. That’s the “indirect” and yet far more effective way of developing morality. People learn, understand, and develop empathy as a result of what they observe in and experience from those around them. Sure, preaching and teaching morality are fine. But they don’t hold a candle to day-to-day interactions.
Children who are raised by considerate, fair, empathetic people generally grow up to be considerate, fair, and empathetic themselves. Children who grow up in stable, safe, and supportive environments generally develop the capacity to be kind, sensitive, and humane toward others. No philosophical proofs, theoretical arguments, logical axioms, Bible stories, or theistic beliefs are necessary. As Kai Nielsen, author of Ethics Without God, has stated, “What makes us moral beings is not so much the theoretical belief systems we inherit … but the way we have been nurtured from very early on. If we were fortunate enough to have had good moral role models, that is, kind, tolerably wise, and understanding parents, and to have lived in conditions of security where our basic needs were stably met, the chances are reasonably good that we will have those desirable moral characteristics ourselves.”
For many secular people, questions such as “Why be moral?” or “How can you be moral without faith in God?” are almost nonsensical. The very questions implicitly suggest that one “chooses”—in an intellectual, purely cognitive manner—to be moral based on certain theories, logical proofs, ideologies, beliefs, or on one’s faith in a divine being. And yet for most secular people their morality is something much more experiential, much more visceral, even automatic. It has to do with the way they were raised, what they observed as they were growing up, what they unconsciously absorbed through their socialization—not this or that idea, theory, belief, dictum, or doctrine.
I’ve talked to many secular people about their morality, specifically questioning them about where it comes from and how it works. And in response to my queries, I’ve heard a lot of interesting philosophical speculations, anecdotes, enthusiastic references to this or that book or film, and plenty of personal reflections. But two responses particularly stand out that I’d like to share here. One comes from a man named Milton Newcombe, from Pennsylvania, the other from a woman named Sonja Weiss, from Massachusetts. I find the way that they were able to articulate their thoughts on secular morality to be especially compelling.
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WE CAN CALL it the “matter of moral outsourcing,” and it comes from Milton, age forty-six. Milton’s take on secular morality goes something like this: people who base their morality upon their belief in God, or who think that morality comes from God, are guilty of “moral outsourcing.” Morality, according to secular people like Milton, is essentially about the decisions and choices one personally makes for oneself, based on contemplation, the weighing of options, understanding alternatives, accepting possible consequences, and navigating complex life questions via one’s own conscience. Morality is about listening and adhering to one’s inner moral compass concerning what is right or wrong, just or unjust, compassionate or cruel, and then acting accordingly in relation to others. But if God is the source of morality, a person doesn’t need to consult his or her own inner moral compass—one simply looks to God for direction. And looking to God for guidance about how to be moral is basically absolving oneself of doing the heavy lifting of moral deliberation. It is obediently deferring to a higher authority. It is seeking moral guidance elsewhere, outside of one’s self.
And according to many secular men and women, that is a major abdication. A serious eschewal of ethical duty. A deep deferment of moral decision making. It is, in short, a cop-out. Secular morality allows for no such cop-outs. Godlessness means that you have to make your own choices about how to treat others and how to live your life in a way that reflects your conscience. That, many secular folk will argue, is true morality. In the words of philosopher and humanist Stephen Law, “It is our individual responsibility to make our own moral judgments, rather than attempt to hand that responsibility over to some external authority.”
By predicating his morality upon his own conscience rather than looking to God or a pastor or the teachings of an ancient text for guidance, Milton gets by quite well, or at least as well as most of us. And one obvious benefit to the secular morality embraced by people like Milton—at the larger, societal level—is that it is less likely to lead to blind obedience to those in positions of authority, or herdlike behavior, or a mob mentality. As history has repeatedly shown, when too many people in a society look for moral guidance outside of themselves, ignoring their own conscience in favor of heeding some external source of moral instruction, the results are often quite unsavory, if not downright bloody. An orientation such as that of people like Milton who refuse to outsource their morality and instead rely on their conscience is more likely to foster independent thinking, personal responsibility, skepticism toward hegemonic propaganda, and a sober self-awareness of why one chooses to do right over wrong—all of which are virtues highly compatible with and indeed essential for a healthy democracy.
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A SECOND ARTICULATION of the value of secular moral reasoning is what I would call the “eye in the ceiling.” This comes from Sonja, age sixty-two. During our interview, Sonja presented me with a hypothetical situation in order to illustrate what she thinks reveals the superiority of secular over God-based morality.
Here’s the scenario: Imagine that there is a room, and in the middle of the room, perched on a small table, is a beautiful, amazing, intricate piece of art. It contains all sorts of colorful levers, golden pulleys, shimmering crystals, silver balls, cute bells, spiked wheels, red spokes, brittle branches, webbed wires, all arranged in a psychedelic, fanciful way that is truly spectacular to behold. But this piece of art is extremely fragile. And it is the only one in existence. And the artist who made it is dead.
Okay, so now let’s say we take two nine-year-old kids. We say to the first kid, “Go into this room and look at this wonderful piece of art. You will have ten minutes in there, all to yourself. No one will be in the room but you. But please do not touch the piece of art. It is extremely delicate, very fragile, and it is the only one in existence. If you were to touch it, you might accidentally break, stain, or alter it, which would possibly cause irreparable damage, and then other kids won’t be able to see it as it should be seen. Now, if you do touch it, and if you do accidentally break it, we won’t punish you—but we’d be quite sad, and so we’d just really like you to not touch it.” The kid goes in, looks but doesn’t touch, and comes out. Great.
Now here comes the second kid. But we say something quite different to this kid. We say, “Go into this room and look at this wonderful piece of art. You will have ten minutes in there, all to yourself. No one will be in the room but you. And please do not touch the piece of art. It is extremely delicate, very fragile, and it is the only one in existence. Now, there will be a small hole in the ceiling, and through that hole, the principal of the school will be watching you. His eye will be on you at all times. If you touch that piece of art, he will see it, and he will be very angry, and you will be severely punished when you come out of the room. However, if you don’t touch it, he will see this as well, and he will be very pleased, and he will reward you with something wonderful when you come out.” The kid goes in, looks but doesn’t touch, and exits. Fine.
Now, for many secular people, such as Sonja, the first scenario represents secular morality: the kid who makes a choice not to touch the piece of art does so because she understands the risks and she understands the potential consequences, and she understands the value of what is before her. She chooses to do what is right, but not out of fear of punishment, or hope of reward, or because she is ever mindful of that eye in the ceiling watching her. The second kid represents religious morality: he makes a choice not t
o touch the piece of art largely because he is aware of the eye in the ceiling, and he doesn’t want to be punished, and he wants a reward at the end. That isn’t morality, Sonja argues. That’s just being obedient, or merely fearful, or prudent, or greedy.
To be sure, both kids in Sonja’s hypothetical scenario did the right thing. But the underlying motivations were quite distinct. And I would agree with Sonja that if we as individuals, when placed in morally ambiguous or potentially precarious situations, make choices because we think the Eye of God is watching us, and we seek to avoid punishment while attaining personal rewards, we aren’t being truly moral. But if we make moral choices on our own volition, based on our understanding of what is at stake and what might be gained or lost and who might be harmed or helped, and not because we are being prudently mindful of a cosmic eye waiting to punish or reward us, well, that’s truly moral.
But there’s more. In Sonja’s scenario, the child who is only acting morally because of the eye in the ceiling engages in exactly what Milton described: moral outsourcing. He is not relying on his own conscience. He is not depending on his own sense of morality that has been developed through making his own decisions, mistakes, and good choices. Rather, he simply adjusts his behavior because of that eye. But what happens if, at some point down the line, this child begins to doubt the existence of that eye? Well, now we’re stuck with an actively immoral individual, who can’t rely on himself to do the right thing. The child raised within a secular framework does not risk such a crisis, since her morality is not predicated upon belief in an all-watching eye to begin with.
Such a secular orientation to morality has concrete benefits in the real world: when people make decisions based on their understanding the ramifications of their actions, weighing harm to others versus personal pleasure, without reliance upon or fear of a deity whose existence we can’t even be sure of, such a moral orientation is not only more durable—requiring no leaps of faith—but it also lends itself to reasoned decision making, unavoidable self-reflection, and, perhaps most important, an empathetic disposition.
Living the Secular Life_New Answers to Old Questions Page 2
