Good people can be found just about anywhere. And interestingly, many of them acknowledge no personal faith at all, and so ascribe no cause of their good values or behavior to God, or Deity by any other name. It is true. But doesn’t that beg two further questions? Why are good people—as we define “good” in Western culture—good? And to what extent are the reasons related to historical religious aspects of the culture? May I now hazard a more considered, if provocative, answer than I have before?
Questions about behavior and culture almost always bump up against the age-old questions of nature or nurture—or, to what extent nature or nurture is involved in shaping them. And it would probably be easy for students of these questions to agree that most behavior is a function of both—to some degree a function of our genetic prescriptions or predispositions, and to some degree a function of family, social, and cultural learning or conditioning.
To expand on that, certainly it would seem likely that 4000-5000 years of Judaic faith and culture, on the one hand, or 1000-2000 years of Christian faith and culture on the other, would likely exert significant conditioning or shaping influence on the values, character and behavior of generations of individuals raised in families in those faith cultures. And doubtless, the reproducing young men and women in those cultures sought spouses with characteristics that those cultures and families honored and rewarded most. To the extent those were genetically-influenced traits or predispositions, they would be the most likely selected and genetically transferred through the generations. And this is no less true for other faith traditions and cultures that have endured for millennia.
So, it would seem defensible to suggest that whether or not an individual were observant of their Judaic, Christian or other faith today, they would nonetheless likely carry the same cultural values, honor the same personal characteristics of "good” people, and likely be indistinguishable in that respect from their faithful or observant brethren. That is to say, we could easily be indifferent or even antagonistic toward the faith of our forefathers, but owe our own predisposition toward the good behavior of good people to the social behavior and values conditioned or genetically passed to us through the generations of our families in their religious cultures.
Then, it must be asked, may those with markedly different religious or spiritual cultural histories also be "good” people? Of course they may; but whether they are depends first on their cultural definition of good, and then how closely that conforms to our own definitions and expectations. Since most religions or spiritual traditions in the world involve requirements for development of conformity with socially-acceptable, community-supportive behavior, it is likely they will also develop and select for many traits that most people consider good.
Even societies without major religions usually have a history of some manner of spiritually-influenced social organizing structure that developed and selected for ordered, mutually-supportive behavior. At least some of that behavior would likely be viewed as good by most other people today. But it is also true that very different spiritual traditions and cultures have developed and selected for some behaviors people of the Judaic and Christian traditions would not consider as good. In fact, some of it has been and is abhorrent to us.
To observe these things or to believe them is not particularly profound or unusual. Much has been written about it; it’s well researched and likely true. Part of it is explained by the evolutionary advantages of groups of individuals forming mutually-supportive communities. But the most socially advanced and mutually supportive cultures—the most ordered and civil—appear to enjoy the advantage of a socially-organizing deistic religion or spirituality. Again, the compelling question is, why?
Doesn’t there appear a clear evolutionary advantage to some manner of deistic religion, spirituality or belief for the health and advancement of humans in community? And if so, is it simply one of Gould's "accidental" evolutionary choices, or more one of Conway Morris' predictable evolutionary "convergences?" And as the evidence mounts for the more dominant role of convergence, isn't it likely more directed, more purposeful than most evolutionary scientists want to admit (as Conway Morris also suggests)? Is there more a Purpose or reason of a creative, enduring, perpetuating and redeeming spirit, force, or intelligence? Is there by any other name a directing Spirit or God, self-motivated by purposes and reasons we cannot fully understand or prove?
We could, of course, speculate reasonably about the collective sociological value and power of faith for community or cultural stability and order—and more personally about their psychological value for emotional stability of the individual in community. We could find appreciation and respect for observations like those of Joseph Campbell in his thinking and writing about the importance and power of myth across the cultures and religions of human history.
Nonetheless, many of us are unlikely to find wholly probative or satisfying partial sociological or psychological answers deduced by looking without ourselves at religious aspects of cultures or their histories. Nor are we likely to be fully satisfied with the explanations and convictions of others, however moving or convincing their reasons or experiences may be. No, in the end it is often more personal to each of us than all that.
It is often more about our personal depths to be plumbed, following an internal voice faintly heard, seeking a truth which at first is more sensed or apprehended than articulated or understood. It is about seeking and finding peace about that which passes and that which endures. It challenges us with notions of humility and transcendence. It challenges us to understand ourselves as a passing experience, identity and consciousness, which is somehow part of a greater Purpose and existence that endures. This understanding and peace, ever incomplete but continually unfolding, seems more often extended by invitation and accepted than pursued. And it appears that the more attentive we are to the unfolding, the more often we accept the invitations, the deeper, more intimate the journey becomes.
Is this something to be proved or even pursued in a certain way? No; it's a matter of personal journey and experience, and very personal to each of us. Can I logically explain it to you? In part, perhaps, but not completely—and probably not satisfactorily. Is it all part of our purpose in life? Yes, it seems to be, although we can find many reasons to treat it as though it is not or try to ignore it altogether. Do we play a role with each other in this process? Yes, and a very important one. But sometimes we may only touch a responsive chord with others—and sometimes only inadvertently—and provide a sense of invitation or permission to listen and seek some understanding of that faint voice or apprehension. Beyond that, if asked, we can only share our own experiences and understandings, which are unlikely to be altogether the same as someone else’s. That's just the way it seems to me to be.
First written: January – June 2005
© Gregory E. Hudson 2007
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