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Why Be Good?
April 19, 2015
Cedarhurst Unitarian Universalists
Dr. Bruce T. Marshall
Reading: Adapted from a Huffpost blog by Natalie Thomas
It's pretty simple.
Yet, somehow, we forget. We eat too much, sleep too little, wake up on the wrong side of
life, are running late, annoyed by fate and let one unpleasant encounter affect our whole day.
A few friendly reminders:
Smile.
Make eye contact.
Acknowledge people.
Get off your phone and actually interact.
Say please and thank you.
Ask how others are doing. Mean it.
Don't think you're better than anyone else. You're not.
Don't betray others to get ahead.
Hold the door.
Let others in your lane.
Let the person at the store with only a few items ahead of you.
Tip. And tip well.
The person telling you the policies is just the messenger. Don't shout at them.
Don't treat your employees like your "help." Don't treat your help like your help.
Return the grocery cart.
Don't steal parking spaces. Or cabs.
Give up your seat on the subway.
Don't beep your horn a mile away when someone's in the crosswalk and will absolutely
be gone by the time you get there.
Let's pause, take a breath, gather some perspective and…let's cut each other a break. It's
likely others are having as tough as—or tougher—a day as we are. Let's be the one to break the
cycle. Change the course of their day—and ours. By letting them ahead, we're even farther in
front than we realize.
1 Sermon:
One day, when I was in the second grade, our teacher brought candy to share with the
class. These were small chewy candies that came in different colors and different flavors: lime
green, cherry red, chocolate brown, yellow which might have been banana, orange, white, black.
The teacher gave each of us two of the candies.
I don’t know why she gave us candy. It was out of character: Miss Behrensmeyer was
short, squat, and usually seemed cross at us. But for whatever reason that day, she brought candy
for the children in her class.
My guess is that the candy came out near the end of the school day, and we were not
allowed to eat it while still in the classroom. Some of the children might have put their candies in
pockets or in a lunch box, but others left theirs out on their desks. I happened to come across two
such pieces of unprotected candy, one of which was a color I didn’t have. So I took it, just like
that, and put it in my shirt pocket.
Very soon thereafter, the rightful owner of the candy noticed its absence and went
straight to the teacher who stopped whatever was going on in class and demanded to know who
took Susie’s candy. (I don’t remember whose candy it was so let’s just call her “Susie.”)
Nobody said anything. I didn’t say anything. I didn’t confess. I just stood there. After a
few long moments, Miss Behrensmeyer gave up, and we moved onto other things.
When I took that piece of candy, it didn’t occur to me that someone would miss it—and
that she would report the theft to the teacher. It had been all about the candy. But now I knew the
consequences so that should have been the end of it.
Not very long after that, though, I came upon another piece of candy out in the open,
another flavor that I did not yet have. I took it—with the same result as the first time around. The
affronted child went to the teacher, she demanded to know who had taken it, I remained silent.
I don’t remember how many pieces of candy I took that day. It was at least three, maybe
more. The scene began to resemble those murder mysteries in which people keep turning up
dead, and the killer is still among us but nobody knows who it is. I knew who he was, but I
wasn’t saying, and the others clung nervously to whatever candy they had left.
I walked home from school that day with the extra candy stored in my shirt pocket. I had
gotten away with it. Nobody had noticed, or at least nobody turned me in. You would think—I
would think—that I would have popped those babies into my mouth, savoring each one while
also destroying the evidence.
But I didn’t. I actually remember my thought process on that walk home. I was afraid that
if I reached into my pocket and pulled out a candy, someone in a passing car would notice and
turn me in. The candy stayed in my shirt pocket all the way home, when my memory gets hazy. I
don’t know what happened after that. Maybe I ate the candy; maybe I didn’t. But by that time, it
2 had lost its attractiveness. I knew I had done something wrong and felt bad about it and the
candy I had did not assuage the guilt. Must have made an impression too: I don’t remember
much about my life in second grade, but I do remember that incident.
* * *
How do we know what’s right and wrong? Why do we make the choices that we make?
Why try to do the right thing? Why be good?
These are classic moral questions. The health of a society depends upon most people
trying to do the right thing, trying to be good, resisting the temptation to steal the candy even
when it’s out in the open and available. Granted, we won’t always succeed. Perhaps through
neglect, misreading a situation or plain old willfulness, we will not always do the right thing. But
most of the time most of us try to be good. None of us here this morning will get home safely
without the cooperation of a host of strangers who obey both written and unwritten rules of
conduct on the roads and highways. But why? Why do we do this? And how might we enhance
our own and each person’s capacity for being good?
Throughout the ages, various responses have evolved to that set of questions. One is that
we have to be good because God is watching our every move, keeping score, and that at some
time in the future—this life or the next—we will answer for each piece of candy we have stolen.
This sense that what we do in this life has spiritual consequences is found in most—if not all—
religions. So if you believe in reincarnation, the condition of your next life is determined by what
you do in this one. Or if you see human life as aiming toward enlightenment, your progress
toward that goal is either helped or hindered by the everyday moral decisions that you make.
The approach that we are good because it’s what God demands survives to this day in
many contexts. Such as, it’s why atheism is treated with such disdain. If you don’t believe in
God, then what’s to compel you to be good? Today, atheists are forbidden from holding public
office according to state constitutions in Arkansas, Texas, Mississippi, North Carolina, South
Carolina, Tennessee and, you guessed it: Maryland. The wording in the Maryland state
constitution goes like this: “no religious test ought ever to be required as a qualification for any
office of profit or trust in this State, other than a declaration of belief in the existence of God.”
The assumption undergirding such pronouncements is that belief in God provides the moral
foundation for a society. It’s why we are compelled to be good.
There is another response to that question which is not necessarily theistic. We might call
this the rationalist perspective. Why be good? Because, the rationalist says, actions have
consequences. If you do good things, you will benefit. If you do bad things, bad things will
happen to you. Granted, this is not an infallible formula. Bad things do happen to good people;
good things happen to bad people. But overall, we are more likely to do well by doing good. In
this scenario, the enforcer of standards is not God but our society, based in rules and laws to
protect the innocent and punish those who fail to live up to their moral responsibilities.
According to this version of why we do good, each of us is constantly making complex
evaluations as to the effects of our actions. Cross the street against the light, and we are more
3 likely to be hit by a car. Treat another person badly, and our actions will come back to haunt us.
Steal candy, and we risk of the wrath of Miss Behrensmeyer. On the other hand, if we are honest,
conscientious, live by our word, help others, then we will likely receive rewards, both tangible
and intangible. Like, for example, “courageous love” awards.
The rationalist asserts that within each person, there is a power struggle. On one side are
the passions, the instinctual side of life, selfishness, lust, the emotions that seize control when we
are under duress . On the other side is consciousness, the enlightened force of reason. We call
upon reason to evaluate the decisions before us and then determine an appropriate course of
action. Consciousness and reason subdue the unruly forces of instinct and emotion that rage
inside.
But is this really how it works? We make thousands of decisions each day, many of
which have a moral component. Do we really calculate risks and rewards from each? Do we
really think ahead to the potential consequences of what we do? Mostly not, I think. I saw the
candy, I wanted it, I took it, even though Miss Behrensmeyer was right there in the room with
me. That this action might have consequences did not occur to me until I was in too deep to get
out.
* * *
So why be good? Social scientists have devised studies that consider this question from
the perspective of how we actually behave. These have produced intriguing findings which
suggest that for most of us most of the time, acting ethically has little to do with belief in God or
with a rational consideration of costs and benefits. In this, I’m drawing mostly upon a book by
the New York Times columnist, David Brooks, called The Social Animal.
David Brooks takes issue with the claim that we are rational creatures who think through
decisions and determine the morality of each before acting. If that were the case, he said, then the
most moral among us would be those who have thought the most about ethical issues. But
apparently not. Research has been unable to confirm any relationship between facility as a moral
theorist and noble behavior. Professional ethicists, like for example ministers, don’t behave any
better than anybody else.
Or what about the idea that we use our conscious minds—our capacity for reason—to
subdue the emotions to which we are subject and make dispassionate moral decisions? If that
were the case, then those who are the least emotional would be the most moral. But if anything,
it’s the opposite. Those with a high capacity for feeling tend to be the most trustworthy. While
those who live mostly in their heads are more likely to convince themselves of the worthiness of
actions that others know intuitively are not right. At the extreme, the most horrendous crimes are
not committed by people whose passions overwhelm them. Rather, these crimes are by those
with a very low capacity for feeling, for emotion, for passion, for compassion. The name we give
to such a person is a psychopath.
Finally, if reasoning about moral questions led to moral behavior, then we would expect
individuals to develop conclusions that could be universally applied. That is, we would respond
4 in the same manner across a wide range of situations. Put more concretely, if stealing candy
belonging to other people is wrong, then we wouldn’t steal candy no matter what the
circumstances. But in reality, that doesn’t seem to be how we behave.
Numerous studies have involved students who were given opportunities to lie, cheat, and
steal in a variety of situations. Most of them cheated in some situations, not in others. The rate of
cheating did not correlate with specific personality traits or religious beliefs or sophistication in
ability to evaluate ethical dilemmas. A far better predictor of morally questionable behavior is
opportunity. I see the candy, I want it, nobody’s looking, I take it.
* * *
It appears then that we don’t believe ourselves into doing good and we don’t reason
ourselves into doing good. So why be good? What is it that calls us to do the right thing, given
that most of us do try and most of us succeed much of the time.
Here’s where it gets interesting. There is a developing view of moral behavior called
“intuitionist.” The intuitionist looks to the realm of emotion and intuition as the center of moral
life. Not belief, not reason, but intuition. That is, a gut feeling for right and wrong. In most cases,
we don’t think through our responses to moral questions. We react, quickly, based on an impulse
that comes from within. Apparently, the gut feeling that drives most of our moral decisionmaking is a more trustworthy indicator of what is right than we might suspect.
Each of us is born with selfish drives: to survive, take what we want, enhance our
standing, exert power over others, satisfy lusts. But—and this is important—each of us is also
born with a deep desire to cooperate, to get along, to be accepted by those in our group, whatever
that group might be. Human beings are descended from countless years of evolution in which
those who survived were more likely to be part of a community than those who were outcasts.
Bonding with each other, commitment to each other, compassion for each other are qualities that
enhanced the likelihood that a people would live into the next generation—and the next. Each of
us here today is here because our ancestors going back thousands of years and tens of thousands
and hundreds of thousands of years participated in societies in which cooperation was a key
factor in determining continued existence.
And so we have an intuitive knowledge etched into us that fairness, honesty, and trust are
good. Babies, as early as age 6 months, show a preference for figures that help others, rather than
hurt others. Children from an early age demand fairness: fair treatment, fair play. We have all
heard children cry out with indignation, “That’s not fair!” Similarly, we have an innate
admiration for a person who sacrifices for a group, a disgust for one who betrays a friend or is
disloyal to a family or tribe.
So yes, we come into this world installed with selfish impulses and the ability to be
destructive. But we also come into this world with the ability to recognize good and evil and the
impulse to do good. Why be good? Because it’s innate; it is who we are.
Thomas Jefferson put it this way (using the terminology of his time).
5 “Man was destined for society. His morality, therefore, was to be formed to this object.
He was endowed with a sense of right and wrong merely relative to this. This sense is as much a
part of nature, as the sense of hearing, seeing, feeling; it is the true foundation of morality.”
What makes us human are the qualities that enable us to live in community together. The
knowledge of those qualities is installed within each of us providing the foundation of morality,
our sense of what is right and wrong.
When I stole candy from classmates in the second grade, my initial fear was of being
found out by Miss Behrensmeyer—but Miss Behrensmeyer never caught on. So then I should
have been free to enjoy my ill-gotten gains. Except that something else kicked in: a gut feeling
that I had violated something essential. Which is probably why I have no memory of enjoying
that candy, and it’s why I still remember that incident to this day.
* * *
How do we develop and enhance our capacity to do the right thing?
Those operating from a religious framework advise that belief is at the core. If we
believe, we are released from sin and called to a new way of being. The rationalist view advises
us to philosophize in order to become more moral. That is, think through the issues and come to
rational conclusions. The intuitionist view of morality suggests a different course of action. It
advises us to interact. Participate in society, become involved in relationship, attentive to
guidelines that rule interactions among participants in a community.
Everyday life in human society is given form by thousands of tiny rules guiding behavior.
You hold the door for the person coming through behind you. Women leave the elevator first.
We say a few words to the person checking out our groceries. In conversation, we talk warmly of
those who live up to our expectations of how we should live, critically about those who don’t. In
the reading I shared, there is a list of such everyday courtesies that in themselves probably don’t
seem very important. And yet, it is through these ordinary interactions that we maintain
relationship with each other and sustain the foundations of the society in which we participate.
Smile.
Make eye contact.
Acknowledge people.
Get off your phone and actually interact.
Say please and thank you.
Ask how others are doing. Mean it.
It’s like muscles. We are born with muscles which we then develop through using them.
A person confined to bed or with a disability preventing exercise, loses the use of these muscles
pretty quickly. Same with the “muscles” that enable us to participate in society. We are born with
them but they have to be exercised in everyday life: smile, acknowledge people, say please and
thank you, ask how others are doing.
6 There is also the camera analogy. Fancy cameras come with the essentials installed to
make good pictures. They do most of the thinking for us. But they also come with an override.
You can turn off the automatic settings, go on your own. Sometimes, that marks an
improvement. A society that sanctioned slavery, for example, has to be reconfigured with new
settings. In other cases, turning off the automatic settings leads into chaos and terror, as when a
nation goes to war and the everyday courtesies commonly extended to others are withdrawn from
those defined as our enemy.
To quote David Brooks, “The intuitionist view starts with the optimistic belief that people
have an innate drive to do good. It is balanced with the pessimistic belief that these moral
sentiments are in conflict with one another and in competition with more selfish drives. But the
intuitionist view is completed by the sense that moral sentiments are subject to conscious review
and improvement.”
What intrigues me is the relationship between lofty concepts of moral goodness and the
everyday courtesies that are part of our lives. So that when we are considerate of those with
whom we interact, we are strengthening those muscles, as well as helping secure the foundations
upon which society is built.
Why be good? Because it’s who we are. We also have the capability of doing wrong, of
evil. But with attentiveness and practice, we can enhance those innate tendencies to do what is
right. And one way to engage in such practice is to honor the simple considerations of everyday
life.
As it was put in the opening reading, “…pause, take a breath, gather some
perspective…cut each other a break. It's likely others are having as tough as—or tougher—a day
as we are. Let's be the one to break the cycle. Change the course of their day—and ours. By
letting them ahead, we're even farther in front than we realize.”
7