There
is considerable comfort in absolutism.
Taking hold of an absolute position (killing is always wrong, lying is
always wrong, my country right or wrong!) works for us on several levels. First, it provides clarity: we don’t have to
worry about ambiguities or exceptions – we know what the right thing is. Second, it provides certainty: we don’t have
to wonder if we are doing right or wrong – we’re not just making good guesses,
we’re definitely right, all the time.
Third, it means we never have to entertain regrets, apologize, or
(heaven forbid!) change our minds or our behavior. All of this is extremely comforting and extremely
convenient. And it suits our nature: we
don’t want to have to question the rock, we just want to pick it up and throw
it.
But
absolutism denies fair scope to our reason and judgment. Not entirely, of course. We may use reason and judgment to come to
our absolutistic decisions, but then after that we shut the door on reason and
judgment – not to mention emotion and sentiment. We say that these essential parts of our nature no longer matter
– once we have grasped the rule, that’s all we need to know.
But
this sells us short. Literature and
film are full of stories where perfectly normal and “moral” doctrines are
applied firmly, and with tragic results.
Unfortunately, real life is full of those stories as well.
We
do need moral rules, but we don’t need absolute moral rules. We need to use all aspects of our nature –
our reason and judgment, our instincts and desires, our emotions and passions,
our empathy and love, and even sometimes our anger and rage – and let them work
together like a team of experts performing some Mission Impossible. As in any team, sometimes one member saves
the day, sometimes another does, and sometimes what is needed is each member
performing a role.
Good
moral decisions are like that. They are
sometimes susceptible to being looked up in a pre-cooked table of rules. But always, always the rule needs to be
considered. Not just does it
apply here, but should it apply here?
Those decisions are well made only when we conduct at least a quick
assessment of the other elements – and, in important situations, a very careful
assessment.
Living
by absolute rules is, in fact, immoral. It substitutes platitudes for judgment, and prevents us from
making our best attempt to do well in all situations. When the situation does not fit well with the preconceived rules,
yet we follow the rules anyway, we are acting badly – and for bad reasons.
Absolutism
often – probably more often than not – leads to good outcomes. But too often it leads to bad outcomes. If you are a machine or a moron, living by
absolute rules may be the best way out.
For the rest of us, it is the lazy way out, and it is wrong.
Instead
of absolute rules, therefore, the naturalistic approach would recommend rules
of thumb: you can’t very well think everything through from scratch every
time. So killing and lying are usually
wrong, but under various circumstances they are not wrong, and in some
circumstances they are positively right.
Most
religious people know this, of course, and they actually live their lives in a
more sensible fashion than they might let on.
The Ten Commandments (including #5, Thou shalt not kill) do not mention
any exceptions, yet the Judeo-Christian tradition is full of instances where
killing is allowed, encouraged, or even commanded. It is not clear, however, by what right we humans may overrule
the express and unambiguous commandments supposedly handed down by God when it
seems suitable to us, yet other rules (like “the right to life begins at
conception”) are somehow perceived as absolute and non-negotiable even though
God never said them.
In
fact, when it comes to morality, most religious people (like most non-religious
people) use a combination of handed-down rules, exceptions, prejudices,
instincts, emotions, and reasoning.
They are not really absolutistic in practice, only in doctrine (and not
even then, in all cases). They claim to
have knowledge of God’s Law, but in fact are constantly second-guessing it,
deliberately ignoring it, and modifying it.
And it’s a good thing that they do.
But this is not a practice that really makes much sense, and it is not
something the rest of us should imitate – or should feel bad letting go of, if
we were raised in such a tradition.
Instead,
let us start out with rules that are generally applicable, but flexible, and
that allow for exceptions. Let us use
these rules with insight and restraint, and let’s use our rational intelligence
and our emotional perceptions and insights to figure out which rules apply, and
to what degree and in what fashion, in particular situations. Let us keep our moral balance.
If
we do this, and do it well, we will be both wiser and more moral than people
who claim to be acting based on some kind of divine guidance.
It
means, as claimed at the beginning of this Chapter, that you certainly can be
moral without believing in God, or in any particular religious faith. If you are true to your best self, you might
even be more truly moral, in fact, than you would be believing that God was
telling you what to do or not do.
But
then, what exactly should you do, and not do?
First,
you should mostly do and not do the things that you already know you should do
and not do. Accept that even though no
moral doctrines can be proved cosmically valid, we are by nature moral
creatures, and we have a need to act in ways that we perceive to be moral. Most of these ways are matters of common
lore, and you don’t need a lot of research to figure out what they are. For instance:
·
treat others with
respect and, if they are close to you, with love
·
don’t do needless damage
to others or to the property of others
·
share with those in
need, especially those close to you
·
don’t let your passions
or your pride take over for your compassion or your judgment
·
do as you would like
others to do
·
and so on, and so on,
and so on….
There’s
not much mystery here. What is hard about
morality is not knowing the general rules, but being able to apply them. Jesus’s rule (Do unto others what you would
have them do unto you) is probably the best general rule ever stated – though
also one of the hardest to live by.
Second,
try to shake off any rules that are arbitrary and dogmatic. Be on the lookout for things that you have
always been told, but seem pointless or even wrong to you. Those doubtful feelings probably have some
validity. Don’t necessarily discard
every rule of that kind, but ponder what it is that makes you hesitate. The rule might still have some value, or
even a lot of value in limited situations, and perhaps you can find ways to
modify it so that it conforms with your inner moral compass.
Third,
take it seriously, and expect it to be hard.
Recognize that our moral judgment is driven by our nature, but that our
nature is not always rational and right.
We are often bundles of contradictions, and our appetites or emotions
may urge one thing, and our good sense something else. There is no final rule for weighing these
situations, and indeed there are many cases where there are no good choices
(and more rarely where there are no bad ones).
Look for general rules, but not for absolute rules and final
answers. Instead, be prepared to weigh
all aspects as fairly as you can, and as often as you need to. Remember: balance is the key.
Fourth,
since it is impossible both to know for sure what is best all the time, and
virtually impossible to do what is right all the time, practice forgiveness
toward yourself and toward others. All
of us are bound to make mistakes, sometimes grievous ones. In addition, for perfectly valid reasons,
what appears right to us might not appear that way to someone else. So forgive yourself for your own mistakes,
but forgive others for theirs first.
Finally,
just go out and do it, much as you always have (but preferably trying just a
little harder). In particular, don’t
forget to send the chocolate.
return to
Table of Contents
© 2006 by
C.S. Yanikoski, Harvard, Massachusetts