Valued Reader(s),
Last week a client asked me a very interesting question. I was describing the
Hill Center (which is essentially how I spend my days, when I am not consulting with clients), and noted that the Center is secular and non-partisan. He asked, “how can you
really be secular if you are all about morality?”
Philosophers live for questions like this, even philosophers who opt for careers in business and learn to wear cufflinks without irony.
I asked him to expand on the question, and he offered that morality is really about right and wrong, and isn’t that something that we learn in church (by which he also intended to include synagogues, mosques, temples, prayer circles, etc.)? That got me thinking.
My first thought, and my first answer, was to acknowledge his observation that many people do learn morality, at least overtly, as part of their religion. I think it is also true that most of us learn core moral lessons at home, most powerfully by example. Religious lessons, for some of us, then serve to reinforce, clarity, and build upon earlier, natural learning.
Indeed, probably all religions have moral components, generally including what we might call directions – normative instruction of which kinds of actions are right and which are wrong - and foundations – some account of why, i.e., what makes right actions right and wrong actions wrong.
But, do we need religion to have morality? I would argue, emphatically, no. A religion’s answers to the moral question of what makes right actions right tend to relate to that religion’s teachings, scripture, legend, or conception of natural law. “Our Bible teaches us to love our neighbors as ourselves, and thus we should give alms to the poor,” or, “our elders teach that we must respect the earth and its creatures, and so we must hunt in the following manner…”
Most moral systems begin with a theory of value, answering, What is good? Piety is one such value (good actions are in accordance with the will of God), but there are other value systems, as well. Hedonism evaluates the good in terms of pleasure, for example. Virtue theories equate the good with the promotion of human qualities that exemplify our truest potential (or, to get all Greek on you, eudaimonia). There are many highly developed theories of value that do not have religious foundations.
Once we establish a theory of value, then we can turn to ethical theories to help us discern right actions from wrong. Once again, we find a diverse set of well-established options. For example, consequentialist theories, at bottom, evaluate actions in terms of their outcomes or consequences. (Mr. Spock’s rule that “the needs of the many outweigh the needs of the few” was evidence of consequentialism on the Starship Enterprise, at least among Vulcans.) Other theories link the rightness of an action to some account of human rationality and evaluate actions based not on outcomes but on intent (the name brand in that arena is Immanuel Kant, and trust me, he earned it). Still others organize morality around a conception of what it is to achieve our fullest potential as human beings. On that basis, it is fair to say that ethics often concerns itself not merely with right and wrong, but with how to live the best sort of life.
In most cases, different moral theories actually yield similar judgments. Torture for enjoyment is really, really bad. Helping the vulnerable or needy is generally good. The theories do differ with respect to some actions or circumstances. For example, is it nobler to help my children or to help anonymous strangers in greater need? Is it okay to torture to save lives? The explanation of those differences leads to (sometimes) interesting discussions and (often) a better understanding of the implications of various theories. However, I think we tend to make too much of the extreme cases when we teach ethics. How important are “lifeboat ethics” cases in teaching people how to understand the moral dimensions of their business lives?
I don’t think it is an accident that most moral theories agree, most of the time. After all, don’t most of us have a gut feel for right and wrong, in most cases? Imagine that moral judgment is analogous to seeing and recognizing colors. Most of us can identify colors and see differences in color. There are a few totally color-blind individuals, just as there are a few sociopaths who cannot feel empathy and cannot recognize right from wrong, or are unmoved by the distinction. All of us lose our ability to see color in partial darkness; likewise, we sometimes face situations where we are morally “in the dark.” Finally, our experience, education, culture, and other actors influence the way we discern and identify particular colors. The same can certainly be said for our moral perception.
It isn’t a perfect analogy: it is hard to imagine arguing about whether a wall is cornflower or periwinkle as vociferously as we argue about capital punishment. More important, colors are generally easier to discern, and less complex in their presentation than moral values. Colored surfaces look different in different lighting, but that is hardly as interesting or compelling as questioning whether to steal in order to feed your family.
I basically believe that moral values are real parts of the world, and that our perceptions of them are limited and variable, but often accurate. It’s a tricky claim to make, because we don’t have an organ that senses morality like the cones of our eyes perceive color (it’s the cones, not the rods, that pick up color, right?). However, I think you will agree that it sure feels like we have the capacity to know right from wrong. Most of the time, we know in our gut, when we have done or are about to do wrong.
The problem is, well, there are LOTS of problems. First, society tells us a lot about right and wrong, and calibrates out gut almost from the beginning. It is an imperfect process, at best. Second, we can easily rationalize away our gut feelings of right and wrong, especially in settings where people are doing wrong a lot. Moreover, sometimes we can’t determine what the right thing to do is, where the figurative light is low or the situation complicated, or where our own self interests or emotions simply get in the way. Because of these and other factors, reasonable people may disagree about right and wrong, in many situations. By the same token, many moral philosophers would disagree with my conception of moral values as real-world entities.
We don’t need to agree about “moral realism” or about religion in order to develop great, deeply ethical organizations. Great organizations need to have enough common ground to establish a common set of values, and principles of conduct that help members act in accordance with sound, shared values. They must have means by which well-intentioned individuals can discern the particulars of a situation, make tough calls together, and examine how those tough calls can inform the way the organization lives its values. Colleagues can certainly disagree about moral theory as well as religion, and still agree to a common set of values, and a shared commitment to build their organization based on those values.
Amen, er, I mean, QED
