I am an attorney considering running for office. This consideration raises new questions for me and I am curious about your thoughts. How would you go about choosing a political party?
Interesting question. It can be difficult to decide whether a party is worthy of endorsement. I would begin by ruling out any party which is unconditionally unworthy of it. No party which is programmatically committed to deeds which are intrinsically evil can be supported.
Case in point: To its credit, the U.S. House of Representatives recently passed H.R. 4712, which seeks to add ensure compliance with previous legislation which forbade killing infants already born. This it does by requiring abortionists to ensure that any infant who is born alive despite their efforts must be immediately transported to a hospital for admission, and in the meantime be given them the same standard of care that any other infant born alive would receive. This bill should have passed unanimously.
Yet of the 193 Democrats in the House, 187 voted against it. The number would have been 188, but one of those who voted for it thought he was voting against it.
Please understand me. I would not use the Democratic Party’s own tactics against it. I would not blindly oppose even reasonable suggestions it might make about matters of common concern. I would not call for the impeachment of its duly elected officeholders if they had committed no impeachable offenses. I would not seek to weaponize the police, justice, and intelligence services against it. In short, I would hope for its genuine reform, and in the meantime I would not seek to undermine the processes of a constitutional republic in order to oppose it. But until it abandoned its various fiendish commitments, I could never vote for one of its candidates.
The other major party is dreadfully disappointing, often hypocritical, and may be wrong in many of its goals and views. I am no cheerleader for it. But a party which seeks to keep the road clear for infanticide is not even worthy of consideration. It long ago lost any shred of a claim to the respect of decent people.
Motives aren’t reasons. Someone might find it congenial to believe that sexual morality is all relative because he is sleeping with his girlfriend. Or that the morality of abortion is all relative because she’s pregnant and he doesn’t want her to be. Or that the morality of killing is all relative because he talked her into having one. But these are not reasons for thinking relativism true. They are only motives, or temptations. A reason is grounds for the reasonable judgment that something is true. A motive is merely a feeling that makes someone want to believe it is true.
Are there any reasons for thinking relativism is true? Yes, there are some. But they don’t hold water.
For example, one common reason is the Argument from Variation: Some norms really do vary according to circumstances. In the United States, it is wrong to drive on the left; in England, it is wrong to drive on the right. But notice: The only way there can even be a valid difference in norms at the level of application is that the same universal rule is being applied in both cases. It is a universal moral principle that we ought to take care for the safety of others. So this doesn’t justify relativism.
A second common reason some people embrace relativism might be called the Argument from Difficulty: Some moral questions are rather hard to answer. For example, is all warfare murder? Some respond to the difficulty of the question by saying that murder is in the eye of the beholder. But would you say that the species of my pet is in the eye of the beholder, so that for me it’s a cat, but for you it’s a goldfish? Of course not. The right thing to do about difficult questions is not to be lazy and dodge them, but to carry out the difficult work of answering them.
Next is the Argument from Disagreement. People give different answers to some moral questions. Consider warfare again. Some say all war is wrong. Others say only unjust war is wrong. Still others say that in war, everything is permissible. But this is a question of fact. When we are speaking of physical facts, such as whether the earth revolves around the sun or the sun revolves around the earth, we unhesitatingly say that our task is to investigate and find out which opinion about the fact is correct. We ought to take the same view of moral facts.
Then there is the Argument from Emotion. A moment ago I spoke of moral facts, but according to this argument, there are no moral facts, and propositions that seem to assert moral facts are really only expressing the emotions of the speaker. For example, if I say it is wrong to deliberately run over children with automobiles, I seem to be saying something about the moral status of running over children with automobiles, but on the critic’s view, I am really only saying something about me: That hearing of such an act makes me angry, disgusted, or indignant. But wait a moment. If the act does make me angry, disgusted, or indignant – and it does -- then why does it? The reason it makes me feel that way is that I judge it to be wrong, and it would still be wrong even if it didn’t make me feel angry, disgusted, or indignant. Besides, the Argument from Emotion doesn’t actually give anyone a reason to disbelieve in moral facts. It merely assumes that there are no moral facts, and then tries to explain moral statements on the basis of this assumption. You might find the Argument from Emotion attractive if you are already a relativist, but it doesn’t give you a reasonable warrant for being one.
Still another reason for relativism might be called the Argument from Tautology. A certain U.S. judge has claimed that although there may be a few universal moral principles, they don’t really say anything, because they are tautologies, or circular statements. For instance, he claimed that to say “Thou shalt not murder” is nothing more than to say “Never commit the kinds of killing that you ought not commit” – which tells us nothing. But this Argument from Tautology is even lazier than the previous argument. For the classical definition of murder doesn’t just tell us “Don’t do what is not to be done.” Rather it tells us what, specifically, is not to be done. We must not deliberately take innocent human life, and an act which fits this definition must never be done. No circularity there.
Next comes what I call the Argument from Progress. A former chairman of the Senate judiciary committee, who later became a vice president of the United States, complained about someone who had been nominated for the Supreme Court by saying that the nominee seemed to believe in “a static set of unchanging [moral] principles,” rather than an “evolving body of ideals.” The senator’s statement was relativistic, because it denied that there are any universal moral principles, unchanging over place and over time. But it was also paradoxical, because at the same time it insisted that there are universal moral principles, unchanging over place in time. For what did the senator mean by suggesting that moral ideals “evolve” or develop? I don’t think he meant that they undergo meaningless and arbitrary change. After all, he approved of this development; in other words, he passed moral judgment upon it. So what he really meant was that our moral ideals are getting better. But to suggest that they are changing for the better presupposes a fixed standard of moral comparison, a yardstick of “better” which doesn’t change. So even in order to say that our moral ideals have no fixed content, he needed a moral standard which does have fixed content. So this argument for relativism shoots itself down.
Last but not least, we might consider the Argument from False Humility. This reason for relativism suggests that to make a moral judgment is to commit the vice of pride. But there is a problem here. If no one may judge others, then how is it that we may deliver an unfavorable judgment upon those who do judge others? Obviously, we can’t. So this argument is also self-defeating.
The Argument from False Humility is the one most likely to snag Christians. For didn’t Christ command, “Judge not, that you may not be judged”? Yes, but don’t forget what He said next: “For with the judgment you pronounce you will be judged, and the measure you give will be the measure you get .... You hypocrite, first take the log out of your own eye, and then you will see clearly to take the speck out of your brother's eye.” Plainly, this statement expresses a moral judgment. It does not condemn all moral judgment, but as condemns proud and hypocritical moral judgment.
Lest there be any doubt, we might remember another place in the Gospels, where He said, “Do not judge by appearances, but judge with right judgment." At the same time that He forbids one kind of judgment (“do not judge by appearances”), He commands another kind (“judge with right judgment”). Humility really is a virtue, but true humility does not mean, cannot mean, suspending all moral judgment.
A certain ethicist, let us call him G, is among other things a proponent of abortion, but has greater ambitions too. He argues that traditional moral principles must be replaced with a manmade morality which is “less likely to be eroded.” The reason he thinks manmade morality more durable is that he cannot take seriously the idea of morality coming from God. Speaking of the atrocities committed against the Bulgarians in 1876, he says a wise God would not have ordained a world “in which people are hanged after spending their last night nailed by the ear to a fence, or in which babies are cut out of their mothers’ wombs with daggers.” A wise God would have made man good, or at least made him grow better over time.
There is a problem with this line of reasoning. It is hard to see why one should object to a world in which babies are cut out of their mothers’ wombs with daggers, but not one in which mothers invite daggers into their wombs that their babies may be cut out. And that is only the beginning of G’s incoherencies. The whole meaning of morality is a rule that we ought to obey whether we like it or not. If so, then the idea of creating a morality we like better fails to grasp what morality is.
Moreover, it would seem that until we had created our new morality, we would have no standard by which to criticize God. Since we have not yet created one, the standard by which we judge Him must be the very standard that He gave us. If it is good enough to judge Him by, then why do we need a new one?
Now any thinker can commit an error in logic. Multiple, matted incoherencies, like G’s, seem to call for a different explanation. When, despite considerable intelligence, a thinker cannot think straight, it becomes very likely that he cannot face his thoughts. The closer to the starting point his swerve, the more likely this explanation becomes. Somewhere in his mind lies a mystery of knowledge that he must hide from himself at all costs. If he presupposes the old morality in the very act of denying it, the lesson is not that the old morality should be denied, but that he is in denial. If he makes humanity God and yet cries out against God’s inhumanity, it is clear who has really been accused.
Perhaps the older thinkers were correct after all. Perhaps the foundational moral principles really are not only right for all, but somehow known to all.
My son lost his faith in college, if he ever had a faith to lose. He says he doesn't believe in sin, which is quite ironic coming from a man very much against the injustices in the world as he sees them, and who thinks God (if there is a God, which there isn’t according to him) must be very evil. When I try to describe to him my own salvation experience and the personal God that I know, he says it is the height of arrogance for anyone to believe God would know and care for him personally. Nothing means as much to me as does the salvation of my own son, so I am reaching out for some wisdom.
There are so many young men like your son, and it breaks my heart. Is there anything you can do? Yes, you can love and pray for him, as I am sure you are doing. Is there anything you can say? Yes, but don’t force the opening. Let it present itself. God will help you.
Unfortunately, your son would probably dismiss your conversion experience and your relationship with Christ. The argument from experience is one of the most persuasive for those who have had it; that is why we use it. But it is one of the least persuasive for those who have not had it, because people can imagine all sorts of things. The novelist Philip K. Dick seems to have thought he was receiving messages of great importance from beings in orbit around the star Sirius.
Don’t be discouraged by this, because there are other things you might say. When the opportunity arises, I suggest that rather than present your son with arguments for your faith, as I gather that you have been doing, you ask a few gently pointed questions about his own arguments against faith. Just start him thinking.
For example, as to your son’s notion that it is arrogant to believe God could know and love us personally: Doesn’t it seem much more arrogant to believe that He couldn’t? Does your son think the problem is that God’s infinite mind is not big enough to pay attention to everyone at once? Or that His mind is big enough, but His heart is too small? You might put those questions to him.
Considering your son’s complaints about injustice, he might say that God’s heart is too small. But as you point out, your son also denies the reality of sin, and he can’t have it both ways. Either refusing to love is really wrong, or it isn’t. So which does your son believe? You might try putting that question to him too.
Suppose he answers that refusing to love isn’t really wrong – that the standard of good and evil is all in our heads. Then he has no business using the injustice of things as a reason not to believe in God, does he? Because according to him, there is no injustice of things.
But suppose he answers that refusing to love is really wrong -- the standard of good and evil is real and objective, and God doesn’t measure up. In that case, he believes in some highest thing after all, some God above God. So what is this God above God that he believes in? How does he know about Him? Try asking him that.
Don’t let him get away with saying something like “The source of the standard is us. It’s a human invention.” For if we are the source, then it is just in our heads, and he’s back to square one.
And don’t let him get away with saying something like “The source of the standard is evolution. We just came out this way.” For if we are the result of a meaningless and purposeless process that did not have us in mind, then the standard is utterly arbitrary. That takes him back to square one as well.
But if the standard isn’t just in our heads, then we’ve learned of it from somewhere -- so where did we learn it from? It would be interesting to hear his reply.
Remember, he knows what you think – or he thinks he does. So let him do the answering for a change.
As I suggested, ask your questions gently. They won’t clinch the case for Christianity, but they may stir your son to begin doubting a few of his doubts – some of the things that he should have been doubting, but hasn’t been.
For now, that’s enough. Keep praying, and see what happens next.
Does the fad of removing historical monuments seem to you a strange new thing? Think again: It may be strange, but it certainly isn’t new, and not all historical reminders are made of bronze and stone.
During one recent semester I discovered that many of my students didn’t understand what the Thanksgiving holiday was about. They knew it was supposed to emulate the feast of the Pilgrims, with their Indian guests, in gratitude for their first harvest in the New World. But to whom were the Pilgrims giving thanks? Some of the students had been taught, correctly, that they were thanking God. But the other half had been taught only that they were thanking the Indians.
The Pilgrims, as we know, never gave a thought to divine matters.
The impulse to wipe away not only faith but the memory of faith is like the old practice among the Romans of damnatio memoriae, the condemnation of memory -- but with a difference. Their keepers tried only to purge all recollection of traitors. Ours try to purge all reminders of God.
Always the damnatio is odious. Sometimes it is oppressive. But sometimes it is laughably absurd. Back in the day, when I was barely making a living as an assistant professor, a major textbook publisher offered me a contract to revise and upgrade its high school civics textbook. As you might guess, I jumped at the chance.
Immediately I was presented with a long list of objectives which I had to achieve. One of them was to explain to the students the language of the Declaration of Independence: “We hold these truths to be self-evident, that all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights.”
Okay, I thought, I could do that. By a self-evident truth, the Framers meant a truth so obvious that it didn’t need to be proven from other truths. “Men,” in this context, meant both human sexes. Although not all human beings are equally strong, smart, or handsome, all are equal in human worth. This gives them rights that not even the government can destroy or take away. The reason we have these rights, and possess this worth, is that we were made that way by God.
Stop! “You can’t say ‘God,’ said my editor.
“But that’s who the Framers meant by the Creator.”
“But you can’t say ‘God.’”
“How can I explain the language if I can’t explain the words?”
He replied, “Can’t you say ‘good’ or something?”
To those who walk through the valley of the shadow of suds, I say fear not the bristle brush. Laugh to scorn the directors of sanitation, for like a certain other famous potentate, they cannot bear to be laughed at. What they think but a smudge on your face to be removed by their ministrations is the rubicund glow of hope itself. Who ever knew red cheeks to grow pale by being scrubbed?
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In the Year of Our Lord nineteen-seventy, I graduated from high school and matriculated in paradise.
Or so it seemed for a while, because every second person at my university fancied himself a socialist, just like me.
Maybe not just like me. It was confusing, because there seemed to be so many different kinds of socialists: The SWP, the IS, the YPSL, the SDS, even a few sure-enough Maoists, peddling their newspapers and trying to look like industrial workers.
Each kind of radicalism had its own buttons. That was confusing too. One popular button demanded “Free Huey.” What was Huey? Was it slang for marijuana, like “Mary Jane”? I’d met some people at an antiwar march who thought the government should provide free marijuana. It took a long time to figure out that Huey was a who, not a what.
In fact it was difficult to get people to explain anything. I tried asking a fellow in my dormitory who was sporting an IS button how the beliefs of his International Socialists were different from those of all the other organizations. He didn’t understand me. I rephrased the question. He still didn’t. I tried again. A light came into his eyes. Faster than I could take them in, he shot off three or four slogans, like bullets.
The only one I still remember is “All power to the people’s soviets.”
Never mind that there weren’t any people’s soviets.
It was heresy, I know, but I couldn’t help thinking of Party members using Newspeak in George Orwell’s 1984. Newspeak, you remember, was a compressed version of English, developed by the State to make critical thought impossible. In the Orwellian world, people who could chatter it swiftly and proficiently were called “doubleplusgood ducktalkers” because they sounded like more like ducks than like people.
I thought of that fellow again the other day as I was talking a walk through my neighborhood. Buttons are out among students, but yard signs are in among hipsters. This one has been sprouting like mushrooms:
IN THIS HOUSE, WE BELIEVE:
BLACK LIVES MATTER
WOMEN’S RIGHTS ARE HUMAN RIGHTS
NO HUMAN IS ILLEGAL
SCIENCE IS REAL
LOVE IS LOVE
KINDNESS IS EVERYTHING
Having matriculated, as I said, in the Newspeak world, I humbly attempt to translate these sentiments into English.
Black lives matter. What this doesn’t mean: That black lives matter. Of course they do. What it does mean: That if you don’t think rioting is a good way to protect black lives, you’re a racist who thinks they don’t matter.
Women’s rights are human rights. What this doesn’t mean: That women are human. Of course they are. What it does mean: That unborn children aren’t, and if you think these babies are, you’re against women.
No human is illegal. What this doesn’t mean: That it should never be illegal to exist. Of course it shouldn’t. What it does mean: That if you think any form of border control is allowable, your view is tantamount to genocide.
Science is real. What this doesn’t mean: That well-conducted science can discover some things about the real world. Of course it can. What it does mean: That ideologically influenced science should be accepted without question, so if you ask for better evidence, you’re opposing science itself.
Love is love. What this doesn’t mean: That love should be respected. Of course it should. What it does mean: Everything motivated by sex is good, and if you have any reservations about that, you’re against love.
Kindness is everything. What this doesn’t mean: That we ought to practice the virtue of kindness. What it does mean: That if you don’t agree with all of the preceding slogans, you must be full of hate.
I'm a Christian at a community college in Michigan. When I registered for classes I thought I'd like the "Bible as Literature" course, but it didn't work out the way I expected. From the rude things the teacher has said, I think he must be an atheist.
The teacher made it a point of saying that this is not a religious class, and we should set our religious beliefs aside. I was okay with that because I hadn't intended to force my beliefs on anyone. I was even okay with him calling the Bible a "revelation myth" because I understood that the class isn't about whether it's true. But I did have a problem when he began claiming that the Bible isn't true and that evolution is. I'm not sure that I am well enough equipped to defend my faith against someone like him, and besides, I've been told by the teacher himself -- as well as friends who have taken his class -- that he is intolerant of Christians who voice discomfort about his comments.
I don't feel that I should have to take this kind of disrespect from a teacher. But here's what worries me. Would dropping this class show a lack of faith in God's ability to carry me through the experience?
Your letter is difficult to answer because you describe one problem, but you pose your question as though you have a different problem. The problem you describe is that your teacher simply rejects your religious views. The problem you imply is that he treats them with disrespect, perhaps even attacks them. Let's consider some of the possibilities about what you are actually facing.
Suppose he says, "This is not a religion class, and I expect you to put your religious views aside. Now, of course, the Bible is in error about many things." This is a double standard, so it would be appropriate for you to respond, "You said that you want all of us to set our religious views aside. But aren't you expressing a religious view about the Bible? Fair is fair; shouldn't that view be set aside too?"
Suppose he says, "People who believe the Bible are ignorant, and we won't take their views seriously in this class." This is disrespectful, so you should say something like "Sir, you said this is a class on literature, not religion. However, to call religious believers ignorant is to express a religious view, not a literary view. Not only that, it's insulting. I don't mean to be disrespectful, but how is insulting us part of teaching literature?"
Or suppose he says "Genesis isn't factual; evolution is." In this case the problem is that you don't yet know what he means! One thing that needs clearing up is what he is denying, so you might ask, "Sir, are you claiming that there isn't any Creator, or are you merely suggesting that the biblical account of Creation is something less than a technical description of how God did the job?" Another thing that needs clearing up is what he means by his terms, so you might ask, "Sir, what do you mean by evolution? Are you merely claiming that living things developed gradually, or are you making the very different claim that it happened by pure chance, without any guidance from the Creator?"
Remember that the issue isn't your feelings, but the teacher's lack of objectivity. If the only thing your friends could think of to "voice" to him was their "discomfort," no wonder he didn't take them seriously. Give him a reason to do so. Suppose you were a math teacher and the students "voiced their discomfort" about differential equations. Would you consider that a reason to skip that chapter?
We come at last to your question. Would dropping the course show lack of faith in God's ability to carry you through the experience? That would depend on why you dropped. Consider three possibilities.
1. If you dropped because you were afraid that your teacher's atheism might be right, then yes, that would show lack of faith.
2. If you dropped because you doubted whether such a bigoted teacher could teach you anything, then no, that wouldn't show lack of faith.
3. If you dropped because you just didn't want the hassle of learning how to challenge the professor's claims, then that wouldn't show lack of faith, but it would certainly show spiritual and intellectual laziness.
So how do I advise you? Examine your motives for wanting to drop!