Christianity and the Roots of Morality: Philosophical, Early Christian and Empirical Perspectives 9789004343535, 9789004312326

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Christianity and the Roots of Morality

Philosophical Studies in Science and Religion Series Editors Dirk Evers (Martin-Luther-University Halle-Wittenberg, Germany) James Van Slyke (Fresno Pacific University, usa) Advisory Board Philip Clayton (Claremont University, usa) George Ellis (University of Cape Town, South Africa) Niels Henrik Gregersen (University of Copenhagen, Denmark) Antje Jackelén (Bishop of Lund, Sweden) Nancey Murphy (Fuller Theological Seminary, usa) Robert Neville (Boston University, usa) Palmyre Oomen (Radboud University Nijmegen, The Netherlands) Thomas Jay Oord (Northwest Nazarene University, usa) V.V. Raman (University of Rochester, usa) Robert John Russell (Graduate Theological Union, usa) F. LeRon Shults (University of Agder, Norway) Nomanul Haq (University of Pennsylvania, usa) Kang Phee Seng (Centre for Sino-Christian Studies, Hong Kong) Trinh Xuan Thuan (University of Virginia, usa) J. Wentzel van Huyssteen (Princeton Theological Seminary, usa)

VOLUME 8

The titles published in this series are listed at brill.com/pssr





Christianity and the Roots of Morality Philosophical, Early Christian, and Empirical Perspectives

Edited by

Petri Luomanen Anne Birgitta Pessi Ilkka Pyysiäinen

LEIDEN | BOSTON

Library of Congress Cataloging-in-Publication Data Names: Luomanen, Petri, 1961- editor. Title: Christianity and the roots of morality : philosophical, early Christian and empirical perspectives / edited by Petri Luomanen, Anne Birgitta Pessi, Ilkka Pyysiäinen. Description: Leiden ; Boston : Brill, 2017. | Series: Philosophical studies in science and religion, issn 1877-8542 ; volume 8 | Includes index. Identifiers: lccn 2017002072 (print) | lccn 2017011812 (ebook) | isbn 9789004343535 (E-book) | isbn 9789004312326 (hardback : alk. paper) Subjects: lcsh: Christian ethics--History--Early church, ca. 30-600. | Ethics--History. Classification: lcc bj1212 (ebook) | lcc bj1212 .C49 2017 (print) | ddc 241--dc23 lc record available at https://lccn.loc.gov/2017002072

Typeface for the Latin, Greek, and Cyrillic scripts: “Brill”. See and download: brill.com/brill-typeface. issn 1877-8542 isbn 978-90-04-31232-6 (hardback) isbn 978-90-04-34353-5 (e-book) Copyright 2017 by Koninklijke Brill nv, Leiden, The Netherlands. Koninklijke Brill nv incorporates the imprints Brill, Brill Hes & De Graaf, Brill Nijhoff, Brill Rodopi and Hotei Publishing. All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, translated, stored in a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording or otherwise, without prior written permission from the publisher. Authorization to photocopy items for internal or personal use is granted by Koninklijke Brill nv provided that the appropriate fees are paid directly to The Copyright Clearance Center, 222 Rosewood Drive, Suite 910, Danvers, ma 01923, usa. Fees are subject to change. This book is printed on acid-free paper and produced in a sustainable manner.

Contents Foreword ix List of Contributors xi Introduction 1 Petri Luomanen, Anne Birgitta Pessi, and Ilkka Pyysiäinen

part 1 Morality and Religion: Setting the Evolutionary and Philosophical Scene Moral Gods and the Origins of Human Cooperation 25 Petri Ylikoski The Evolution of Morality and Religion 44 Ilkka Pyysiäinen Religious Morality or Moral Religion? Kantian and Pragmatist Reflections 65 Sami Pihlström Divine Evil, Godless Responsibility, Religious Happiness 87 Mika Ojakangas Comment 1: Comments on Ilkka Pyysiäinen’s “The Evolution of Morality and Religion” 100 Simo Knuuttila Comment 2: Religion Irrespective of Morality 105 Jutta Jokiranta

part 2 Morality and Early Christianity Morality and the Evolution of Christianity 115 Petri Luomanen

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The Sermon on the Mount: Christian or Universal Ethics? 140 Kari Syreeni Foundations of Early Christian Morality in the Light of Modern Argumentation Analysis 162 Lauri Thurén Are Christians Better People? On the Contrast between “Us” and “Them” in Early Christian Rhetoric 182 Heikki Räisänen Comment 1: Morality, Networks, and Cultural Evolution: A Short Commentary on Petri Luomanen’s “Morality and the Evolution of Christianity” 198 István Czachesz Comment 2: Content and Motivation in Christian Ethics: Comments on Syreeni’s, Thurén’s, and Räisänen’s Papers 207 Antti Raunio

part 3 Morality and Christianity in Everyday Life Learning and Living the Golden Rule: Religious Communities and Morality 217 Nancy T. Ammerman Religion and Moral Choice: Does an Innate Moral Sense Account for Religion’s Influence on Moral Choice? 239 Kristen Monroe Religion and Morality: Empirical Illustrations 258 Anne Birgitta Pessi Comment 1: A Theologian’s Response to Ammerman, Monroe, and Pessi 282 Risto Saarinen

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Comment 2: Religion, Altruism, and Everyday Life: Some Reflections 287 Grace Davie Synthesis for Further Discussion 296 Petri Luomanen Index of Modern Authors 303 Subject Index 309

Foreword This volume brings together contributions from three disciplinary areas that do not often interact with each other: philosophy with systematic theology, biblical studies, and empirical sociological research on altruism and benevolence. As the editors, we have wanted to enhance scholarly discussion not just by inviting scholars from different disciplines to study the same topic, but also by providing cross-disciplinary comments at the end of each main part of the volume. This cross fertilizing of scholarly discussion reflects the multidisciplinary spirit of the Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies (hcas), where foundations for the present volume were laid in the conference Morality—The Role of Religion and Religious Communities (March 2011). We are first of all grateful to the contributors and commentators on the articles, who have been open to this kind of discussion and have taken the trouble to express themselves in a way that makes cross-disciplinary interaction possible. We owe thanks to the hcas and its friendly staff for providing the premises for the conference, for the help with the practical arrangements, and for the services of research assistants in the early phase of editing this volume. During the lengthy process from initiating the conference to completing this volume we have also been lucky to benefit from the financial support of the following partners: Religion in Transforming Solidarity (Rits) (funded by the Academy of Finland, 2008–2011; directed by Anne Birgitta Pessi), SocioCognitive Perspectives on Early Judaism and Early Christianity: A Nordic Network (NordForsk funding, 2010–2014; directed by Petri Luomanen), Cooperation in Care (CoCARE) (funded by the Academy of Finland, 2014–2018; directed by Anne Birgitta Pessi), Reason and Religious Recognition (The Academy of ­Finland’s Centre of Excellence, 2014–2019; directed by Risto Saarinen); and The Revolutionary Power of Compassion (CoPassion) (funded by Tekes, 2015–2017; directed by Anne Birgitta Pessi). The staff at Brill, especially Mirjam Elbers, Ingrid Heijckers-Velt, and Bram Oudenampsen were very helpful in assisting with the peer-review process and the editing of the volume. Dr. Nina Nikki provided invaluable help with indexing and the editing of the footnotes and bibliographies. Saskia van der Knaap skillfully steered the typesetting and the proofreading for Brill. As is often the case in multidisciplinary projects, engaging with the editing of this volume has offered an opportunity to explore new terrains that appear both familiar and unfamiliar. The feeling of familiarity comes from the fact that although scholarly discourses in other disciplines may appear quite different at first sight, a closer look at the subject matter, theories, and models used

Foreword

often reveals interests and approaches that may have much in common with one’s own scholarly work. What is unfamiliar, for its part, provides an exciting opportunity to learn something new. It is our hope that this volume will provide its readers with the sense of excitement that comes from discovering new things. Helsinki, April 1, 2017 The editors

List of Contributors Editors Petri Luomanen Professor of New Testament and Early Christian Culture and Literature, University of Helsinki. Anne Birgitta Pessi Professor of Church and Social Studies, University of Helsinki Ilkka Pyysiäinen Docent of Comparative Religion, University of Helsinki

Other Authors

Nancy T. Ammerman Professor of Sociology of Religion, Boston University Grace Davie Professor of Sociology, University of Exeter Jutta Jokiranta Docent of Old Testament Studies, University Lecturer, University of Helsinki Simo Knuuttila Professor of Theological Ethics and Philosophy of Religion (emeritus), University of Helsinki Kristen Monroe Professor of Political Science and Philosophy, University of California, Irvine. Mika Ojakangas Professor of Political Thought, University of Jyväskylä Sami Pihlström Professor of Philosophy of Religion, University of Helsinki

List of Contributors

Antti Raunio Professor of Systematic Theology, University of Eastern Finland Heikki Räisänen† Professor of New Testament Exegetics (emeritus), University of Helsinki Risto Saarinen Professor of Ecumenics, University of Helsinki Kari Syreeni Professor of New Testament, Åbo Akademi University Lauri Thurén Professor of Biblical Studies, University of Eastern Finland Petri Ylikoski Professor of Science and Technology Studies, University of Helsinki

Introduction Petri Luomanen, Anne Birgitta Pessi, and Ilkka Pyysiäinen 1

Morality Benefits from Religion?

Recent studies in various fields such as evolutionary biology, cognitive science, cognitive neuroscience and social psychology have produced results that challenge more or less directly the role of religion as the source of morality and pro-social behavior. For instance, Kristen Monroe concludes in her perspective theory of altruism that elements other than religiosity play a crucial role in motivating altruism and in distinguishing an “altruist” from a “non-altruist,” namely, cognitive processes and understanding (e.g., how one views other human beings). These and other similar results challenge some of the classical theological and philosophical claims and assumptions discussed and debated for the last two millennia. Therefore, our book will focus on the question: What, if any, is the role of religion, especially Christianity, in morality, pro-social behavior, and altruism? Within this core question two themes in particular can be detected: the first concerning specifically the level of individuals, the second that of religious communities. First, what is the role of religion, and especially Christianity, in the moral behavior of an individual? Are there innate human moral capacities in the human mind? When and how did they appear in the history of evolution? What is the real significance of Jesus’ teaching in the Sermon on the Mount—the sermon which even non-active Christians and sympathizers of Christianity may name as their altruistic ideal? Does it set up unique moral standards or only crystallize humans’ innate moral intuitions? Second, what is the role of Christian religious teachings and religious communities in pro-social behavior? Does Christianity or religion in general involve doctrines, rituals, ways of life, or mental capacities that endow people with a special competence for moral behavior? For instance, early Christian moral exhortation propounds a life “in Christ” as a prerequisite for moral behavior. Does this life take forms that are qualitatively unique in their surroundings or does the language of being “in Christ” only add a metaphorical, theological dimension to ordinary morality? Furthermore, if there is an innate moral grammar, can moral decision making be trained at all (e.g., in congregations or schools)? Can explicit beliefs intrude on intuitions in moral decision making? The present volume casts light on these questions through a collection of interdisciplinary articles that bring together scholars from social sciences, © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi 10.1163/9789004343535_002

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Introduction

cognitive science, social psychology, sociology of religion, philosophy, systematic theology, comparative religion, and biblical studies. We aim at casting light on classical theological questions and themes by taking seriously the challenge presented by recent empirical research. As such, the book will not just enhance discussion within theological disciplines but also provide new starting points for a fruitful interaction with social and behavioral sciences. The articles of the volume are arranged in three parts. Part 1 discusses morality and religion in philosophical perspective. Part 2 includes articles by specialists in early Christian studies. Part 3 provides examples from empirical research on morality and religion. Each part is concluded by short, crossdisciplinary commentaries. 2

Morality in Philosophical Perspective

Philosophers and theologians have for long analyzed morality as a set of rules, norms, and values, trying to find their ultimate basis through conceptual analysis. However, this approach has been increasingly criticized by representatives of empirical sciences studying human behavior and thinking. Mere armchair speculation cannot establish a foundation for ethics that would also be empirically plausible.1 On the other hand, the empirical study of moral behavior faces the old problem of “no ‘ought’ from ‘is’”: we cannot derive moral imperatives from research on how people actually behave. Some philosophers might accordingly want to distinguish between social conventions and arrangements, on the one hand, and ethical principles, on the other. Social conventions are regarded as local and contingent, whereas morality or ethics (moral theory) is something universal and binding. Empirical research can only show that humans have evolved moral intuitions or “sentiments” (Adam Smith) that typify the behavior of our species and have made sociality and intra-group cooperation possible. This is how we actually derive the “ought” from “is.” Such derivation is absolutely necessary, although it involves a logical dilemma that cannot be solved. Not even the Divine Commandment theories of morality2 can solve the problem as divine commands are supposed to be a fact, that is, an “is.” Whence, then, the “ought?” In moral psychology, one line of argumentation tries to show that moral decision making is like pattern recognition: each individual has a personal data 1 See Walter Sinnott-Armstrong, ed., Moral psychology 1–3 (Cambridge, ma: mit Press, 2008). 2 E.g., Philip L. Quinn, Divine Commands and Moral Requirements (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978).

Introduction

3

base of prototypical moral dilemmas and decisions, and we recognize moral problems guided by our past experience. Moral goodness is based on the ability to evaluate various moral choices and to intuitively feel that some deeds and choices are good whereas others are bad or wrong. In practice, we do not so much try to accommodate our behavior to explicit rules and norms as to follow our intuitions.3 The first part consists of four articles dealing with moral psychology, evolution, and moral philosophy. In the background is recent work on cultural and biological evolution and theorizing about the role religion may have played in the evolution of intra-group cooperation.4 The evolutionary puzzle of altruism that extends to non-kin and anonymous strangers is immediately relevant for moral psychology, although its importance for ethics or moral philosophy is a controversial issue.5 In this section, Ylikoski argues that the relationship between morality and religion is contingent; evolutionarily the early forms of religion may not have included moralizing gods which may be a relatively recent cultural innovation tracing back to 50,000 years ago at the most. As others have also argued, the advent of agriculture 10,000 ago may have been an important turning point that saw the emergence of large-scale, complex societies and theistic religions.6 Pyysiäinen, for his part, tries to show that the existence of moral intuitions across cultures makes it doubtful that religion would be the necessary basis of moral behavior. Religion only provides a cognitively effective way of explaining our moral intuitions to ourselves and to expressing them. 3 See Paul M. Churchland, The Engine of Reason, the Seat of the Soul (Cambridge, ma: mit Press, 1995), 291; May et al., ed., Mind and Morals: Essays on Ethics and Cognitive Science (Cambridge, ma: mit Press, 1996); Ilkka Pyysiäinen and Marc Hauser, “The Origins of Religion: Evolved Adaptation or By-product?” Trends in Cognitive Sciences 14(3): 104–09. 4 See Jeffrey P. Schloss and Michael Murray, “Evolutionary Accounts of Beliefs in Supernatural Punishment: A Critical Review,” Religion, Brain & Behavior 1(1) (2011): 46–99; Scott Atran, “Psychological Origins and Cultural Evolution of Religion,” in Grounding Social Sciences in Cognitive Sciences, ed. Ron Sun (Cambridge, ma: mit Press 2012), 209–38; Ilkka Pyysiäinen, “The Cognitive Science of Religion,” in Evolution, Religion, and Cognitive Science, ed. Fraser Watts and Leon Turner (Cambridge University Press, 2014), 21–37. 5 See Stephen Macedo and Josiah Ober, ed., Primates and Philosophers: How Morality Evolved (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006). 6 See Scott Atran and Joseph Henrich, “The Evolution of Religion: How Cognitive By-products,­ Adaptive Learning Heuristics, Ritual Displays, and Group Competition Generate Deep Commitments to Prosocial Religions,” Biological Theory 5(1) (2010): 18–30; Azim Shariff, “Big Gods Were Made for Big Groups,” Religion, Brain & Behavior 1(1) (2011): 89–93; also Stephen K. Sanderson and W. W. Roberts, “The Evolutionary Forms of Religious Life: A Cross-Cultural, Quantitative Analysis,” American Anthropologist 110 (2008): 454–66.

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Introduction

Pihlström suggests that, in fact, religion might be based on morality, rather than morality on religion. Or, perhaps the relation between morality and religion should be regarded as a matter of mutual holistic adjustment, with no one-way grounding either way? Pihlström refers to Kant whose view of religion and morality comes surprisingly close to that of the standard model of the cognitive science of religion:7 religious ideas can be defended as postulates of practical reason that need to be invoked in order to make sense of the human moral pursuit, even though morality as such does not presuppose religion or theology. An argument analogous to Kant’s plays an important role also in William James’ pragmatist philosophy of religion. However, Kant and James differ in that, for Kant, religion was legitimated a priori by reason’s capacities only, whereas for James, it was legitimated empirically (psychologically) as an attitude of “energizing” moral life. Pihlström then tries to reconcile these two views as ways of justifying theism ethically. He points to the problem of evil and argues that morality and religion may—in the end—be much closer to each other than secularists are willing to admit. We cannot escape the problem of theodicy to mesmerizing claims that “all is well”; especially the pragmatist philosophy of religion forces us towards an active response to theodicy based on a continuous ethical struggle for a better world. Ojakangas also theorizes about the problem of theodicy, arguing that as far as the ethical is exhausted in the notion of responsibility, then the atheist position is more ethical. An individual is not only responsible for the evil he or she does but also for the very definition of “evil.” It is not the omnipotent God but the impotent man who carries the weight of the whole world on his or her shoulders. However, if ethics is about happiness and not about responsibility, then there is no necessary contradiction between religion and ethics. Gods are therapeutic channels through which the absolutely responsible man can lighten his burden. Although Christianity, especially Protestantism, has from the outset seen persons as metaphysically guilty, the idea of absolute individual responsibility only appears in the 20th century atheist philosophy. Religions are something profoundly human in the sense that they take into account the insurmountable rupture between human impotence (finitude) and yet infinite responsibility.

7 On this model, see Pascal Boyer, “A Reductionistic Model of Distinct Modes of Religious Transmission,” in Mind and Religion: Psychological and Cognitive Foundations of Religiosity, ed. Harvey Whitehouse and Robert N. McCauley (Walnut Creek, ca: AltaMira Press, 2005), 3–29.

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Part 1 is concluded with two commentaries. Jutta Jokiranta reviews the articles from the viewpoint of biblical studies. Simo Knuuttila offers his comments from the viewpoints of systematic theology and philosophy of religion. 3

Morality and Early Christianity: Themes and Texts in This Volume

Every New Testament book has moral implications. This is unavoidable in the collection of writings that became normative in the religion that was defining its identity in relation to Greco-Roman culture at large and, more specifically, in relation to (earlier forms of) Judaism. The writings of the New Testament aim at the maintenance and growth of the communities they are addressing. Therefore, they are also very much concerned with the way the members of these communities should behave.8 In the context of this volume, it is not possible to describe all the characteristic ways each individual New Testament text deals with moral issues. The articles in Part 2 focus on some themes that have been central in the discussions about (early) Christian morality. Because the articles draw on New Testament texts, a short overview of the original historical setting of these texts as well as the way their traditions were evolving is presented in the following as a background for the articles. The gospels set forth four versions of the deeds, proclamation, death and resurrection of the foundational figure of Christianity, the Galilean prophet, Jesus of Nazareth, God’s Son and anointed Messiah, Christ—or the eternal Logos as the Gospel of John presents him. Mark was the first one to present the story of Jesus in narrative form.9 He focuses on Jesus’ passion—the original story did not describe resurrection—and the central ethos of the narrative is that of the suffering Messiah. Mark lists miracles—healings, exorcisms and Jesus’ power over nature—that testify to his position as Messiah. On the other hand, the disciples have a hard time realizing that Jesus’ example also requires them to take their crosses and follow him (8:31–33; 9:30–32; 10:32–45). In addition to this central ethos of self-denial and humility Mark’s narrative also has other moral implications—although much of Jesus’ teaching in Mark is related to the correct response to Jesus’ and his disciples’ message (Mark 3:20–35; 4:1– 34; 12:1–15) and the future eschatological events (Mark 13). When the teaching­ 8 Wayne Meeks, The Origins of Christian Morality: The First Two Centuries (New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1993), 5. 9 Mark refers here to the person responsible for the final composition of the gospel around 70 ce.

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deals with concrete ethical and moral norms this is often in the context of disputes between Jesus and Jewish leaders. We learn from Jesus that “the sabbath was made for humankind, and not humankind for the sabbath” (Mark 2:27)10 and that it is lawful to do good on the sabbath (3:1–6). Jesus also defends his table fellowship with “sinners and tax collectors” (2:15–17) and declares all foods clean, because “whatever goes into a person from outside cannot defile, since it enters, not the heart but the stomach, and goes out into the sewer” (7:18–19). Furthermore, It is what comes out of a person that defiles. For it is from within, from the human heart, that evil intentions come: fornication, theft, murder, adultery, avarice, wickedness, deceit, licentiousness, envy, slander, pride, folly. All these evil things come from within, and they defile a person. mark 7:20–22.

On the other hand, Mark’s Jesus cites positively the commandments: “You shall not murder; You shall not commit adultery; You shall not steal; You shall not bear false witness; You shall not defraud; Honor your father and mother.” (10:19). Likewise, when asked about the most important commandment Jesus answers with the double commandment: The first is, “Hear, O Israel: the Lord our God, the Lord is one; you shall love the Lord your God with all your heart, and with all your soul, and with all your mind, and with all your strength.” The second is this, “You shall love your neighbor as yourself.” There is no other commandment greater than these. mark 12:29–31; parallels in matt 22:34–40 and luke 10:25–28

The first commandment, Israel’s basic creed, Shema, comes (with slight modification in wording) from Deuteronomy (6:5). The second part is paralleled in Leviticus 19:18. The combination of these two was also known in Hellenistic Judaism (Philo, Spec. 2.63).11 Thus, it is no wonder that the Jewish scribe who had presented the question in Mark’s narrative is able to agree with Jesus and

10 11

Translations of biblical passages in this chapter are from the New Revised Standard Version. For the background and context see, for instance, Joachim Gnilka, Das Evangelium nach Markus (Mk 8,27–16,20), Evangelisch-Katholischer Kommentar Zum Neuen Testament II/2 (Zürich/Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger Verlag/Neukirchener Verlag, 1979), 162–68.

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notes that “this is much more important than all whole burnt offerings and sacrifices” (12:33). Overall, for Mark it seemed self-evident that the observance of the Sabbath, the purity laws and even the temple cult—all key markers of Jewish identity— should be bypassed because of what he considered to be higher ethical principles and moral objectives. Mark approvingly cites those parts of the Jewish law that are most easily accepted also by Gentiles. For other New Testament writers, things were not as simple as they were for Mark, who was obviously writing from a Gentile Christian perspective. A more Jewish picture of Jesus was delineated in the Sayings Gospel Q (Q, from the German word Quelle, “source”), prepared approximately at the same time as Mark was finishing his version of the story of Jesus. The editors of the Gospels of Matthew and Luke used this source as a supplement to Mark’s narrative. As regards New Testament ethics the materials from Q—and Matthew’s and Luke’s own sources that they used in addition to Mark and Q—are of special significance. For instance, the sayings gospel Q included a speech of Jesus that Matthew took over, supplemented with other traditions and edited, giving it a programmatic position as the first one of the five great speeches Matthew’s Jesus delivers in the course of his ministry. Later generations have learned to know this speech, in its Matthean form, as the Sermon on the Mount.12 Its Lukan counterpart is known as the Sermon on the Plain (Luke 6:17–49). From Q, Matthew and Luke also received the Golden Rule: “In everything do to others as you would have them do to you; for this is the law and the prophets.” (Matt 7:12, cf. Luke 6:31). As noted above, Mark has the Double Commandment of Love, the second part of which also deals with the love of one’s neighbor but that is not exactly the same as the Golden Rule. Another example of the significance of the supplemented material is parables that Luke added to his Jesus narrative. Without Luke we would have missed, for instance, the parables of the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:29–37), the Prodigal Son (Luke 15:11–32), and the Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19–31). Matthew, for his part, received from his sources parables that emphasize steadfastness and care for others as prerequisites for salvation. The characteristics of the Matthean paraenesis are best summarized in the parable of the last judgment:

12

The five speeches: (1) The Sermon on the Mount, Matt 5–7; (2) The Mission Discourse, Matt 10; (3) The Parables of the Kingdom of Heaven, Matt 13:1–52; (4) The Congregational Discourse, Matt 18; (5) Against the Pharisees and on the Last Judgment, Matt 23–25.

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Introduction

When the Son of Man comes in his glory, and all the angels with him, then he will sit on the throne of his glory. All the nations will be gathered before him, and he will separate people one from another as a shepherd separates the sheep from the goats, and he will put the sheep at his right hand and the goats at the left. Then the king will say to those at his right hand, “Come, you that are blessed by my Father, inherit the kingdom prepared for you from the foundation of the world; for I was hungry and you gave me food, I was thirsty and you gave me something to drink, I was a stranger and you welcomed me, I was naked and you gave me clothing, I was sick and you took care of me, I was in prison and you visited me”…. matt 25:31–36

The Sayings Gospel Q—in the form that it was used by Matthew and Luke— pictured Jesus both as a sapiential teacher of wisdom and as an apocalyptic visionary who announced eschatological judgment for the unrepentant.13 As regards moral instruction this means that in Q Jesus’ teaching about such things as God’s fatherly love towards humans and nature (Luke 12:22–32/Matt 6:25–34), enemy love (Luke 6:27–28/Matt 5:43–45), turning the other cheek (Luke 6:29–30/Matt 5:39–42), the Golden Rule (Luke 6:31/Matt 7:12), and of not judging (Luke 6:37–38/Matt 7:1–2) were accompanied, for instance, by woes against the Pharisees and the scribes (cf. Luke 11:37–54/Matt 23:1–33), declarations of judgment “on this generation” and Jerusalem (Luke 11:49–51; 13:34–35/ Matt 23:34–39), and warnings about the unexpected appearance of the Son of Man and the final judgment (Luke 12:39–40, 42–46/Matt 24:42–51). Thus, in the final form of Q, Jesus’ moral teaching is motivated both by the example given by God’s benevolence and benefaction and by announcing an unexpected, final judgment for those who do not accept his message. In the context of Matthew’s gospel, the theme of judgment becomes even more pronounced when it is combined with the parables Matthew received from his special source. As a matter of fact, the idea of the last judgment plays such a prominent role in Matthew’s gospel that Matthew has sometimes been accused of “works righteousness.” This means that in Matthew’s gospel obedience to God’s will and moral norms would be seen as a prerequisite for 13

In Q research it has been debated whether the apocalyptic layer belonged to Q tradition from the beginning or was added to the wisdom layer when Q missionaries became rejected. For the composition and layers of Q, see John Kloppenborg Verbin, Excavating Q: The History and Setting of the Sayings Gospel (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000). For a picture of the historical Jesus based on the priority of wisdom tradition, see James McConkey Robinson, Jesus According to the Earliest Witness (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007).

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salvation. In theological jargon, in Matthew, the “imperative” (of God’s will and norms) would precede the “indicative” (of salvation as present reality). Although the traditional discussion about the relationship between the indicative and the imperative mainly concerns patterns of salvation (soteriology), it is closely related to ethics since it deals with the way in which moral norms are motivated: Is salvation something to be earned with proper behavior, or should ethics and moral behavior grow from God’s preceding mercy?14 Until the late 1970s the pattern of salvation where the imperative precedes the indicative was generally considered to be typical of “late Judaism.” In this classical Christian interpretation, the Judaism of New Testament times—and later—was seen as a degenerate form of the religion of the Old Testament. That Judaism was seen in this light was mainly due to the fact that the mainstream Christian churches—and scholars—had taken the picture that the gospels paint of Jesus’ adversaries, the Jewish leaders and people, at face value. This Christian interpretation failed to see the rhetorical and community-forming character of the New Testament writings. It mistook the picture of Jewish outsiders in gospel narratives for the first century social reality. As regards moral discourse this meant that Judaism, and especially the Pharisees as its representatives, were granted the role of stereotypical, morally susceptible hypocrites, who were only seeking their own glory. Mark’s Gentile Christian narrative had laid the foundation for this representation when it pictured Jesus’ moral teaching in the context of his disputes with Jewish leaders. Matthew was much closer to Judaism—the editor may have been a former Jewish scribe15—but precisely for this reason his picture of Jesus’ Jewish opponents became even worse, reflecting the family conflict between his own Jewish(-Christian) community and other Jewish factions that were more dominant in his social context. In Matthew’s gospel, when Pilate proclaims himself to be innocent of Jesus’ blood, the people answer: “His blood be on us and on our children!” (Matt 27:25). The effective history of this judgment scene is sad. The gospel narratives 14

15

For the imperative and the indicative in Matthew, see Petri Luomanen, Entering the Kingdom of Heaven: A Study on the Structure of Matthew’s View of Salvation, Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament II/101 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998), 7–34, 284–86. Matthew was accused of “works righteousness,” especially by such ultra-Protestant scholars as Siegfried Schulz and Willi Marxsen, who saw in Matthew the beginnings of early Catholicism (ibid., 11–13.). Matthew 13:51–52 is often seen as the self-image of the editor(s) of the gospel. Notably, when Matthew repeats from Mark the argument that all food ends up in the sewer (see above), he drops the explicit comment that by saying this Jesus declared all foods clean (cf. Matt 15:17 par. Mark 7:18–19).

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do not just reflect conflicts and moral dilemmas in the lives of ancient groups but also create and maintain them in the course of their effective history. The Apostle Paul also had an ambiguous relationship to his Jewish background, although his stance clearly differed from that of Matthew. While the Gospel of Matthew is less clear about whether the Jewish law is still binding or not,16 Paul is very clear that the Gentile Christ-believers do not have to follow the Jewish law. However, Paul was at pains trying to redefine what, then, was the role of the law in God’s history of salvation. When defending his position Paul ended up in fierce disputes with the Christ-believers who still observed the Jewish law and also required the Gentile Christ-believers to do the same. Therefore, a fierce polemic against “Jewish” missionaries and their position also characterizes large sections of Paul’s letters. This “family dispute” also contributed to the wrong picture of Judaism as the religion of “works righteousness.” A full-blown reevaluation of Judaism in the New Testament began only at the turn of the 1980s when scholars started to realize that first century Judaism was not a degenerate form of the Old Testament religion; its “pattern of salvation” presumed the indicative of God’s benevolent action, the election of the people of Israel, who were supposed to answer this call by gratefully following God’s ordinances. Thus, in reality, the common Jewish ethos was not hypocritical or any less sincere in its attempt to follow God’s will—even if its understanding of what God expected from his servants was different from what was understood obligatory among those Gentile Christians—and more liberal Jews—who confessed Jesus as their Christ and Lord.17 The reevaluation of Judaism in the New Testament has resulted in the dismissal of the idea of the ethos of Christianity being morally superior and more sincere, in comparison with Judaism. Yet the idea of Christianity’s superior moral performance has not totally disappeared from the discussion, but the focus is now on Christianity’s relation to Greco-Roman culture and in the times following the composition of the New Testament. Rodney Stark seeks to explain in his Rise of Christianity: A Sociologist Reconsiders History why Christianity was able to spread so effectively in the Roman­ 16

17

On the one hand, Matthew emphasizes that the law will be valid up to its finest details (Matt 5:17–19), which, of course, in the Jewish context also includes ritual parts of the Mosaic Law. On the other hand, it becomes clear that what really matters is Jesus’ teaching which summarizes the law with the Golden Rule (Matt 7:12) and Christian baptism seems to replace circumcision as an entrance rite to the community (Matt 28:19–20). The tide changed after E.P. Sanders, Paul and Palestinian Judaism: A Comparison of Patterns of Religion (London: scm, 1977). For a short history of this “new perspective on Paul,” see Magnus Zetterholm, Approaches to Paul: A Student’s Guide to Recent Scholarship (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009).

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11

Empire.18 In Stark’s opinion, the main reason for the growing popularity of Christianity was that “central doctrines of Christianity prompted and sustained attractive, liberating, and effective social relations and organizations.” The new concept that Christianity offered was the ideal of being merciful because God is merciful, and that love and charity must also be extended to outsiders, beyond Christian communities.19 The following quote crystallizes Stark’s argument: To cities filled with the homeless and impoverished, Christianity offered charity as well as hope. To cities filled with newcomers and strangers, Christianity offered an immediate basis for attachments. To cities filled with orphans an widows, Christianity provided a new and expanded sense of family. To cities torn by violent ethnic strife, Christianity offered a new basis for social solidarity.20 In other words, it was Christianity’s bend toward universal altruism that made it so successful. Stark’s analysis of the success story of Christianity has, under­ standably, caught the eye of scholars who have been interested in cultural evolution and especially in the question of whether religion should be viewed as a by-product of evolution or a factor that exists because it has contributed positively to the survival of human groups. Petri Luomanen’s article in Part 2 of this volume deals with the evolution of Christianity. He first introduces and assesses some notable applications of evolutionary theory to the spread of Christianity: scholars who have drawn on Rodney Stark’s analysis and Gerd Theissen’s evolutionary explanation. Because Theissen’s theory is very abstract and Stark’s analysis is not directly applicable in the evolutionary framework (Stark being the supporter of intelligent design) Luomanen moves on to develop a model that makes it possible to compare cultural artifacts—early Christian texts—and their spread, paying attention to textual characteristics that were likely to enhance the spread and survival of communities that used them in the formative phase of Christianity. Luomanen 18 19

20

Rodney Stark, The Rise of Christianity: A Sociologist Reconsiders History (Princeton: Prince­ ton University Press, 1996). Ibid., 211–12. As noted above, the pattern where God’s mercy precedes human obligation was already in Judaism, which Stark fails to acknowledge when he claims that the idea was “entirely new” (p. 212). Ibid., 161; line breaks added.

12

Introduction

applies the model to three texts: the Sayings Gospel Q that has not survived separately, the Gospel of Mark that survived but was clearly less popular than the Gospel of Matthew, and the Gospel of Matthew. Kari Syreeni traces the reasons why the Sermon on the Mount has become such a classic piece of Christian ethics, often understood as a key to Christianity and as such counted among the finest achievements of humanity. Syreeni discusses particularity and universality in the Sermon on the Mount, focusing especially on the Golden Rule as well as on neighbor and enemy love. Syreeni investigates the particular historical context where the editor of the Gospel of Matthew composed the Sermon and features that made the Sermon universally applicable. At the end Syreeni also raises the question of possible “universally universal” features in the Sermon on the Mount and takes a stand on Theissen’s evolutionary considerations. Lauri Thurén’s starting point is the generally accepted observation that the content of New Testament moral and ethical teaching is—enemy love excluded—largely comparable to its Jewish and Hellenistic precedents. Therefore, Thurén raises the question of whether there was something special in the way the teaching was motivated in Christianity. The question about motivation is old (cf. above “indicative” and “imperative”) and also often discussed in systematic theology. However, Thurén approaches the question from a new perspective by applying modern argumentation analysis in two texts that come from different historical and social contexts: The First Letter of Peter and Paul’s Letter to the Romans. Heikki Räisänen also discusses Paul’s Letter to the Romans and the First Letter of Peter—along with some other New Testament texts—but casts light on the other side of the coin by paying attention to the picture of outsiders in New Testament rhetoric. In Räisänen’s view, Christianity, without question, enhanced solidarity and altruism—but it is questionable to what extent these were also applied to outsiders. Although New Testament documents are not unique in their vilification of opponents, the fact remains that in their present form they do not just enhance altruism but may also sow prejudice and hatred. Part 2 concludes with two commentaries: István Czachesz discusses Petri Luomanen’s evolutionary analysis, and Antti Raunio comments on the other articles of Part 2 from the viewpoint of a systematic theologian. 4

Morality, Christianity, and the Research of Altruism

In recent years and decades, an ever increasing part of studies dealing with altruism in different ways have been channeled specifically into the concept of

Introduction

13

altruism. The concept has become more common for instance in philosophy,21 religious studies,22 developmental psychology,23 social psychology,24 organizational studies,25 political science,26 economics,27 evolutionary psychology28 21

22

23

24

25 26

27 28

P. Singer, The Expanding Circle: Ethics and Sociobiology (New York: New American Library, 1981); William A. Galston, “Cosmopolitan Altruism,” in Altruism, ed. E.F. Paul, F.D. Miller, Jr., and J. Paul (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993), 118–34; P. Kitcher, “Psychological Altruism, Evolutionary Origins, and Moral Rules,” Philosophical Studies 89(2–3) (1998): 283–316; E.F. Paul, F.D. Miller, Jr., and J. Paul, ed., Altruism (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993). Ruben L.F. Habito and Keishin Inaba, ed., The Practice of Altruism: Caring and Religion in Global Perspective (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2006); Risto Saarinen, God and the Gift: An Ecumenical Theology of Giving. Unitas Books (Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2005); Anne Birgitta Yeung, “A Trusted Institution of Altruism: The Social Engagement of the Nordic Churches,” in The Practice of Altruism: Caring and Religion in Global Perspective, ed. Ruben L.F. Habito and Keishin Inaba (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2006), 98–124; Anne Birgitta Pessi, “Spirit of Altruism? On the Role of the Finnish Church as a Promoter of Altruism of Individuals and of Society,” in On behalf of Others: The Morality of Care in a Global World, ed. K. Monroe and S. Scuzzarello (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). E.g., Nancy Eisenberg, The Development of Prosocial Behavior (New York: Academic Press, 1982); Mary Gordon, Roots of Empathy: Changing the World Child by Child (New York: The Experiment Press, 2009). E.g., J. Philippe Rushton, “The Altruistic Personality,” in Altruism and Helping Behavior, ed. J.P. Rushton and R.M. Sorrentino (Hillsdale: Erlbaum, 1976), 251–66; C.D. Batson et al., “Where is the Altruism in the Altruistic Personality?” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 50 (1986): 212–20. E.g., M.A. Korsgaard et al., “Beyond Helping: Do Other-Oriented Values Have Broader Implications in Organizations?” Journal of Applied Psychology 82 (1997): 160–77. E.g., Kristen Renwick Monroe, “John Donne’s People: Explaining Differences between Rational Actors and Altruists through Cognitive Frameworks,” Journal of Politics 53(2) (1991): 394–433; eadem, The Heart of Altruism (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996); eadem, “Explicating Altruism,” in Altruism and Altruistic Love: Science, Philosophy, and Religion in Dialogue, ed. S.G. Post et al. (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 106–22; eadem, The Hand of Compassion (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004); eadem, Ethics in an Age of Terror and Genocide: Identity and Moral Choice (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012). E.g., Alexander J. Field, Altruistically Inclined? The Behavioral Sciences, Evolutionary Theory and the Origins of Reciprocity (Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2004). E.g., Elliott Sober and David Sloan Wilson, Unto Others: The Evolution and Psychology of Unselfish Behavior (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998); Frans de Waal, Primates and Philosophers: How Morality Evolved. Edited and introduced by S. Macedo, and J. Ober (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009); idem, The Age of Empathy: Nature’s Lessons for a Kinder Society (New York: Harmony Books, 2009).

14

Introduction

and biology.29 Additionally, in recent years, handbooks utilizing results from altruism research have been published for professionals and voluntary workers doing service work.30 The particular concept of altruism was brought into the social sciences in the mid-19th century by Auguste Comte as the opposite of selfishness. A similar view was presented later by Émile Durkheim (1858–1917) in his early work The Division of Labor in Society (1893). According to Durkheim, everywhere communities exist altruism also exists.31 Durkheim connected egoism and altruism with the deepening of societal division of labor on the way from mechanical solidarity to organic solidarity. Likewise, he connected egoism and altruism with the maintenance of moral communality required by this solidarity transition. According to Durkheim it is not about a linear change from egoism to altruism, but about structuring of the different forms of communality in different circumstances. He says that “these two [egoism and altruism] springs of behavior have been present from the very beginning in every human consciousness, for there cannot be one that does not reflect both the things that relate to the individual alone, and things that are not personal to him.”32 Unselfishness is to become the cornerstone of our social life; “Men cannot live together without agreeing, and consequently without making mutual sacrifices, joining themselves to one another in a strong and enduring fashion.”33 Overall, the mainstream of the altruism discussion in various disciplines can roughly be seen as constituting three eras. In the first stage, up to the 1970s, the discussions concerning altruism in different disciplines went on in their own spheres and contexts and there was little interaction between disciplines. Furthermore, much social science research focused on more negative aspects of human action, such as crime.34 All in all, the altruism research of the time—at least in hindsight—was not all that productive considering the 29

30

31 32 33 34

E.g., Robert L. Trivers, “The Evolution of Reciprocal Altruism,” Quarterly Review of Biology 46 (1971): 35–57; John Maynard Smith, “The Origin of Altruism,” review of Unto Others: The Evolution and Psychology of Unselfish Behavior, by Sober and Wilson, Nature 393 (1998): 639–40. E.g., Jeffrey Kottler, Doing Good: Passion and Commitment for Helping Others (Philadelphia: Brunner-Routledge, 2000); Peter R. Breggin, The Heart of Being Helpful: Empathy and the Creation of a Healing Presence (New York: Springer Publishing, 1997). Emile Durkheim, The Division of Labor in Society, transl. W.D. Halls (London: Macmillan Publishers, 1984). Ibid., 45–46. Ibid., 173. A specific exception of this era must be mentioned however: Sorokin (e.g., Pitirim A. Sorokin, Altruistic Love: A Study of American “Good Neighbors” and Christian Saints [Boston: Beacon Press, 1950]) conducted studies on, for instance, good neighbors, focusing on the

Introduction

15

amount of further research and the number of significant publications. An exception, however, is the research conducted by the English social politician Richard Titmuss (1907–1973) on donating blood. The research into the gift relationship has had a lasting though problematic effect on the research on donating blood. This has also been used in studying the relationship between needs and altruism in social politics.35 In the second era of altruism research, from the middle of the 1970s to the early 1990s, work in various disciplines and applications was marked by disputing and questioning unselfish altruism. Researchers aimed to show that phenomena appearing to be altruistic ultimately serve the altruist’s own interest and own good.36 Even actions that in the short term can be interpreted as altruistic were discovered to work to the advantage of the altruist in the long term. This view was reflected most clearly in sociobiology and economics research in which altruism was interpreted mainly as nepotism or efficient solutions to recurring problems. In this era of altruism research in moral philosophy, the various categorical imperatives and the moral views on right and wrong were replaced by selfish choices made behind “the curtain of ignorance.” Several phenomena in social policy analysis that had been interpreted as the reconciliation of altruism and needs were now interpreted as a struggle over power and rights, and as insurance against risk. There was no broad cooperation between separate disciplines in altruism study. Between sociologists and biologists, as well as within biology, the position of the genotype as the interpreter of individual differences was debated, sometimes even passionately. During the third era of altruism research, the last twenty years, the questions have changed again and common themes for research have increased. Nowadays work within different disciplines is directed increasingly but by no means exclusively towards “selfless altruism.” In other words, no attempt is made to find explanations based on selfishness. The starting-point of research is to a greater extent “pro-social” behavior; the human being is considered capable of unselfish altruism that cannot be reduced to favoring of relatives. characteristics of altruistic individuals. His studies underscored the role of religiosity, gender (women being more altruistic than men), and parental training in altruism. 35 See, Mikko Mäntysaari, “Hyvinvointivaltiota kehittämässä: Richard Titmuss ja sosiaalihuolto,” [Developing the Welfare State: Richard Titmuss and Social Care] in Hyvinvointivaltio, ed. J. Saari (Helsinki: Yliopistopaino, 2005), 388–405. Juho Saari, Sakari Kainulainen, and Anne Birgitta Yeung, Altruismi: Antamisen lahja Suomen evankelisluterilaisessa kirkossa [Altruism: The Gift of Helping in the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland.] (Helsinki: Yliopistopaino, 2005). 36 Jane Allyn Piliavin and Hong-Wen Charng, “Altruism: A Review of Recent Theory and Research,” Annual Review of Sociology 16 (1990): 27–65.

16

Introduction

Then, if—as it seems—human beings are capable of morality and altruism, what are the factors explaining such capability? The various disciplines today focus on different elements in their explanations of altruism. Sociocultural explanations focus on the demographic correlations of altruism (religion, age, gender, wealth, education, political views, etc.). Economic explanations, on the other hand, consider altruism a good, and stress the role of the rewards of altruism (material or psychological). Evolutionary biology and psychology, again, base their explanations on grounds very similar to economic explanations. Biologists stress kin and/or group selection and emphasize elements such as birth order and community size. Psychologists prefer to emphasize developmental matters (socialization, level of cognitive development, etc.) in their altruism explanations, as well as more contextual elements such as norms and culture (e.g., habits of reciprocity, moral judgments, etc.).37 Of these, it is mostly sociocultural, and to some extent psychological, explanations that have explored, and in some studies even focused on and underscored, the role of personal religiosity and religious institutions. During recent decades, both European and American churches have increasingly become welfare agents, both in actions and in public statements. This also applies particularly to statements concerning the policy dealing with social problems. Still, the roles vary. To look at Europe, we have Germany, where the social functions of the majority churches (both Protestant and Catholic) are part of the basic organization of the welfare system, at one end,38 and England, where most active voluntary agents in social welfare tend to be smaller churches, not the Church of England, at the other.39 The Nordic countries, where the church seems to offer services complementary to the public sector, fall in between.40 Overall, however,­these activities are greeted with joy, since people all over Europe seem very much in favor of religious agents battling social problems. 37 Monroe, Heart of Altruism, 8–9. 38 Annette Leis-Peters, “Protestant Agents of Welfare in Germany: The Case of Reutligen,” in Churches in Europe as Agents of Welfare, Working paper 2:1 and 2:2 from the Project Welfare and Religion in a European Perspective, ed. Anne Birgitta Yeung et al., (Uppsala: Uppsala Institute for Diaconal and Social Studies, 2006), 56–122. 39 Martha Middlemiss, “The Anglican Church as an Agent of Welfare: The Case of Darlington,” in Churches in Europe as Agents of Welfare, Working paper 2:1 and 2:2 from the Project Welfare and Religion in a European Perspective, ed. Anne Birgitta Yeung et al., (Uppsala: Uppsala Institute for Diaconal and Social Studies, 2006), 1–55. 40 Anne Birgitta Yeung et al., eds., Churches in Europe as Agents of Welfare. Working papers 2:1 and 2:2 from the Project Welfare and Religion in a European Perspective (Uppsala: Uppsala Institute for Diaconal and Social Studies, 2006).

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This particularly­concerns times of crisis,41 the churches being, for most people, the quintessential place, both physically and figuratively, of mourning, both collective and individual. In contrast, the United States has never had such comprehensive welfare state, and (perhaps in part due to this) the local religious organizations have retained a vigor not apparent in many European contexts.42 Religious organization in the United States are involved in very substantial ways in care, both through informal partnership and their own programs. Specifically, since 1996, churches and faith-based initiatives have been receiving more and more funds from the state for services, according to “Charitable Choice.”43 This development also seemed to be welcomed by citizens: half of Americans approved of providing public funds to faith-based groups, while a third objected.44 Nancy T. Ammerman’s article in Part 3 illustrates the close connection between morality and religion in the u.s. context, summarizing results from her three research projects. In the early 1990s she interviewed members of Christian and Jewish communities asking them what it meant for them to be a Christian or a Jew. In the late 1990s she studied agency in u.s. religious organizations, and in her more recent research she has analyzed the everyday moral narratives of both religiously affiliated and disaffiliated people. Ammerman’s results from the early 1990s already showed a very pragmatic, this-worldly orientation to faith, both among Christians and Jews, where the Golden Rule— and its Jewish equivalent—played a notable role. The project on the agency of religious organizations and the research on the everyday narratives show that although both religiously active people and those who are disaffiliated have moral goals, religiously oriented people are more active in pursuing those goals in the context of their congregations and other voluntary organizations. 41

42

43

44

See, e.g., Annette Leis-Peters, “The Estonia Disaster: The Church of Sweden as Public Service Provider of Rituals,” in Disaster Ritual, Explorations of an Emerging Ritual Repertoire, ed. P. Post et al., Liturgia Condenda 15 (Leuven: Peeters, 2003), 187–99. Nancy T. Ammerman, “Religion, the State and the Common Good: Shifting Boundaries in Europe and the United States,” in Welfare and Religion, ed. Anders Bäckström (Uppsala: Diakoniavetenskapliga Institutet, 2005), 21–34, esp. pp. 21–22. Nancy T. Ammerman, “Religious Identities and Religious Institutions,” in Handbook of the Sociology of Religion, ed. Michele Dillon (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 207–24; Nancy T. Ammerman, Pillars of Faith: American Congregations and their Partners (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005); Ram A. Cnaan et al., The Invisible Caring Hand: American Congregations and the Provision of Welfare (New York: New York University Press, 2002); Amy Sherman, “Churches as Government Partners: Navigating ‘Charitable Choice’,” Christian Century 117 (2000): 716–21. American Religious Landscapes and Political Attitudes, The Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life, Surveys, September 2004. [http://pewforum.org/].

18

Introduction

Kristen Monroe’s article draws on her interviews of rescuers of Jews during the Holocaust (The Heart of Altruism: Portraits of a Common Humanity and The Hand of Compassion: Portraits of Moral Choice during the Holocaust). In the light of Monroe’s results, religion itself is not sufficient to cause altruism. Rather, it is people’s identity, with values integrated into it, that creates altruistic behavior by making people behave the way they believe to be appropriate. This leads Monroe to suggest a theory of moral choice that emphasizes identity, the sense of self in relation to others, as the locus for categorizations, intuitions and emotions that trigger moral behavior. Conscious reflection has its part to play but the driving force in moral choice is identity and emotions rather than conscious calculations. Monroe agrees with the view that human beings have innate moral senses. In Monroe’s view, religion may contribute to moral choice by influencing people’s identity and innate moral sense. Anne Birgitta Pessi first offers an elaborate discussion of the problems concerning research on the relation between altruism and religion and on defining altruism. Then she moves on to give examples of altruism research from a Finnish context, thus adding a contemporary Nordic perspective to the preceding discussions in Ammerman’s and Monroe’s articles. Pessi’s case studies illustrate the current connections between altruism and religion both on individual and institutional levels. The situation in the Nordic countries—where the connections between the states and the Lutheran churches have been tight and churches are deeply involved in welfare work—is in many ways different from the u.s. situation that is analyzed in Ammerman’s article. Despite the strong institutional position of the Lutheran church, people’s experiences and expectations of the church’s welfare work are different from what is expected from the state welfare. The church welfare is, nonetheless, attributed some characteristics of voluntary work. Consequently, Pessi argues in her concluding discussion that despite their diminishing role, the churches could also, by tackling social problems, function as “institutions of authenticity,” offering people who suffer from “malaises of modernity” some of the “horizons of significance” that C. Taylor has called for. Part 3 is concluded with two commentary articles: Risto Saarinen reviews the contributions from the viewpoint of a systematic theologian, and Grace Davie offers her comments from the viewpoint of a sociologist. References American Religious Landscapes and Political Attitudes, The Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life, Surveys, September 2004. [http://pewforum.org/].

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Ammerman, Nancy T. Pillars of Faith: American Congregations and their Partners. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2005. Ammerman, Nancy T. “Religious Identities and Religious Institutions.” Pages 207–24 in Handbook of the Sociology of Religion. Edited by Michele Dillon. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Ammerman, Nancy T. “Religion, the State and the Common Good: Shifting Boundaries in Europe and the United States.” Pages 21–34 in Welfare and Religion. Edited by Anders Bäckström. Uppsala: Diakoniavetenskapliga Institutet, 2005. Atran, Scott. “Psychological Origins and Cultural Evolution of Religion.” Pages 209–38 in Grounding Social Sciences in Cognitive Sciences. Edited by Ron Sun. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2012. Atran, Scott, and Joseph Henrich. “The Evolution of Religion: How Cognitive By-Products, Adaptive Learning Heuristics, Ritual Displays, and Group Competition Generate Deep Commitments to Prosocial Religions.” Biological Theory 5(1) (2010): 18–30. Batson, C.D., M.H. Bolen, J.A. Cross, and H.E. Neuringer-Benefiel. “Where is the Altruism in the Altruistic Personality?” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 50 (1986): 212–20. Boyer, Pascal. “A Reductionistic Model of Distinct Modes of Religious Transmission.” Pages 3–29 in Mind and Religion: Psychological and Cognitive Foundations of Religiosity. Edited by Harvey Whitehouse and Robert N. McCauley. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press, 2005. Breggin, Peter R. The Heart of Being Helpful: Empathy and the Creation of a Healing Presence. New York: Springer Publishing, 1997. Churchland, Paul M. The Engine of Reason, the Seat of the Soul. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1995. Cnaan, Ram A., Stephanie C. Boddie, Femida Handy, Gaynor I. Yancey, and Richard Schneider. The Invisible Caring Hand: American Congregations and the Provision of Welfare. New York: New York University Press, 2002. Durkheim, Emile. The Division of Labor in Society. Translated by W.D. Halls. London: Macmillan Publishers, 1984. Eisenberg, Nancy. The Development of Prosocial Behavior. New York: Academic Press, 1982. Field, Alexander J. Altruistically Inclined? The Behavioral Sciences, Evolutionary Theory and the Origins of Reciprocity. Ann Arbor: University of Michigan Press, 2004. Galston, William A. “Cosmopolitan Altruism.” Pages 118–34 in Altruism. Edited by E.F. Paul, F.D. Miller Jr., and J. Paul. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Gnilka, Joachim. Das Evangelium nach Markus (Mk 8, 27–16, 20). EvangelischKatholischer Kommentar Zum Neuen Testament II/2. Zürich/Neukirchen-Vluyn: Benziger Verlag/Neukirchener Verlag, 1979. Gordon, Mary. Roots of Empathy: Changing the World Child by Child. New York: The Experiment Press, 2009.

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Habito Ruben L.F., and Keishin Inaba, eds. The Practice of Altruism: Caring and Religion in Global Perspective. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2006. Kitcher, P. “Psychological Altruism, Evolutionary Origins, and Moral Rules.” Philosophical Studies (1998) 89(2–3): 283–316. Kloppenborg Verbin, John. Excavating Q: The History and Setting of the Sayings Gospel. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2000. Korsgaard, M.A., B.M. Meglino, and S.W. Lester. “Beyond Helping. Do Other-Oriented Values Have Broader Implications in Organizations?” Journal of Applied Psychology 82 (1997): 160–77. Kottler, Jeffrey. Doing Good: Passion and Commitment for Helping Others. Philadelphia: Brunner-Routledge, 2000. Leis-Peters, Annette. “The Estonia Disaster: The Church of Sweden as Public Service Provider of Rituals.” Pages 187–99 in Disaster Ritual, Explorations of an Emerging Ritual Repertoire. Edited by P. Post, A. Nugteren et al., Liturgia Condenda 15. Leuven: Peeters, 2003. Leis-Peters, Annette. “Protestants Agents of Welfare in Germany.” Pages 56–122 in Churches in Europe as Agents of Welfare, Working paper 2:1 and 2:2 from the Project Welfare and Religion in a European Perspective. Edited by Anne Birgitta Yeung, Ninna Edgardh Beckman, and Per Pettersson. Uppsala: Uppsala Institute for Diaconal and Social Studies, 2006. Luomanen, Petri. Entering the Kingdom of Heaven: A Study on the Structure of Matthew’s View of Salvation. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament II/101. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1998. Macedo, Stephen, and Josiah Ober, eds. Primates and Philosophers: How Morality Evolved. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006. Mäntysaari, Mikko. “Hyvinvointivaltiota kehittämässä: Richard Titmuss ja sosiaalihuolto,” [Developing the Welfare State: Richard Titmuss and Social Care]. Pages 388–405 in Hyvinvointivaltio, Edited by J. Saari. Helsinki: Yliopistopaino, 2005. May, Larry, Marilyn Friedman, and Andy Clark, eds. Mind and Morals: Essays on Ethics and Cognitive Science. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1996. McConkey Robinson, James. Jesus according to the Earliest Witness. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007. Meeks, Wayne. The Origins of Christian Morality: The First Two Centuries. New Haven and London: Yale University Press, 1993. Middlemiss, Martha. “The Anglican Church as an Agent of Welfare.” Pages 1–55 in Churches in Europe as Agents of Welfare, Working paper 2:1 and 2:2 from the Project Welfare and Religion in a European Perspective. Edited by Anne Birgitta Yeung, Ninna Edgardh Beckman, and Per Pettersson. Uppsala: Uppsala Institute for Diaconal and Social Studies, 2006.

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Monroe, Kristen Renwick. “John Donne’s People: Explaining Differences between Rational Actors and Altruists through Cognitive Frameworks.” Journal of Politics 53(2) (1991): 394–433. Monroe, Kristen Renwick. The Heart of Altruism. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996. Monroe, Kristen Renwick. “Explicating Altruism.” Pages 106–22 in Altruism and Altruistic Love: Science, Philosophy, and Religion in Dialogue. Edited by S.G. Post, L.G. Underwood, J.P. Schloss, and W.B. Hurlbut., Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Monroe, Kristen Renwick. The Hand of Compassion. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2004. Monroe, Kristen Renwick. Ethics in an Age of Terror and Genocide: Identity and Moral Choice. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012. Paul, E.F., F.D. Miller Jr., and J. Paul, eds. Altruism. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1993. Pessi, Anne Birgitta. “Spirit of Altruism? On the Role of the Finnish Church as a Promoter of Altruism of Individuals and of Society.” Pages 184–210 in On behalf of Others: The Morality of Care in a Global World. Edited by K. Monroe and S. Scuzzarello. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Pilavin, Jane Allyn, and Hong-Wen Charng. “Altruism: A Review of Recent Theory and Research.” Annual Review of Sociology 16 (1990): 27–65. Pyysiäinen, Ilkka. “The Cognitive Science of Religion,” Pages 21–37 in Evolution, Religion, and Cognitive Science. Edited by Fraser Watts and Leon Turner. Cambridge University Press, 2014. Pyysiäinen, Ilkka, and Marc Hauser. “The Origins of Religion: Evolved Adaptation or By-product?” Trends in Cognitive Sciences 14(3) (2010): 104–09. Quinn, Philip L. Divine Commands and Moral Requirements. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978. Rushton, J. Philippe. “The Altruistic Personality.” Pages 251–66 in Altruism and Helping Behavior. Edited by J.P. Rushton and R.M. Sorrentino. Hillsdale: Erlbaum, 1981. Saari, Juho, Sakari Kainulainen, and Anne Birgitta Yeung. Altruismi: Antamisen lahja Suomen evankelis-luterilaisessa kirkossa [Altruism: The gift of giving in the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland.] Helsinki: Yliopistopaino, 2005. Saarinen, Risto. God and the Gift: An Ecumenical Theology of Giving. Unitas Books. Collegeville: Liturgical Press, 2005. Sanders, E.P. Paul and Palestinian Judaism: A Comparison of Patterns of Religion. London: SCM, 1977. Sanderson, Stephen K., and W.W. Roberts. “The Evolutionary Forms of Religious Life: A Cross-Cultural, Quantitative Analysis.” American Anthropologist 110 (2008): 454–66.

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Schloss, Jeffrey P., and Michael Murray. “Evolutionary Accounts of Beliefs in Supernatural Punishment: A Critical Review.” Religion, Brain & Behavior 1(1) (2011): 46–99. Shariff, Azim. “Big Gods Were Made for Big Groups.” Religion, Brain & Behavior 1(1) (2011): 89–93. Sherman, Amy. “Churches as Government Partners: Navigating ‘Charitable Choice’.” Christian Century 117 (2000): 716–21. Singer, P. The Expanding Circle: Ethics and Sociobiology. New York: New American Library, 1981. Sinnott-Armstrong, Walter, ed. Moral psychology 1–3. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2008. Smith, John Maynard. “The Origin of Altruism,” review of Unto Others: The Evolution and Psychology of Unselfish Behavior, by Elliott Sober and David Sloan Wilson. Nature 393 (1998): 639–40. Sober, Elliott, and David Sloan Wilson. Unto Others: The Evolution and Psychology of Unselfish Behavior. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1998. Sorokin, Pitirim A. Altruistic Love: A Study of American “Good Neighbors” and Christian Saints. Boston: Beacon Press, 1950. Stark, Rodney. The Rise of Christianity: A Sociologist Reconsiders History. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996. [= The Rise of Christianity: How the Obscure, Marginal Jesus Movement Became the Dominant Force in the Western World in a Few Centuries. San Francisco: HarperCollins, 1997.] Trivers, Robert L. “The Evolution of Reciprocal Altruism,” Quarterly Review of Biology 46 (1971): 35–57. Waal, Frans de. Primates and Philosophers: How Morality Evolved? Edited and introduced by S. Macedo, and J. Ober. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2009. Waal, Frans de. The Age of Empathy: Nature’s Lessons for a Kinder Society. New York: Harmony Books, 2009. Yeung, Anne Birgitta. “A Trusted Institution of Altruism: The Social Engagement of the Nordic Churches.” Pages 98–124 in Practice of Altruism: Caring and Religion in Global Perspective. Edited by Ruben L.F. Habito and Keishin Inaba. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2006. Yeung, Anne Birgitta, Ninna Edgardh Beckman, and Per Pettersson, eds. Churches in Europe as Agents of Welfare. Working papers 2:1 and 2:2 from the Project Welfare and Religion in a European Perspective. Uppsala: Uppsala Institute for Diaconal and Social Studies, 2006. Zetterholm, Magnus. Approaches to Paul: A Student’s Guide to Recent Scholarship. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2009.

part 1 Morality and Religion: Setting the Evolutionary and Philosophical Scene

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Moral Gods and the Origins of Human Cooperation Petri Ylikoski 1 Introduction What was the role of belief in gods in the development of human prosociality and cooperation? The emergence of large-scale human cooperation is a theoretical puzzle that has given rise to a number of quite different hypotheses. Several authors have suggested that religion could have played a crucial role in the expansion of human altruism beyond kinship. This study focuses on and questions the specific claim that belief in supernatural surveillance and punishment (ssp) played a crucial role in the evolution of human cooperation. I will argue that the idea of gods being interested in human morals is a quite late idea and that the most crucial developments in human social organization had already occurred when it arose. The religious ideas associated with the Axial religions have had a significant historical influence, but only during the last 2000 years. More generally, I suggest that this case study on the status of the ssp hypothesis also provides a methodological lesson. We should not treat religion as a natural kind that has a belief in moral gods as its essential feature. Attributing modern ideas about gods to early thinking about supernatural agents is a major methodological failure. If we are truly interested in the evolution and history of human morality we should be much more sensitive to the historical development of religious ideas. In other words, we should avoid anachronistic inferences in the study of religion and morality. 2

The Problem of Human Cooperation and Religion

The topic of this study is the role of religion in the evolution of the human capacity for moral behavior. This is a huge topic that includes two very complicated issues: religion and morality, neither of which will I discuss fully. As to religion, I will only discuss a specific group of ideas about gods. More precisely, I will focus on the idea that gods are motivated to evaluate human moral behavior and capable of acting on this judgment, either in this world or in the afterlife. Thus I will say nothing about gods as objects of worship or about their role in cosmological theories. Moreover, religion includes much © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi 10.1163/9789004343535_003

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more than its ideas about gods: for example, religious experiences, rituals, specific­social practices, and so on. I will say nothing about these either. However, one of the main conclusions of the study is that if one is interested in the role religion has played in the evolution of human morality, one should focus more on these other aspects of religion. Another important lesson would be that treating religion as a natural kind is a script for disaster in studies that track long-term historical developments. I will return to these lessons at the end of the discussion. As well, I address morality only partially. I will only discuss altruistic helping, prosociality, and large-scale cooperation, as these are concepts that are used in the literature that I am addressing.1 These behavioral concepts are not the same as morality: they do not necessarily involve moral emotions (such as guilt, shame, indignation, or anger), moral conscience, or moral reasoning that appeals to moral standards. However, they provide a context in which the latter have evolved. The unique human capacity and motivation for moral cognition evolved for the purposes of social life, and it is plausible to assume that the key changes in prosociality and cooperation would be indicators of changes in our ancestors’ moral cognition. The organization of human social life provided a matrix for the evolution of morality, and for this reason can be used as a proxy for its development. The specific idea I will be addressing is the supernatural surveillance and punishment hypothesis (ssp), which claims that the idea of supernatural surveillance and punishment played a crucial role in the emergence of human cooperation. The key idea is that once people began believing in supernatural agents that are interested in how humans behave, the fear of punishment by these ever-present observers made them behave in a more prosocial manner. Thus they would abstain from breaking social norms even in situations where other group members would not have been able to observe them. We can distinguish two versions of this hypothesis in the recent literature. According to what I call the “early” version, the emergence of the idea of ssp explains the emergence of cooperation during the Pleistocene.2 In contrast, the “late” hypothesis states that ssp contributed crucially to the emergence of large-scale 1 Benoît Dubreuil, Human Evolution and the Origins of Hierarchies (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010). 2 D.D.P. Johnson and O. Krüger, “The Good of Wrath: Supernatural Punishment and the Evolution of Cooperation,” Political Theology 5 (2004): 159–76; D.D.P. Johnson, “God’s Punishment and Public goods,” Human Nature 16 (2005): 410–46; D.D.P Johnson and J. Bering, “Hand of God, Mind of Man: Punishment and Cognition in the Evolution of Cooperation,” Evolutionary Psychology 4 (2006): 219–33.

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cooperation during the Holocene.3 The differences between these hypotheses do not merely concern the timing of the influence, but also concern the evolutionary mechanisms by which ssp had its influence. Here is the idea of the early version in the words of its main advocates: If the chance and costs of exposure are high enough, individuals who were more likely to refrain from cheating for fear of supernatural agents concerned with group norms (indeed, such agents are often the proposed authors of these norms) and who punish defectors by inflicting misfortune (on both the self and innocent others) could have out-reproduced otherwise equal—and more indiscriminately selfish—individuals.4 These authors propose that what prompted our ancestors to adopt non-selfish and group-oriented behaviors was a belief in supernatural punishment. The key idea is that believing in ssp induced people to make a self-interested calculation—they attempted to avoid supernatural punishment either in this life or in the afterlife—that led them to adopt more prosocial behaviors. As a result of these decisions, those ancestors who were able to entertain such beliefs about supernatural punishers were able to acquire a clear advantage in terms of biological fitness. The hypothesis is not very specific about the timing, but we can roughly identify the evolutionary period. First, the hypothesis presupposes an ability to operate with mental concepts.5 Thus believing in supernatural surveillance and punishment is only possible after the development of the theory of mind. Second, as human cooperation did not begin as large scale cooperation, the proposed mechanism had to have started working before the development of large-scale societies some 10,000 years ago. This timing is not very precise, but it helps us distinguish the early hypothesis from the late one, as the latter is exclusively focused on the development of later large-scale cooperation. Another distinguishing feature of the early hypothesis is the proposed evolutionary mechanism. Supporters of the early hypothesis talk about the 3 Azim F. Shariff and Ara Norenzayan, “God Is Watching You: Priming God Concepts Increases Prosocial Behavior in an Anonymous Economic Game,” Psychological science 18 (2007): 803–09; Azim F. Shariff, Ara Norenzayan, and Joseph Henrich, “The Birth of High Gods: How the Cultural Evolution of Supernatural Policing Influenced the Emergence of Complex, Cooperative Human Societies, Paving the Way for Civilization,” in Evolution, Culture, and the Human Mind, ed. Mark Schaller et al., (New York: Psychology Press, 2010), 119–36; see also Philip Kitcher, The Ethical Project (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2011). 4 Johnson and Bering, “Hand of God,” 227–28. 5 Idem, “Hand of God.”

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individual-level genetic advantages of belief in ssp, thus suggesting that we have biologically adapted to it. The nature of the underlying adaptation is not made clear, but presumably it involves changes in cognition that make the adoption of ssp-like beliefs easier and facilitate ssp-related thinking. The idea of biological adaptation of course implies that the evolutionary build-up of these cognitive features should have begun a long time ago. In contrast, the late hypothesis claims that the effects of ssp on human cooperation are from an evolutionary perspective quite recent. According to this version of the hypothesis, belief in ssp is a cultural adaptation. Here the key idea presented by prominent supporters of the late hypothesis is presented as follows: … omniscient, moralizing supernatural agents derived from a suite of religious beliefs that were culturally selected for their ability to galvanize cooperation in larger groups, promote in-group cohesion, and foster competition with other social groups.6 Supporters of the late version propose cultural group selection as the key evolutionary mechanism. The central idea is that groups with ssp-like ideas have been favored by cultural evolution. These groups were more successful in tasks that required large-scale cooperation—such as building irrigation systems, conducting warfare and developing extensive trade networks—making their survival and growth more probable.7 This hypothesis does not presuppose a process of genetic adaptation; rather it is based on the social transmission of ideas. The notion is simply that groups whose members believed in supernatural surveillance were more prone to act prosocially in new situations where the mechanisms that supported cooperation in smaller hunter-gatherer societies—such as surveillance by others, reputation and the threat of social isolation—could not function. So here the key idea is not the initiation of cooperation, but the expansion of cooperation to a scale that makes larger societies possible. Note that the early and late hypotheses are analytically distinct; they are not formally incompatible, and it is possible to subscribe to both. For example, Dominic Johnson might support both.8 However, I want to clearly distinguish the two hypotheses as conceptually distinct hypotheses whose fate will be determined by quite different bodies of evidence. 6 Shariff, Norenzayan, and Henrich, “The Birth of High Gods,” 119. 7 Idem, “The Birth of High Gods.” 8 Johnson, “God’s Punishment.”

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In what follows, I will focus mostly on the early hypothesis. This is because it links the idea of ssp with the emergence of human morality, while the late hypothesis already presupposes humans having some kind of morality. I will also ignore some of the salient theoretical problems concerning the formulations of the early hypothesis. For example, Johnson and Bering seem to confuse evolutionary, behavioral, and psychological selfishness in a manner that ultimately makes their model incoherent. Secondly, they quite optimistically assume that a rather simple prisoner’s dilemma model captures the most crucial social dilemma of our hunter-gatherer ancestors. This optimism has been challenged by more recent theorizing in evolutionary game theory.9 Finally, they are very silent about the evolutionary and genetic mechanisms underlying our presumed adaptation to ssp-like beliefs.10 I will only focus on the evidence that could support the hypothesis and how implicit essentialist assumptions about religion lead to mistaken claims about evidential support. 3

The Experimental Evidence

ssp supporters have appealed to certain experimental evidence. I will here deal only with the two most prominent examples and use them to make some observations about the relevance of the contemporary experimental data. The first experiments to be considered are the priming experiments of Azim Shariff and Ara Norenzayan. In them, the subjects were first primed with Godrelated or neutral concepts in order to implicitly activate their God-related thoughts, after which they were asked to participate in an economic game (the Dictator game) that measured their willingness to give to anonymous coplayers. The results showed that people primed with ideas associated with God gave significantly more to anonymous strangers. Therefore thoughts about God, activated without conscious awareness, seemed to prompt greater generosity. According to Shariff and Norenzayan, these results support the idea that the imagined presence of a morally concerned supernatural watcher reduces

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N. Baumard, “Punishment Is Not a Group Adaptation,” Mind & Society 10 (2010a): 1–26; idem, “Has Punishment Played a Role in the Evolution of Cooperation? A Critical Review,” Mind & Society 9 (2010b): 171–92. See also J.P. Schloss and M.J. Murray, “Evolutionary Accounts of Belief in Supernatural Punishment: A Critical Review,” Religion, Brain & Behavior 1 (2011): 46–99, and responses to it.

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the anonymity of the situation and heightens prosocial reputational concerns, thereby increasing prosocial behavior.11 However, it is not at all clear that this inference is justified. First, the increased giving when primed with religious concepts also occurred when the subjects were atheists. Furthermore, similar effects were achieved when subjects were primed with secular morality-related concepts. These results require explanation as well. A plausible reason is that thoughts of God and thoughts of benevolence are cognitively associated, just as the ideas of law and morality are. When the ideas about God, or any other concepts associated with morality, are primed, they increase behavioral tendencies that are consistent with prosocial behavior.12 This mechanism is needed in order to explain the effects of secular priming, so it is also available for God-related priming. Thus ssp is completely unnecessary for the explanation of these experimental outcomes. The only thing these experiments show is that contemporary Americans implicitly associate God with moral behavior. This association of concepts does not require that one be religious. All that is required is the familiarity with the relevant cultural codes. Naturally, this cultural fact does nothing to show that people thousands or even tens of thousands of years ago had the same conceptual associations. Experiments that have observed that the mere presence of a picture of human eyes in a room increases human prosocial behavior are a second source of evidence.13 While the results of these experiments have been variable,14 they show that cues such as eyes (in some experiments three dots in the form of letter “v” are sufficient) can induce prosocial behavior, for example, cleaning up garbage or paying for borrowed milk. Explaining these results is not difficult. External cues such as eyes apparently trigger subconsciously implicit associations that make behavior felt to be proper in the eyes of others more probable. Given that people are sensitive to the presence of others and are concerned about their reputations, it is plausible that observational scripts related to observing others become automated and thus can be triggered subconsciously. 11 12 13

14

Ara Norenzayan and Azim F. Shariff, “The Origin and Evolution of Religious Prosociality,” Science 322 (2008): 58–62, esp. p. 60. L.W. Galen, “Does Religious Belief Promote Prosociality? A Critical Examination,” Psychological Bulletin 138 (2012): 876–906. M. Bateson, D. Nettle, and G. Roberts, “Cues of Being Watched Enhance Cooperation in a Real-World Setting,” Biology Letters 2 (2006): 412–14; M. Ernest-Jones, D. Nettle, and M. Bateson, “Effects of Eye Images on Everyday Cooperative Behavior: A Field Experiment,” Evolution and Human Behavior 32 (2011): 172–78. M. Ekström, “Do Watching Eyes Affect Charitable Giving? Evidence from a Field Experiment,” Experimental Economics 15 (2011): 530–46.

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It is difficult to explain how these observations could support the ssp hypothesis. First, the subjects in the experiments seem to have made implicit inferences about the presence of other people, not of gods. Nor did they report having thoughts about supernatural agents. So the ssp hypothesis seems to have only a tenuous relation to these experiments. Furthermore, the hypothesis is not about external observational cues, but about beliefs about supernatural agents and their motivation. Unless the theory implausibly assumes that people entertain explicit beliefs about morally concerned gods, it needs a mechanism by which these beliefs are activated in morally relevant situations. This ability to recognize situations that are morally relevant sounds very much like conscience. If ssp is presented as an explanation of the origins of human morality, as it is in the early hypothesis, a presupposition like this sounds illegitimate, or at least question-begging. This critical point can be extended to other experiments. For example, if university students who have been casually told that the ghost of a dead student had been spotted in the experiment room cheat less in computer tasks,15 we should treat this suggestion as a cue analogical to the eyes on the wall. Similarly, if children obey instructions better when they are told that a fictional supernatural agent—Princess Alice—is watching them, we are dealing with a similar cue about the presence of others. Although the agents in these experiments are supernatural, they can still be interpreted as cues to implicit processes that are related to observing other persons. Furthermore, such agents are in any case far removed from the moral gods presupposed by the ssp hypothesis. They would at most observe how persons might behave, but they are not assumed to be either able or motivated to punish violations. Therefore these experiments do not support the ssp hypothesis, although they are compatible with it. A similar failing can be recognized in appeals to contemporary nonexperimental­evidence. Often cited by those who support the ssp hypothesis is a study by Sosis and Alcorta,16 who compared the longevity of secular and religious communes in 19th century North America and observed that the life expectancy of religious communes was longer. Sosis and Alcorta use this evidence to support their own costly signaling theory of religion. Their paper does not discuss the role of believing in supernatural surveillance and punishment, which is understandable as the costly signaling theory is mostly about rituals. 15 16

J.M. Bering, “The Folk Psychology of Souls,” Behavioral and Brain Sciences 29 (2006): 453–61. R. Sosis and C. Alcorta, “Signaling, Solidarity, and the Sacred: The Evolution of Religious Behavior,” Evolutionary Anthropology 12 (2003): 264–74.

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It is surprising that supporters of the ssp hypothesis are so eager to cite this study in support of their own hypothesis. Formally, the evidence provided by Sosis and Alcorta is compatible with the ssp hypothesis, but fails to support it. Many aspects of religious community life could explain the longevity observed in these communes, so it is a mistake to automatically assume that a belief in ssp is the cause, even if it is beyond doubt that these Christian sects did in fact believe in ssp. These appeals to apparently irrelevant evidence call for an explanation. I would propose that the key mistake made by ssp supporters is essentialist thinking about religion. Because they assume that a belief in supernatural agents who are motivated and able to observe and punish comprises the core of any religion, they automatically assume that this core feature is also responsible for the important consequences of religion. This is a fallacy. Religion contains many elements—including religious experience, beliefs and doctrines (e.g., concerning cosmology, history, and morals), sacred texts, rituals, communities and organizations—that are not systematically associated with each other. For example, only some religions are based on the idea of moral gods. It is also a mistake to assume that all consequences of religion—such as its prosocial or less positive effects—are due to its particularly religious elements.17 Simply put, there is no core essence of religion that is responsible for all of its most significant causal effects. These effects must be studied on a case-by-case basis, and one should avoid anachronistic inferences from present religions to past ones. Thus the assumptions about the religious life among ancestral hunter-gatherers or inhabitants of early state-like societies are something that cannot be made as a matter of course, but must be supported by evidence. 4

The Long History of Religions

Both ssp hypotheses are basically historical claims about the past. The early hypothesis states that hunter-gatherers who predate large-scale societies believed in ssp and that it played a crucial role in the evolution and development of human cooperation. In contrast, the late hypothesis states that ssp played a crucial role in the emergence of large-scale human cooperation during and after the invention of agriculture some 10,000 years ago. The formulation of the late hypothesis is vague, but I assume that the claim concerns the time before the Axial Age, as otherwise the hypothesis would have little novelty value. The key question with respect to both hypotheses is the question of when people 17

Galen, “Does Religious Belief.”

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began to believe in gods who were (1) particularly interested in the moral behavior of humans toward other humans, (2) powerful enough to control events in the world and especially in the afterlife, (3) knowledgeable about people’s behavior (and maybe even about their inner thoughts), and (4) possibly impartial, or even benevolent, with respect to the members of the religious group. The key idea here is that gods are assumed to be interested in how well people obey the norms that govern relations between humans, rather than being merely focused on obedience to the rules that concern relations between the god(s) and humans. Another important idea is that of an afterlife. The idea of reward and punishment in this life is probably quite difficult to sustain for long periods of time, so we also have to consider when people began to believe in a morally contingent afterlife, i.e., an afterlife that depends on judgments of their moral behavior during their lives. Let us start with what is known about ancestral hunter-gatherers. All humans lived as nomadic hunter-gatherers until the invention of agriculture (and pastoralism developed in parallel with agriculture). Based on observations about later hunter-gatherers, some things can confidently be said about their social organization.18 These people lived in small groups that consisted of both relatives and non-relatives; furthermore, the kinship relationships created networks of relations among these groups.19 Hunter-gatherer societies are often characterized as being egalitarian.20 This does not mean that they exemplified modern ideas about equality, but rather that these groups lacked permanent hierarchies that would endure over generations. Bullying and other attempts at domination could be handled by collective action (the invention of hunting weapons was a great leveler in this respect) or by simply leaving the group.21 Ancestral hunter-gatherers probably had various rituals and customs that we would characterize as religious. (Naturally they would not have had our notion of religion, as they had nothing to contrast it with.) But what about their beliefs with respect to gods? They definitely had mind-reading ability and language, which are preconditions for belief in gods and other supernatural agents. Given what we know about human cognition, we can be quite confident­ 18

F.W. Marlowe, “Hunter-Gatherers and Human Evolution,” Evolutionary Anthropology 14 (2005): 54–67. 19 K.R. Hill et al., “Co-Residence Patterns in Hunter-Gatherer Societies Show Unique Human Social Structure,” Science 331 (6022) (2011): 1286; C.L. Apicella et al., “Social Networks and Cooperation in Hunter-Gatherers,” Nature 481 (7382) (2012): 497–501. 20 J. Woodburn, “Egalitarian Societies,” Man 17 (1982): 431–51; Christopher Boehm, Hierarchy in the Forest: The Evolution of Egalitarian Behavior (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999). 21 Boehm, Hierarchy in the Forest.

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that these people had minds that were active in the detection of agency and biased towards giving intentional explanations for things. Thus they definitely postulated various agents that we would call supernatural.22 Similarly, they had an ability for “mental time-travel” and meta-representation, so there is little doubt they had beliefs concerning what might occur after death. This assumption is also supported by archaeological grave findings. None of this is in dispute. However, the key point is that these things are not sufficient grounds for the early ssp hypothesis. What was needed were powerful gods interested in the moral behaviors of humans and beliefs about a morally contingent afterlife. As far as I can judge, there is very little evidence of these. A look at comparative anthropological research is revealing. It takes as its starting point collections and atlases of ethnographic descriptions of different societies and conducts statistical analyses of the co-occurrence of attributes of interest. As the analysis of all known societies would be very time-consuming and pose serious methodological problems, the researchers typically operate on samples of human societies. For instance, the Standard Cross-Cultural Sample, containing some 186 societies, has been popular in recent research as it is assumed to provide a representative sample of world cultures.23 While these comparative studies have their methodological problems—such as many of   the cultures having been influenced by missionaries,24 the uneven skill level of the ethnographers, and various biases introduced by the informants used25—they provide a valuable perspective on human religion. Peoples and Marlowe (2012) studied the relationship between a society’s mode of subsistence and its beliefs in gods.26 Regarding the latter, they used Guy Swanson’s famous High God variable. A High God is a spirit who is said to 22 23

24 25 26

Ilkka Pyysiäinen, Supernatural Agents: Why We Believe in Souls, Gods, and Buddhas (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009). J. Snarey, “The Natural Environment’s Impact upon Religious Ethics: A Cross-Cultural Study,” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 35 (1996): 85–96; F.L. Roes and M. Raymond, “Belief in Moralizing Gods,” Evolution and Human Behavior 24 (2003): 126–35; Johnson, “God’s Punishment”; S.K. Sanderson and W.W. Roberts, “The Evolutionary Forms of the Religious Life: A Cross-Cultural, Quantitative Analysis.” American Anthropologist 110 (2008): 454–66; P. Bourrat, Q.D. Atkinson, and R.I.M. Dunbar, “Supernatural Punishment and Individual Social Compliance Across Cultures,” Religion, Brain & Behavior 1 (2011): 119–34; H.C. Peoples and F.W. Marlowe, “Subsistence and the Evolution of Religion,” Human Nature 23(3) (2012): 253–69. Snarey, “The Natural Environment’s Impact.” Michael Horace Barnes, Stages of Thought: The Co-Evolution of Religious Thought and Science (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000). Peoples and Marlowe, “Subsistence and the Evolution.”

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have created all reality and/or is reality’s ultimate governor. The variable can have four different values. People might (1) have no ideas about High Gods, (2) believe that High Gods exist, but that they are not active in human affairs, (3) believe that High Gods are active in human affairs, or (4) believe that High Gods are morally interested in human affairs. This is a very interesting variable, as the ssp hypothesis presupposes that people believe in gods who are active and morally interested in human affairs. In fact, if we take seriously the suggestions about genetic adaptation, the early hypothesis predicts that believing in moral High Gods should be universal. (The late hypothesis is more tolerant of the variation.) Thus societies that lack moral High Gods count as evidence against the ssp hypothesis. If the High Gods are absent, or are believed to be inactive or uninterested in moral issues, they cannot serve as guarantors of social order. Peoples and Marlowe’s results are quite clear. Of the 33 forager societies they examined, only 4 had active or moral High Gods. This indicates that something is seriously wrong with the early hypothesis. If the hunter-gatherer societies that modern explorers and anthropologists have encountered mostly lack a belief in moral High Gods, it is not plausible to assume that ancestral hunter-gatherers who lived tens of thousands years ago had such beliefs. Other comparative studies27 support this conclusion: ideas about High Gods become prevalent only when the size and complexity of the society increases. What about the late hypothesis? The lack of moral High Gods among hunter-­gatherers is compatible with it. Foragers who live in small and mobile egalitarian groups have little use for the social constraints of High Gods (who are somewhat like “high rulers”) as their societies do not produce many large-scale social action problems.28 The late hypothesis also receives partial support, as things like the size of the society, the mode of subsistence, and the complexity of social relations correlate with believing in High Gods and  other dimensions of the development of religion. For example, Peoples  and Marlowe suggest that an important selective force promoting the concept of a morally concerned High God was the herding and keeping of animals. The herding of animals means a world full of moment-to-moment contingencies requiring cooperation, and the wealth that accumulates increases the probability of raiding and warfare. Similarly, settled agriculturalists who rely on a 27

28

Snarey, “The Natural Environment’s Impact”; Roes and Raymond, “Belief in Moralizing Gods”; S.K. Sanderson and W.W. Roberts, “The Evolutionary Forms of the Religious Life: A Cross-Cultural, Quantitative Analysis,” American Anthropologist 110 (2008): 454–66; Bourrat, Atkinson, and Dunbar, “Supernatural Punishment.” Peoples and Marlowe, “Subsistence and the Evolution.”

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controlled production of resources within a circumscribed area face similar threats. The greater food production will also ultimately increase the group size, thus increasing the need for social coordination. In such a situation, the idea of a High God who sets codes of conduct and who backs them with the threat of supernatural punishment could be useful. However, this comparative data provides no decisive support for the late ssp hypothesis, which is basically a historical hypothesis stating that the belief in ssp played an important or crucial role in the emergence of large-scale human cooperation. The problem with the comparative studies in this regard is twofold. First, their data concern relatively recent societies, so they cannot inform us about when the relevant religious ideas were developed and whether they had been transmitted from one society to another. Second, the results of the comparative studies are basically correlational and thus say little about the direction of causal influence. For example, believing in High Gods could be either a precondition for the emergence of state-like societies (as the ssp hypothesis seems to suggest) or a consequence of the emergence of such societies. (For example, the hierarchy of the pantheons of gods might have come to reflect the political relationships between groups, as occurred in Mesopotamia.29) The status of the late ssp hypothesis can only be decided on the basis of historical evidence. Unfortunately, we lack such evidence. Perhaps we will never conclusively know whether the late ssp hypothesis identifies an important (or insignificant) factor in the development of large-scale societies. However, I would like to suggest that the almost complete lack of evidence about ssp before the Axial Age supports a negative assessment of the late ssp hypothesis. I am not suggesting that this absence of evidence is evidence of absence. We do know something about early states and the first civilizations.30 If the idea of supernatural surveillance and punishment did play a crucial role in their emergence, one needs an explanation of why it is not present in the evidence we have. For example, we know a great deal about the Roman Empire. The Roman pantheon of deities does not contain morally concerned gods, nor do the pantheons of those cultures whose religious ideas the Romans adopted. Of course, Rome ultimately adopted a religion in which the idea of ssp plays a central role, but this occurred much later. We can discuss whether Christianity hastened or delayed the decline of Rome, but it played no role in its rise.

29 30

See Jean Bottéro, Religion in Ancient Mesopotamia (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2011). Bruce G. Trigger, Understanding Early Civilizations. A Comparative Study (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003).

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Although we know much less about other and earlier civilizations, I suggest that we can use the absence of ssp in Rome as a template for them. What was possible in Rome must have also been possible elsewhere and earlier. At the least, a belief is ssp cannot be a necessary condition for the evolution of large-scale social cooperation and complex societies. Thus the argumentative strategy in which ssp is presented as the only conceivable mechanism making large-scale cooperation possible is no longer viable, if it ever was. Furthermore, as the non-ssp scenario is thus established as the default option, the burden of proof is on the supporters of the late ssp hypothesis. They should provide evidence of ssp-like beliefs having had a significant influence if their theory is to be a serious contender in discussions about the emergence of large-scale societies. 5

The Cognitive Requirements for Theological Sophistication

Why did ancestral hunter-gatherers not believe in ssp? The probable reason is that the idea of an all-powerful and morally concerned god is quite complex and its development has many preconditions. First, the idea does not automatically arise from the everyday attributions of agency, as Bering and his associates seem to suggest. In fact, the formulation of an idea such as this requires abstract thinking and a systematization of beliefs that probably does not occur in small groups having an oral tradition. As Sanderson and Roberts argue, writing and records were crucial prerequisites for the formation of monotheistic religions (which typically include the idea of ssp).31 Elaborate religious doctrines had to be written down in order to be transmitted successfully across the generations and the systematization of religious beliefs probably required external representation, such as writing. Studies of illiterate contemporary groups seem to support this assumption. Another precondition for theological sophistication is full-time specialized priests who can focus on the systematization of religious doctrines. The precondition for this priestly class, in turn, is the development of agriculture and a sufficient surplus of food. Naturally, ancestral hunter-gatherers did not have such a surplus, and their shamans did not constitute a group that could have developed and sustained detailed religious doctrines. Finally, ancestral hunter-gatherers probably had no motivation to systematize their thinking about spirits, gods, and other supernatural agents, because in contrast with later periods, they did not need to justify a central authority or political relations 31

Sanderson and Roberts, “The Evolutionary Forms of the Religious Life.”

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between different communities. Thus they did not develop such an idea, or if they had, they were unable to transmit it across the generations as it would have lacked both relevance and credibility. Before concluding this paper, I want to look at some distinctions that the supporters of the ssp hypotheses do not seem to have recognized. The first is between supernatural agency and the agency of an all-powerful god. The second is between the idea of an afterlife and that of a morally contingent afterlife. Let us begin with the idea of supernatural agency. It is probable that ancestral hunter-gatherers held beliefs about supernatural agents. They did have a full-blown theory of mind and the ability of linguistic meta-representation, so it can be expected that their “agency detection device” was indeed quite active. However, as I have already pointed out, this does not sufficiently justify the ssp hypothesis. Ethnographic records suggest that believing in active supernatural agents did influence people’s behavior, but the abilities of these agents were seen as limited, and the agents were thought to have idiosyncratic preferences. These supernatural agents were simply considered to be factors relevant to everyday life. What is crucial is that they are not particularly morally concerned with human behavior. Rather, they probably had their own, non-moral, agendas that people had to take into account. Thus the gods of the hunter-gatherers were probably more like parental figures or difficult neighbors that people had to learn to get along with, rather than all-powerful agents requiring formal worship. (Rather than being examples for humans, the ancient gods seemed to be exemplars of immoral behavior to whom the rules of human morality did not apply.) Thus threats or promises of morally motivated divine intervention only become relevant when people develop the theological idea of a morally oriented and motivated deity. And this seems to presuppose that they already could conceive of an impartial moral perspective. Precisely when this remarkable idea was developed is anyone’s guess, but in any case it indicates that people had to have sophisticated notions concerning morals before they began to attribute idealized versions of the moral perspective to their gods. Similarly, to be able to administer supernatural punishment, the relevant gods had to be relatively more powerful than ordinary spirits and minor deities. The credibility of the threat of punishment decreases significantly if it possible that the penalty might be compromised by the personal agendas of other deities. Thus a punishing God must be a kind of High God who can override the purposes of the lesser deities. Note that the idea of divine rewards and punishment for moral behavior is far from self-evident. The ancient hunter-gatherers probably adhered to a

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view many still hold today: that earthly rewards and punishments are often unfair. Moral transgressors often escape without punishment, and some who abide by the moral codes end up suffering. Without post-mortal punishment, the idea of supernatural surveillance would be a non-starter, at least in the conceptual setting of the ssp hypothesis—recall that the idea was that obedience to norms is a result of self-interested calculation. Thus the idea of a life after death is important for the ssp hypothesis. Cognitively, ideas about an afterlife are possible after the development of the theory of mind, linguistic meta-representation, and an ability for “mental time-travel.” In the light of archaeological evidence, there is no doubt that our ancestors believed in an afterlife quite early on. However, we know little about the content of their beliefs. It is probable that they varied greatly from culture to culture (as the evidential basis for them is non-existent), but presumably there was also much uncertainty about these matters (again due to the nonexistent evidential basis) among believers. It is also plausible that beliefs about the “next phase” influenced people’s behavior, at least in cases where they believed that they could influence their lot in the afterlife. However, the crucial point from our point of view is that this afterlife originally had no intrinsic connection with morality. For the idea of an afterlife to have an influence on moral behavior, the afterlife should be contingent on one’s moral conduct. Thus while the ancient Mesopotamians did recognize a kind of divine judgment that determined one’s fate in the gloomy Netherworld, this judgment was not based on considerations of lifetime piety or good conduct.32 Such judgment does not provide incentives for moral behavior, although it might motivate individuals to ensure that they would have a proper burial. This point is not limited to ancient Mesopotamia. In many religions the afterlife is dependent on carrying out the proper funeral rites, knowing the right spells, or on the gifts to be given to gods. While these things probably cause people to pay more attention to religious doctrines, they do not make them more moral or prosocial in a strict sense. Similarly, if one’s fate in the afterlife is determined by one’s social status or the possessions (including slaves) one is buried with, this would motivate people to accumulate wealth and social power, not to behave in a less selfish manner. What is needed is a god (or gods) who decide one’s fate based on one’s conduct during one’s lifetime. These godly figures would have to be both knowledgeable about and

32

Jerrold Cooper, “The Fate of Mankind: Death and Afterlife in Ancient Mesopotamia,” in Death and Afterlife. Perspectives on World Religions, ed. Hiroshi Obayashi (New York: Prager, 1992), 19–33, esp. pp. 24–6.

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interested in people’s lives in order not be fooled by the ghosts or spirits of the dead. They should also be impartial, so that they could not be bribed by those attempting to secure a more pleasant afterlife. And finally, they should have the ability to determine where the dead will ultimately end up in the afterlife. None of these ideas were self-evident for ancestral hunter-gatherers. Rather, the idea of interested, omniscient, impartial and omnipotent god is the product of a long development of ideas, and its credibility requires the support of a whole corpus of theological thought. From the point of view of this paper’s argument, what is crucial is that the ssp hypothesis requires that the afterlife be contingent on moral conduct during one’s lifetime. This seems to be a relatively recent idea. The first recorded instances are found in the Egyptian Book of Dead that is dated around 1550 bce. Of course, it is possible that similar ideas had been developed earlier and elsewhere, but it is notable that the idea of morally contingent afterlife was regarded as one of the radical new elements of Christianity when it began to spread among those peoples that lived under Roman rule. This is not good for the ssp hypothesis. Supporters of the ssp hypothesis might suggest that we simply lack evidence about the past instances of these beliefs. However, there is an important counter-argument to this notion. It is based on the idea that if people believe that the afterlife is contingent on the manner of death, details of burial ceremonies, things one takes with oneself to the grave, or one’s ability to bribe or fool the gods, these beliefs provide evidence against ssp. The point is that if people have these beliefs, it shows that they lack any belief in a morally contingent afterlife, or that their confidence in such a thing is rather low. For ssp to be effective in making people behave morally, it must be credible. If the thing is not believed to be real, the effects of the belief cannot be real either. 6 Conclusion If what I have said is mostly correct, we can conclude that the early ssp hypothesis is simply wrong and the late ssp hypothesis lacks evidence. We can therefore conclude that ssp did not play a crucial role in the evolution of human morality and cooperation. The cognitive capacities underlying moral reasoning (altruistic impulses, moral feelings, and reasoning abilities) predate moral religion based on supernatural surveillance and punishment. Thus the fear of God is not the origin of morality. Of course, this leaves us with a set of intriguing questions. How and when did the gods become increasingly moral? How did the scope of morality become universal, and what was the role of religions in this development? Why did the religions having moral gods achieve

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the dominant position they hold today?33 I have not addressed these questions, but I think we can conclude that evolutionary conjectures such as the early ssp are not part of the answer to them. However, I also think that a methodological lesson can be learned from this example. Both ssp hypotheses seem rather good exemplars of the dangers of anachronistic story telling. Underlying the anachronistic extrapolations from present day religions to the past, and the misreading of the evidence, is the assumption that religion is a natural kind whose essence is a belief in ssp. This— probably implicit—assumption made by essentialists guides their inferences and clarifies why they find supporting evidence where there is none. Thus their implicit assumption that a moral and powerful god is a prototypical supernatural agent makes it natural for them to presume that the hunter-gatherer beliefs about supernatural agents were beliefs about powerful moral gods. A similar implicit assumption drives their interpretation of beliefs in an afterlife as evidence of a belief in a morally contingent one. The same principle guides the interpretation of other pieces of evidence. The strong conviction that believing in ssp is at the core of any religion makes it natural to assume that this core feature is responsible for most of religion’s effects. Thus the advocates of ssp disregard alternative explanations of their own experimental results and of studies like Sosis and Alcorta (2003).34 The lesson we learn is that we should not treat religion as a natural kind with an essence. What we call “religion” contains a heterogeneous collection of very diverse elements—experiences, rituals, doctrines, specific social practices, etc.—that are not organized around some essential core feature. Religion also shows significant historical and cultural variance that can be lost when religion is considered in essentialist terms. Given this, “religion” is not a very good explanatory variable. We should always ask which aspect of religion is the real explanatory variable. This is particularly important when we study human evolution and history before the rise of organized religions. It is not obvious that the factor responsible is always what seems to be at the core of the contemporary western notion of religion—the belief in ssp. It might be that many more mundane aspects of religion are more important. References Apicella, C.L., F.W. Marlowe, J.H. Fowler, and N.A. Christakis. “Social Networks and Cooperation in Hunter-Gatherers.” Nature 481 (7382) (2012): 497–501. 33 34

Robert Wright, The Evolution of God (New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2009). Sosis and Alcorta, “Signaling, Solidarity, and the Sacred.”

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Barnes, Michael Horace. Stages of Thought: The Co-Evolution of Religious Thought and Science. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Bateson, M., D. Nettle, and G. Roberts. “Cues of Being Watched Enhance Cooperation in a Real-World Setting.” Biology Letters 2 (2006): 412–14. Baumard, N. “Has Punishment Played a Role in the Evolution of Cooperation? A Critical Review.” Mind & Society 9 (2010): 171–92. Baumard, N. “Punishment Is Not a Group Adaptation.” Mind & Society 10 (2010): 1–26. Bering, J.M. “The Folk Psychology of Souls.” Behavioral and Brain Sciences 29 (2006): 453–61. Boehm, Christopher. Hierarchy in the Forest: The Evolution of Egalitarian Behavior. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1999. Bottéro, Jean. Religion in Ancient Mesopotamia. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2001. Bourrat, P., Q.D. Atkinson, and R.I.M. Dunbar. “Supernatural Punishment and Individual Social Compliance across Cultures.” Religion, Brain & Behavior 1 (2011): 119–34. Cooper, Jerrold S. “The Fate of Mankind: Death and Afterlife in Ancient Mesopotamia.” Pages 19–33 in Death and Afterlife. Perspectives on World Religions. Edited by Obayashi Hiroshi. New York: Prager, 1992. Dubreuil, Benoît. Human Evolution and the Origins of Hierarchies. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Ekström, M. “Do Watching Eyes Affect Charitable Giving? Evidence from a Field Experiment.” Experimental Economics 15 (2011): 530–46. Ernest-Jones, M., D. Nettle, and M. Bateson. “Effects of Eye Images on Everyday Cooperative Behavior: A Field Experiment.” Evolution and Human Behavior 32 (2011): 172–78. Galen, L.W. “Does Religious Belief Promote Prosociality? A Critical Examination.” Psychological Bulletin 138 (2012): 876–906. Hill, K.R., R.S. Walker, M. Božičević, J. Eder, T. Headland, B. Hewlett, and A.M. Hurtado. “Co-Residence Patterns in Hunter-Gatherer Societies Show Unique Human Social Structure.” Science 331 (6022) (2011): 1286. Johnson, Dominic D.P. “God’s Punishment and Public Goods.” Human Nature 16 (2005): 410–46. Johnson, Dominic D.P., and J. Bering. “Hand of God, Mind of Man: Punishment and Cognition in the Evolution of Cooperation.” Evolutionary Psychology 4 (2006): 219–33. Johnson, Dominic D.P., and O. Krüger. “The Good of Wrath: Supernatural Punishment and the Evolution of Cooperation.” Political Theology 5 (2004): 159–76. Kitcher, Philip. The Ethical Project. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2011. Marlowe, F.W. “Hunter-Gatherers and Human Evolution.” Evolutionary Anthropology 14 (2005): 54–67.

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Norenzayan, A., and A.F. Shariff. “The Origin and Evolution of Religious Prosociality.” Science 322 (2008): 58–62. Peoples H.C., and F.W. Marlowe. “Subsistence and the Evolution of Religion.” Human Nature 23(3) (2012): 253–69. Pyysiäinen, Ilkka. Supernatural Agents: Why We Believe in Souls, Gods, and Buddhas. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Roes, F.L., and M. Raymond. “Belief in Moralizing Gods.” Evolution and Human Behavior 24 (2003): 126–35. Sanderson, S.K., and W.W. Roberts. “The Evolutionary Forms of the Religious Life: A Cross-Cultural, Quantitative Analysis.” American Anthropologist 110 (2008): 454–66. Schloss, J.P., and M.J. Murray. “Evolutionary Accounts of Belief in Supernatural Punishment: A Critical Review.” Religion, Brain & Behavior 1 (2011): 46–99. Shariff, Azim F., and Ara Norenzayan. “God Is Watching You: Priming God Concepts Increases Prosocial Behavior in an Anonymous Economic Game,” Psychological science 18 (2007): 803–09. Shariff, Azim F., Ara Norenzayan, and Joseph Henrich. “The Birth of High Gods: How the Cultural Evolution of Supernatural Policing Influenced the Emergence of Complex, Cooperative Human Societies, Paving the Way for Civilization.” Pages 119–36 in Evolution, Culture, and the Human Mind. Edited by Mark Schaller, Ara Norenzayan, Steven J. Heine, Toshio Yamagishi, Tatsuya Kameda. New York: Psychology Press. Snarey, J. “The Natural Environment’s Impact upon Religious Ethics: A Cross-Cultural Study.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 35 (1996): 85–96. Sosis, R., and C. Alcorta. “Signaling, Solidarity, and the Sacred: The Evolution of Religious Behavior.” Evolutionary Anthropology 12 (2003): 264–74. Trigger, Bruce G. Understanding Early Civilizations: A Comparative Study. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2003. Woodburn, J. “Egalitarian Societies.” Man 17 (1982): 431–51. Wright, Robert. The Evolution of God. New York: Little, Brown and Company, 2009.

The Evolution of Morality and Religion Ilkka Pyysiäinen 1

Religion, Morality, and Well-being

It is often argued (e.g., Dostoyevsky) that if God did not exist, then everything would be permissible. As Richard Taylor puts it: “The concept of moral obligation [is] unintelligible apart from the idea of God.”1 Nearly half of Americans believe that morality is impossible without belief in God; atheists are also the most distrusted minority. Whereas anti-gay prejudice is characterized by dislike, anti-atheist prejudice is based specifically on distrust.2 Sinnott-­Armstrong, however, turns the argument around in writing that if God existed, then everything would be permissible. Whatever some authority assumes God commands us to do, it is automatically our obligation to do so.3 A case in point is the Old Testament narrative about God commanding Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac. Abraham, a true believer, was ready to obey, but at the last minute God intervened and Isaac was saved. Theologians such as St. Thomas Aquinas have argued that Abraham should have understood that, in fact, God would never want such a thing; it was only a test of faith. This, however, means that we are supposed to have moral knowledge that is not based solely on divine commandments but on natural law. Congruent with this, I shall here argue that religion is not—and cannot be—the necessary basis of morality, although it may offer a way to express moral ideas and to explain their binding nature to ourselves.4 This is both a philosophical (conceptual) and an empirical problem. Sinnott-Armstrong approaches the question from a philosophical point of view, while Zuckerman’s empirical research shows that people in the most secular countries, such as Denmark, are among the happiest people, for example. Rather surprisingly, 1 Richard Taylor, Ethics, Faith, and Reason (Englewood Cliffs, nj: Prentice-Hall, 1985), 84; Dinesh D’Souza as quoted in Walter Sinnott-Armstrong, Morality Without God (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009), 41. 2 Will M. Gervais, Azim F. Shariff, and Ara Norenzayan, “Do You Believe in Atheists? Distrust Is Central to Anti-Atheist Prejudice,” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 101(6) (2011): 1189–206. 3 Sinnott-Armstrong, Morality Without God, 102–08. 4 See Pascal Boyer, “Why Do Gods and Spirits Matter at All?” in Current Approaches in the Cognitive Science of Religion, ed. I. Pyysiäinen and V. Anttonen (London: Continuum, 2002), 68–92.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi 10.1163/9789004343535_004

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countries with high rates of religiosity tend to have higher rates of homicide, juvenile mortality (including suicide), sexually transmitted diseases and adolescent pregnancy, and abortion. This does not necessarily mean that beliefs in God lead to immorality; it is rather that belief in God does not help lower homicide rates, and so forth.5 Nevertheless, Rosmarin et al.6 propose a cognitive model of worry, in which positive/negative beliefs about the Divine affect symptoms of mental disorder through the mechanism of intolerance of uncertainty. Their findings suggest that the relationship between mistrust in God and the related worry is mediated by the degree to which one tolerates uncertainty. In their study, during the course of a two-week treatment period targeting trust and mistrust in God, decreases in mistrust in God appeared to facilitate changes in worry through the mechanism of decreasing intolerance of uncertainty. The role of religion with regard to health and general well-being has been extensively studied but the results are somewhat mixed.7 Bergin,8 for example, found that in 23% of the reviewed studies there was a negative relationship between religion and mental health; in 47% of the studies the relation was positive, and in 30% there was no relationship. This is close to what one would expect by chance. Another alternative is that the results are skewed because of methodological difficulties. Almost all studies of so-called conversions, for example, suffer from various kinds of methodological shortcomings, such as near total reliance on measures of self-perceived change.9 Gartner,10 who is suspicious of the existence of such difficulties, still acknowledges the fact that the very idea of a “religious concept” has no generally

5

6 7 8 9 10

Phil Zuckerman, Society Without God: What the Least Religious Nations Can Tell Us About Contentment (New York: New York University Press, 2008); Sinnott-Armstrong, Moral Psychology, 32–33; see Kimberly Blaker, ed., The Fundamentals of Extremism: The Christian Right in America (Boston: New Boston Books, 2003). David H. Rosmarin et al., “Incorporating Spiritual Beliefs into a Cognitive Model of Worry,” Journal of Clinical Psychology 67(0) (2011): 1–10. See Ilkka Pyysiäinen, “Religion is Neither Costly, Nor Beneficial: A Commentary on Atran and Norenzayan,” Behavioral and Brain Sciences 27(6) (2004): 746. Allen E. Bergin, “Religiosity and Mental Health: A Critical Reevaluation and Meta-­ Analysis,” Professional Psychology: Research and Practice 14 (1983): 170–84. Robert A. Emmons and Raymond F. Paloutzian, “The Psychology of Religion,” Annual Review of Psychology 54 (2003): 377–402. John Gartner, “Religious Commitment, Mental Health, and Prosocial Behavior: A Review of the Empirical Literature,” in Religion and the Practice of Clinical Psychology, ed. E. Shafranske (Washington, dc: American Psychological Association, 1996), 187–214.

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accepted definition. Krymkowski and Martin,11 indeed, found that in the papers published in the Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion, beginning from 1986, religion was prominently taken to be an independent causal factor, affecting things such as abortion attitudes, alcohol consumption, and so on. Explanations are highly problematic because sufficient attention has not been paid to the mechanisms by which religion supposedly exercises its influence; the direction of causality is not always clearly established and controls are not always used. Often it is not clear what is meant by “religion.” Boyer12 goes as far as arguing that “the very existence of something called ‘religion’ is largely an illusion.” The various aspects and dimensions of what is called “religion” appear in human minds independently, not as a package. Gartner13 claims that much of the discrepancy in the findings may be explained by differences in the ways mental health is measured. It is therefore very difficult to find unequivocal causal relationships. Gartner argues that the studies that found a negative relationship between religion and mental health typically employed personality tests with only limited reliability and validity, whereas the studies that found a positive correlation were based on real-life observations concerning drug abuse, delinquency, and the like. Thus, George et al.14 conclude that “we are far from understanding the mechanisms by which religious involvement promotes health.” Kenneth Pargament15 remarks accordingly that, even when significant results are obtained, they provide only little insight into how religion works. Accordingly, the claim that religion (mostly Christianity) makes us better people faces considerable conceptual problems (see also Räisänen, this volume). Sinnott-Armstrong argues: “In order to show that atheists are immoral, theists need to show that atheists perform acts that are immoral on non-religious grounds, so that even atheists should recognize their immorality.”16 Nothing like this has been shown. About two hundred thousand people from differing 11

Daniel H. Krymkowski and Luther H. Martin, “Religion as an Independent Variable: Revisiting the Weberian Hypothesis,” Method and Theory in the Study of Religion 10 (1998): 187–98. 12 Pascal Boyer, The Fracture of an Illusion: Science and the Dissolution of Religion (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010). 13 Gartner, “Religious Commitment.” 14 Linda K. George, Christopher G. Ellison, and David B. Larson, “Explaining the Relationships Between Religious Involvement and Health,” Psychological Inquiry 13(3) (2002): 190–200. 15 Kenneth I. Pargament, “The Bitter and the Sweet: An Evaluation of the Costs and Benefits of Religiousness,” Psychological Inquiry 3(3) (2002): 168–81. 16 Sinnott-Armstrong, Moral Psychology, 17–18.

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ethnic and religious backgrounds have filled out Marc Hauser’s Moral Sense Test that was available on the Internet (http://moral.wjh.harvard.edu/), and the results show that religiosity has little or nothing to do with how people evaluate the goodness or badness and acceptability vs. non-acceptability of particular moral judgments. There are some salient cases, such as abortion, where people follow the teaching of the religious community they belong to, but as soon as they encounter analogous problems with no pre-given “right” answer, they follow their moral intuitions. It is these intuitions that seem to be panhuman and independent of religious instruction.17 Hauser’s Moral Sense Test has by now been done by about 200,000 male and female subjects, with educational levels that range from elementary school to graduate degrees, with political affiliations that range from liberal to conservative, and with religious backgrounds that range from devout to atheist.18 In the test, subjects judged the moral permissibility of actions rating them on a seven point scale (1=forbidden, 4=permissible, 7=obligatory). Each scenario involved a contrast between a harmful action and a significant benefit in terms of lives saved because of this action. If, for example, the conductor of a trolley has gone unconscious and the trolley is about to kill five persons lying on the track in its path, is it permissible to flip the switch and thus to direct the trolley to another track where there is only one person lying down? In other words, is the harm caused (one person dies) acceptable as an unintended consequence of trying to save the lives of five? Most people think so, although they cannot say why (they do not directly refer to the principle of double effect, for example19). As to the action—omission distinction, people usually regard doing something bad as more serious than failing to do something good. For example, both the Dutch and Americans consider active euthanasia more problematic than 17

18

19

Jonathan Haidt, “The Emotional Dog and Its Rational Tail,” Psychological Review 108 (2001): 814–34; idem, “The New Synthesis in Moral Psychology,” Science 316(5827) (2007): 998–1002; Dennis Krebs and Maria Janicki, “Biological Foundations of Moral Norms,” in The Psychological Foundations of Culture, ed. M. Schaller and C.S. Crandall (Mahwah, ny: Erlbaum, 2004), 125–48; Marc Hauser, Moral Minds: How Nature Designed our Universal Sense of Right and Wrong (New York: Harper Collins, 2006); Ilkka Pyysiäinen and Marc Hauser, “The Origins of Religion: Evolved Adaptation or By-product?” Trends in Cognitive Sciences 14(3) (2010): 104–09. See Hauser, Moral Minds; Pyysiäinen and Hauser, “The Origins of Religion”; Bruce Huebner, Marc D. Hauser, and Philip Pettit, “How the Source, Inevitability and Means of Bringing About Harm Interact in Holk-Moral Judgments,” Mind & Language 26(2) (2011): 210–33. This principle, known in moral philosophy, says that something bad or wrong is acceptable if it is merely an unintended consequence of doing something good (see, e.g., Austin Fagothey, Right and Reason: Ethics in Theory and Practice [St. Louis: Mosby, 1953]).

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passive euthanasia, although active euthanasia is legal in the Netherlands (but not in America).20 Hauser’s studies provide evidence for the claim that the moral judgments of subjects with a religious background do not differ from the moral judgments of atheists. Even in cases where there are statistically significant differences, the effect sizes are trivial. What religion (and other political and legal institutions) can do is only to have an effect on local and highly specific cases of reflective reasoning; they have no influence on the intuitive system that operates nonconsciously, more generally, and irrespective of religion.21 To claim that religion is necessary for morality is vague because “religion” is a heterogeneous category without any singly necessary and jointly sufficient criteria that make something an instance of “religion.”22 “Religion,” is here a scholarly construct and does not name any natural kind.23 There are religious ways of expressing moral ideas and of explaining them to ourselves, but what is referred to as “religion” is not the cause of moral behavior. The very existence of religion requires evolutionary cognitive capacities such as also underpin moral reasoning, irrespective of religion.24 2

Towards an Evolutionary History of Religion and Morality

Religion relates to morality in at least three different ways. First, morality can be seen as norms and rules laid down by ancestors or gods; second, saints and other specialists or holy persons can be seen as examples of what it is to be morally good; third, gods, ancestors, and so forth can be seen as “interested parties” in human social life.25 In this third alternative, gods are thought to 20 Hauser, Moral Minds; Pyysiäinen and Hauser, “The Origins of Religion”; Huebner et al., “How the Source.” 21 Hauser, Moral Minds; Pyysiäinen and Hauser, “The Origins of Religion,” 106–07. 22 Benson Saler, Conceptualizing Religion: Immanent Anthropologists, Transcendent Natives, and Unbound Categories (New York: Berghahn Books, 2000/1993); Boyer, The Fracture of an Illusion. 23 Pascal Boyer, The Naturalness of Religious Ideas: A Cognitive Theory of Religion (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994), 32; Lee A. Kirkpatrick, “Religion is Not an Adaptation,” in Where God and Science Meet: How Brain and Evolutionary Studies Alter Our Understanding of Religion, i–iii. Volume i, Evolution, Genes, and the Religious Brain, ed. P. McNamara (Westport, ct: Praeger, 2006), 159–80. See Pyysiäinen and Hauser, The Origins of Religion. 24 Boyer, “Why Do Gods”; idem, “Prosocial Aspects of Afterlife Beliefs: Maybe Another Byproduct. A Commentary on Bering,” Behavioral and Brain Sciences 29(5) (2006): 466. 25 Boyer, Why Do Gods.

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have direct access to all “strategic information,” that is, information about human beliefs and desires related to social life. The omniscience of gods only means that they know all that is to be known about human minds and social life, not that gods would know literally everything (for example, how long a shadow a particular grain of sand casts in the Sahara desert right now).26 Recently, religious thinking and behavior as something thoroughly natural have been put into an evolutionary perspective with scholars debating whether religion is an adaptation for cooperation or not. Evolutionary theorists have long asked how it can be that individuals often make sacrifices for the benefit of genetically unrelated others even at the cost of decreasing their own fitness (measured by the number of offspring left).27 Religion seems to have something to do with this, but what exactly? To answer the question, a few distinctions have to be made. First, we must distinguish between biological and cultural evolution; second, there is a difference between some trait being an original adaptation and it having later served adaptive functions; third, the unit of selection can in principle be either a gene, an individual, or a group; fourth, religion may have contributed to the evolution of cooperative behavior either by directly enhancing cooperation within a group or by forcing individuals to decline from cheating in fear of supernatural punishment.28 Religion involves hard-to-fake signaling such as serves as a cue for the person in question being genuinely committed and thus a reliable cooperator,29 or it provides a threat of supernatural punishment for potential cheaters.30 26 27

28

29

30

Pascal Boyer, Religion Explained: The Evolutionary Origins of Religious Thought (New York: Basic Books, 2001). William D. Hamilton “The Genetical Evolution of Social Behaviour i, ii,” Journal of Theoretical Biology 7 (1964): 1–16, 17–52; Robert Axelrod, The Evolution of Co-operation (Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1990/1984); Robert Trives, Natural Selection and Social Theory: Selected Papers of Robert Trivers (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002); Joseph Henrich et al., “Costly Punishment Across Human Societies,” Science 312 (2006): 1767–70. See Pascal Boyer and Brian Bergstrom, “Evolutionary Perspectives on Religion,” Annual Review of Anthropology 37 (2008): 111–30; Pyysiäinen and Hauser, “The Origins of Religion”; Jeffrey P. Schloss and Michael Murray, “Evolutionary Accounts of Belief in Supernatural Punishment: A Critical Review,” Religion, Brain & Behavior 1(1) (2011): 46–99 (with commentaries). E.g., Joseph Bulbulia and Uffe Schjoedt, “Religious Culture and Cooperative Prediction under Risk: Perspectives from Social Neuroscience,” in Religion, Economy, and Cooperation, ed. I. Pyysiäinen (Berlin: Mouton de Gruyter, 2010), 35–59; see also Robert K. Fleck, “Natural Selection and the Problem of Evil: An Evolutionary Model with Application to an Ancient Debate,” Zygon 46(3) (2011): 561–87. Dominic D.P. Johnson and Oliver Krüger, “The Good of Wrath: Supernatural Punishment and the Evolution of Cooperation,” Political Theology 5 (2004): 159–76; see Dominic

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Religious beliefs and rituals can serve as hard-to-fake (perhaps also costly) signals of sincere commitment to the group. Free-riders trying to exploit others’ willingness to cooperate are recognized by their non-engagement in displays of commitment using such hard-to-fake signals as giving money, expression of high emotions, devoting considerable time to religious activities, or even willingly undergoing sheer physical pain in rituals.31 Various kinds of religious rituals and taboos are signals such as promote intra-group cooperation by helping distinguish between potential free-riders and those who are sincerely committed.32 On the other hand, scholars such as Bering argue that there is a cognitive system dedicated to forming illusory representations of psychological immortality and symbolic meaning; this system evolved as a response to the unique selective pressures of the human social environment. A “representational bias for envisioning personal immortality” has enhanced the genetic fitness of individual humans in ancestral environments. Beliefs about ghosts and afterlife thus are illusory but adaptive beliefs.33 Similarly, beliefs about an all-seeing god may make people act morally because even in the absence of other humans there is still god who sees and remembers our good and bad deeds and

31 32

33

D.P. Johnson and Jesse Bering, “Hand of God, Mind of Man: Punishment and Cognition in the Evolution of Cooperation,” Evolutionary Psychology 4 (2006): 219–33; see Schloss and Murray, “Evolutionary Accounts.” See Harvey Whitehouse, Inside the Cult: Religious Innovation and Transmission in Papua New Guinea (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995). David Sloan Wilson, Darwin’s Cathedral: Evolution, Religion and the Nature of Society (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002); Richard Sosis, “Religious Behaviors, Badges, and Bans: Signaling Theory and the Evolution of Religion,” in Where God and Science Meet: How Brain and Evolutionary Studies Alter Our Understanding of Religion i–iii, ed. P. McNamara, Vol. i. (Westport, ct: Praeger, 2006), 61–86; Joseph Bulbulia and Andrew Mahoney, “Religious Solidarity: The Hand Grenade Experiment,” Journal of Cognition and Culture 8 (2008): 295–320; Joseph Bulbulia, “Why ‘Costly-Signalling’ Models of Religion Require Cognitive Psychology,” in Origins of Religion, Cognition and Culture, ed. A. Geertz (London: Routledge, 2014), 71–81; Joseph Bulbulia and Uffe Schjoedt, “Religious Culture and Cooperative Prediction under Risk: Perspectives from Social Neuroscience,” in Religion, Economy, and Cooperation, ed. I. Pyysiäinen (Berlin: De Gruyter, 2010) 35–60; Joseph Henrich, “The Evolution of Costly Displays, Cooperation, and Religion: Credibility Enhancing Displays and Their Implications for Cultural Evolution,” Evolution and Human Behavior 30 (2009): 244–60. Jesse M. Bering, “The Folk Psychology of Souls,” Behavioral and Brain Sciences 29 (2006): 453–62.

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consequently punishes and rewards us.34 Atkinson and Bourrat indeed found in their study of 87 countries that beliefs about God and afterlife independently predict the assessment of the justifiability of a range of moral transgressions, and that beliefs about the permissibility of moral transgressions are tied to beliefs about supernatural monitoring and punishment.35 There is experimental evidence that even painting eyes over an honesty box at the office kitchen makes employees put their coins in the box more scrupulously36 and children avoid cheating when they believe an invisible person is watching.37 But, as Schloss and Murray38 point out, it seems to be enough that a person assumes that someone is watching; there seems to be no need to postulate superhuman agency. Any kind of policing is enough. Johnson replies that a supernatural threat is far more efficacious than any natural counterpart. This, however, requires that the person(s) in question really believe in the power and existence of supernatural agents.39 We may, then, ask which comes first, cooperation or beliefs about moralizing gods. Bloom argues that the specifically religious aspects of religion are relatively unimportant and that it is the community associated with religion that is important, not the belief system40 I tend to agree with Shariff,41 who argues that “big gods” with omniscient scope and punitive abilities are relatively recent (5,000–10,000 years ago) 34

35

36

37

38 39 40 41

Jesse M. Bering and Dominic D.P. Johnson, “‘Oh Lord … You Perceive My Thoughts From Afar’: Recursiveness and the Evolution of Supernatural Agency,” Journal of Cognition and Culture 5(1–2) (2005): 118–42; Scott Atran, “Psychological Origins and Cultural Evolution of Religion,” in Grounding Social Sciences in Cognitive Sciences, ed. R. Sun (Cambridge, ma: mit Press, 2012), 209–38. Quentin D. Atkinson and Pierrick Bourrat, “Beliefs about God, the Afterlife and Morality Support the Role of Supernatural Policing in Human Cooperation,” Evolution and Human Behavior 32 (2011): 41–49. Melissa Bateson, Daniel Nettle, and Gilbert Roberts, “Cues of Being Watched Enhance Cooperation in a Real-World Setting,” Biology Letters 2 (2006): 412–14. (doi:10.1098/ rsbl.2006.0509). Jared Piazza, Jesse M. Bering, and Gordon Ingram, “‘Princess Alice is Watching You’: Children’s Belief in an Invisible Person Inhibits Cheating,” Journal of Experimental Child Psychology 109 (2001): 311–20. Schloss and Murray, “Evolutionary Accounts,” 56; also Paul Bloom, “Religion, Morality, Evolution,” Annual Review of Psychology 63 (2012): 179–99. Dominic D.P. Johnson, “Why God is the Best Punisher,” Religion, Brain & Behavior 1(1) (2011): 77–84. Bloom, “Religion, Morality, Evolution,” 192–93. Azim F. Shariff, “Big Gods Were Made for Big Groups,” Religion, Brain & Behavior 1(1) (2011): 89–93; see Stephen K. Sanderson and Wesley W. Roberts, “The Evolutionary Forms of Religious Life: A Cross-Cultural, Quantitative Analysis,” American Anthropologist 110(4)

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innovations that have developed in large, complex societies with hierarchical, doctrinal religion, and where agriculture is the principal mode of subsistence. They are by-products of existing cognitive adaptations42 and have spread culturally rather than genetically. It is difficult to see religion as a biological adaptation for cooperation because its very existence requires cognitive-­ emotional mechanisms such as support prosociality and intragroup cooperation, quite apart from any kind of religion. Notably, there is no special “religion module” in the brain.43 Religion is more logically seen as a by-product of quite mundane, evolved cognitive mechanisms.44 These include: (1) Reputation-monitoring, that is, constructing databases about the reputational effects of our own and others’ actual behavior and inferred dispositions; (2) commitment signals that evolved on the basis of hardto-fake signals of commitment and provide information about the probable future behavior of others; (3) coalitional psychology that helps maintain strong associations among non-kin and manage interaction with rival coalitions; (4) in-group strong reciprocity creating unselfish interaction; (5) ethnic signals that help maintain in-group strong reciprocity; (6) commitment gadgets that help people tie their own hands in order to force non-selfish behavior; and (7) moral feelings that motivate altruistic behavior.45 Now, many moral philosophers are likely to argue that social arrangements based on these dispositions are something different from morality and that ethics is supposed to be universal and binding, irrespective of its social effects. On the one hand, it belongs to all humans while on the other hand all other

(2008): 454–66; Quentin D. Atkinson and Harvey Whitehouse, “The Cultural Morphospace of Ritual Form: Examining Modes of Religiosity Cross-Culturally,” Evolution and Human Behavior 32 (2011): 50–62, esp. p. 52, 58–9; Scott Atran, Talking to the Enemy: Faith, Brotherhood and the (Un)making of Terrorists (New York: Harper Collins, 2010); idem, “Psychological Origins.” 42 See also Ilkka Pyysiäinen, “Imagine There’s No Religion,” Religion, Brain, and Behavior, 1(1) (2011): 87–89. 43 See Matthew Day, “Exotic Experience and Ordinary Life: On Andrew Newberg, Eugene d’Aquili and Vince Rause, Why God won’t go away (2001),” in Contemporary Theories of Religion: A Critical Companion, ed. M. Stausberg (London: Routledge, 2009), 115–28. 44 Boyer, Religion Explained; Pyysiäinen and Hauser, “The Origins of Religion”; Pyysiäinen “Imagine There’s No Religion.” 45 Boyer, “Prosocial Aspects”; see Robert K. Fleck, “Natural Selection and the Problem of Evil: An Evolutionary Model with Application to an Ancient Debate,” Zygon 46(3) (2011): 561–87.

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animals are excluded from the domain of morality.46 It can, for instance, be questioned that psychological altruism is essential to moral practice and that it is not clear in what sense human ethics is continuous with primate behavior. We can never compare chimpanzee and human ideas; only chimpanzee behavior and human normative ideas.47 It is true that the problem of human cooperation is both something more and something less than morality or ethics. Ethics (moral philosophy) can be regarded as a theoretical elaboration of human intuitions about good and bad, right and wrong. According to de Waal, it is always and necessarily related to helping and (un)hurting and could not exist without the prior development of some kind of empathy and social cognition in our ancestors.48 Thus, ethics has an evolutionary background: our moral sentiments49 have evolved together with human prosociality and the capacity for empathy (which is, to an extent, also found among hominids and even vertebrates at large).50 Whatever ethical theories philosophers develop, they all ultimately depend on our species-­ typical cognitive capacities and emotional dispositions.51 This, of course, is not a premise in purely deductive reasoning about the normativity of ethical theories, the observation being only an empirical generalization. Yet it is relevant for moral reasoning.52

46

47

48 49 50

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Josiah Ober and Stephen Macedo, “Introduction,” in Primates and Philosophers: How Morality Evolved, ed. S. Macedo and J. Ober (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), ix–xix, esp. p. xv. Philip Kitcher, “Ethics and Evolution: How to Get Here From There,” in Primates and Philosophers: How Morality Evolved, ed. S. Macedo and J. Ober (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006), 120–39; Ober and Macedo, “Introduction” in Macedo and Ober, Primates and Philosophers, xviii–xix; cf. Frans de Waal, “The Tower of Morality,” in Macedo and Ober, Primates and Philosophers, 201–07. de Waal, “The Tower of Morality.” Adam Smith, The Theory of Moral Sentiments (London, 1892/1759); cf. Kitcher, “Ethics and Evolution,” 125. Haidt, “The New Synthesis”; Shaun Nichols, Sentimental Rules: On the Natural Foundations of Moral Judgment (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004); Jaak Panksepp, “The Neuroevolutionary and Neuroaffective Psychobiology of the Prosocial Brain,” in The Oxford Handbook of Evolutionary Psychology, ed. R.I.M. Dunbar and L. Barrett (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 145–62; Frans de Waal and Pier Francesco Ferrari, “Towards a Bottom-up Perspective on Animal and Human Cognition,” Trends in Cognitive Sciences 14(5) (2010): 201–07; see Sinnott-Armstrong, Moral Psychology. See Justin L. Barrett, Cognitive Science of Religion and Theology: From Human Minds to Divine Minds (West Conshohocken, pa: Templeton Press, 2011), 50–53. See the thematic issue of Behaviour 151 (2014).

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There are, of course, differing lines of argument within moral philosophy.53 Moral intuitionism,54 for example, claims that moral ideas cannot be reduced to anything else (utility, etc.); morality is an independent category and we intuitively see some deeds as morally right and others as wrong, without any need to explain morality in non-moral terms. From an empirical point of view, however, it is possible and legitimate to ask from whence these intuitions come. Adam Smith’s55 theory of moral sentiments as well as recent evolutionary considerations may help answer this question. The so-called divine commandment theories,56 for their part, take moral obligations as something laid down by God, but even in this case, again from an empirical point of view, we may well ask why the divine commands are regarded as true and binding by humans. From the psychological point of view, no one receives God’s commandments directly, without human mediation; one always has to make a conscious decision that God’s supposed commandments really are binding. Moral psychology can provide some answers to why some supposed commandments are selected for cultural transmission and taken seriously while others are not.57 From the metaphysical point of view, divine commands do not solve the problem of “No ‘ought’ from ‘is’”: if God’s commands are taken to be facts, whence, then, the “ought”? In other words, why should we obey God’s commands? This only leads to an endless regress of factual claims.58 3

Teasing Morality Apart from Religion

The concept of “religion” used in evolutionary accounts still remains problematic. It is an abstraction (if not an illusion) by which we lump together many kinds of beliefs, behaviors, and experiences. Such theoretical terms are necessary in all scholarship but one must be careful about how to use them in a precise manner. As the discussion above shows, we can focus on intuitive 53

See Georg Henrik von Wright, The Varieties of Goodness (London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1963); Sinnott-Armstrong, Moral Psychology. 54 G.E. Moore, Principia Ethica (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1922/1903). 55 Smith, Theory of Moral Sentiments. 56 Philip L. Quinn, Divine Commands and Moral Requirements (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978). 57 See Will M. Gervais and Joseph Henrich, “The Zeus Problem: Why Representational Content Biases Cannot Explain Faith in Gods,” Journal of Cognition and Culture 10(3–4) (2010): 383–89. 58 Colin Howson, Objecting to God (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011), 28.

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beliefs, explicit doctrines, participation in rituals, “church” membership and so forth. Which of these (if any) is important with regard to morality? There is no need to think that these differing aspects form a package where all the aspects always come together.59 This also leads us to ask whether all religions (or their adherents) always are moral. Likewise, are all atheists always immoral in the sense of committing acts that are wrong even by their own standards? If non-religious people are supposed to be immoral, where is the empirical evidence? What could be the causal mechanisms by which morality is derived from “religion”? If it is the case that we share many cognitive mechanisms, or at least their neural building blocks, with other mammals and even with other vertebrates,60 and that religion is a by-product of more general cognitive and emotional mechanisms, then it is highly problematic (to say the least) to claim that religion is the necessary basis for morality. Rather, religion is only one way of giving expression to our moral intuitions and explaining them to ourselves. A recent study by Shariff and Norenzayan shows that overall levels of religious devotion do not directly predict people’s attitudes towards cheating. A religiously interpreted situation is more relevant with regard to cheating than a religious disposition as such. Increased religiosity can even be associated with more cheating when God is seen as loving. But when God is regarded as punishing, religiosity is significantly associated with lower levels of cheating.61 Intuitions are highly emotional but the role of emotions can be understood in differing ways. Moral reasoning may follow from emotional reactions; morality may be based on emotions that follow from reasoning; or morality may be based on reasoning and emotions that follow from judgment based on action analysis.62 Hauser’s idea of a universal moral grammar—analogous to Chomsky’s universal grammar in linguistics—remains rather vague and is not without problems however.63 Notwithstanding my cooperation with Hauser, I do not necessarily subscribe to his idea of a universal moral grammar; there are also other ways of conceptualizing the fact that morality has a natural basis

59 Boyer, The Fracture of an Illusion. 60 See Panksepp, “The Neuroevolutionary and Neuroaffective.” 61 Azim F. Shariff and Ara Norenzayan, “Mean Gods Make Good People: Different Views of God Predict Cheating Behaviour,” The International Journal for the Psychology of Religion 21 (2011): 85–96. 62 Hauser, Moral Minds, 36–48; Huebner et al., “How the Source.” 63 Emmanuel Dupoux and Pierre Jacob, “Universal Moral Grammar: A Critical Appraisal,” Trends in Cognitive Sciences 11(9) (2007): 373–78.

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in human intuitions and emotions.64 And, given the problematic nature of the category of “religion,” it follows that the role of religion is more in giving an expression and justification to our moral intuitions rather than being the necessary basis of morality. The evolutionary perspective I endorse helps understand the universal nature of morality supported by moral philosophers. Although it is possible to develop philosophical theories of moral obligations in the abstract, the fact remains that people make moral judgments intuitively rather than by following some general rules and principles.65 As Paul Churchland66 puts it: Moral knowledge, broadly speaking, is real knowledge precisely because it results from the continual readjustment of our convictions and practices in the light of our unfolding experience of the real world, readjustments that lead to greater collective harmony and individual flourishing. Interestingly, both religious fundamentalists and atheists share the assumption that there are moral facts and that we can recognize them. Fundamentalists believe in divine revelation, the “new atheists” think that science and philosophy can reveal moral facts. Both seem to be wrong.67 Our moral preferences are products of the life we have lived in a human group, together with a panhuman intuitive basis. Neither religion nor science/philosophy are necessary or sufficient for moral behavior to develop, although reflection can help develop and refine our explicit moral concepts. Making moral decisions is more like pattern recognition where previous experience serves as a data basis against which we evaluate the goodness and badness of specific actions and decisions: the wider the personal experience, the better one is equipped to evaluate the moral significance of a given judgment or action, much as in the Aristotelian virtue ethics.68 The existence of 64 Smith, Theory of Moral Sentiments; Haidt, “The Emotional Dog”; idem, “The New Synthesis.” 65 See Sinnott-Armstrong, Moral Psychology. 66 Paul M. Churchland, The Engine of Reason, the Seat of the Soul (Cambridge, ma: mit Press, 1995), 291. 67 Atran, Talking to the Enemy, 425; Barrett, Cognitive Science. 68 See the collection, Mind and Morals: Essays on Ethics and Cognitive Science, ed. Larry May, Marilyn Friedman, and Andy Clark (Cambridge, ma: mit Press, 1996); Mark L. Johnson, Moral Imagination: Implications of Cognitive Science for Ethics (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1997/1993); Nichols, Sentimental Rules; Sinnott-Armstrong, Moral Psychology; H.A. Chapman, D.A. Suskind, and A.K. Anderson, “In Bad Taste: Evidence for the Oral Origins of Moral Disgust,” Science 323 (2009): 1222–26.

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such a data basis does not automatically guarantee the absolute rightness of one’s action though. We must be ready to change our views in light of new experience; it is here that explicitly held religious commitment may pose difficult problems because it tends to offer eternal, unchangeable rules for moral behavior.69 These rules and norms, however, supervene on panhuman intuitions which they may simply “trigger.” Religious instruction may also create specific contexts where some moral problems become more salient than some others, as in the case of abortion for example. Yet intuitions themselves cannot be changed; at most, we may adopt a reflective attitude on them and evaluate them critically. Whether such reflection can also change actual behavior is another matter.70 All human communication consists of “poor, fragmentary, and elliptical bits of information that manage to trigger rich and prior inferential structures.”71 This casts new light on moral relativism which thus becomes somewhat suspect. Although there is variation both within and across cultures (and religions), there is also much overlap based on our shared intuitions.72 4 Conclusion “Religion” names a heterogeneous category of thoughts, emotions, behaviors, and institutions. As such, it offers ways of conceptualizing our moral intuitions and of explaining them to ourselves; yet it is in no way necessary for moral judgment and behavior. Belief in supernatural agents73 may enhance intragroup cooperation but also create tension and conflicts between groups.74 Moral intuitions are something that emerge early on in the developing child and are difficult or even impossible to control by reflective reasoning. Differing contexts may make some moral problems more salient than some others and people may say they believe this or that thing to be right or wrong, but this does not guarantee that they also behave in accordance with the “theologically 69 Churchland, The Engine of Reason, 291–93. 70 See Donald Jason Slone, Theological Incorrectness: Why Religious People Believe What They Shouldn’t (New York: Oxford University Press, 2004). 71 Scott Atran and Douglas Medin, The Native Mind and the Cultural Construction of Nature (Cambridge, ma: mit Press, 2008), 158. 72 Atran and Medin, The Native Mind. 73 Ilkka Pyysiäinen, Supernatural Agents: Why We Believe in Souls, Gods, and Buddhas (New York: Oxford University Press, 2009). 74 Atran, Talking to the Enemy.

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correct” ideas.75 Thus, moral psychology also has relevance for moral philosophy. It cannot give absolute normative answers76 to moral problems but can explain how we come to regard given rules and norms as binding and how they are spread within and across cultures. Moral intuitions are part of the human cognitive architecture and emotional repertoire, the “evolutionary landscape” of the mind that canalizes the spread of cultural ideas.77 The “epidemiology of beliefs (or, representations)”78 tries to account for the fact that some ideas and beliefs are more “contagious” than some others, as it were. They are “attractors” that call for our attention, are memorable and thus also easy to spread. By attractors is meant representations that have a great relative probability of surviving in cultural transmission because these representations are experienced as intuitively natural because of the nature of the human mind.79 In addition, certain social factors also play a role: humans have a strong inclination to imitate the majority or prestigious individuals, and also to punish violators of common norms; we even punish those who refuse to punish others, irrespective of whether the punisher himself or herself is sincerely committed to the norm.80 Distribution-based transmission biases and contentbased attraction both play a role in explaining cultural stability and evolution, although imitation may not be faithful enough to explain stability; there is no one-to-one mapping between mental representations and actions.81 75

Justin L. Barrett and Frank Keil, “Conceptualizing a Nonnatural Entity: Anthropomorphism in God Concepts,” Cognitive Psychology 31 (1996): 219–47. 76 See Shira Elqayam and Jonathan St. B.T. Evans, “Subtracting ‘Ought’ from ‘Is’: Descriptivism versus Normativism in the Study of Human Thinking,” Behavioral and Brain Sciences 34(5) (2011): 233–90. 77 Scott Atran, In Gods We Trust: The Evolutionary Landscape of Religion (New York: Oxford University Press, 2002). 78 Dan Sperber, “Anthropology and Psychology: Towards an Epidemiology of Representations,” Man (N.S.) 20 (1985): 73–89; Explaining Culture: A Naturalistic Approach (Oxford: Blackwell, 1996). 79 Sperber, Explaining Culture. 80 Joseph Henrich and Robert Boyd, “On Modeling Cognition and Culture: Why Cultural Evolution Does not Require Replication of Representations,” Journal of Cognition and Culture, 2(2) (2002): 87–112; Natalie Henrich and Joseph Henrich, Why Humans Cooperate: A Cultural and Evolutionary Explanation (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007); Henrich et al., “Costly Punishment”; see Ilkka Pyysiäinen, “Religion: From Mind to Society and Back,” in Grounding Social Sciences in Cognitive Sciences, ed. R. Sun (Cambridge, ma: mit Press, 2012), 239–64. 81 Nicolas Claidière and Dan Sperber, “The Role of Attraction in Cultural Evolution: Reply to J. Henrich and R. Boyd, ‘On Modelling Cognition and Culture,’” Journal of Cognition and

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Thus, the wedding of moral psychology and the cognitive science of religion can shed light on how we form moral ideas and how they are culturally spread; by the same token, it also helps us understand the human limits on what can be achieved in practice in the way of moral behavior. Empirically, religion—as commonly understood—has no necessary causal relationship with morality; conceptually, it is very much a matter of how we define the words or concepts of “religion” and “morality.” References Atkinson, Quentin D., and Pierrick Bourrat. “Beliefs about God, the Afterlife and Morality Support the Role of Supernatural Policing in Human Cooperation.” Evolution and Human Behavior 32 (2011): 41–49. Atkinson, Quentin D., and Harvey Whitehouse. “The Cultural Morphospace of Ritual Form: Examining Modes of Religiosity Cross-culturally.” Evolution and Human Behavior 32 (2011): 50–62. Atran, Scott. In Gods We Trust: The Evolutionary Landscape of Religion. New York: Oxford University Press, 2002. Atran, Scott. Talking to the Enemy: Faith, Brotherhood and the (Un)making of Terrorists. New York: Harper Collins, 2010. Atran, Scott. “Psychological Origins and Cultural Evolution of Religion.” Pages 209–38 in Grounding Social Sciences in Cognitive Sciences. Edited by Ron Sun. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2012. Atran, Scott, and Douglas Medin. The Native Mind and the Cultural Construction of Nature. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2008. Axelrod, Robert. The Evolution of Co-operation. Harmondsworth: Penguin, 1990/1984. Barrett, Justin L. Cognitive Science of Religion and Theology: From Human Minds to Divine Minds. West Conshohocken, PA: Templeton Press, 2011. Barrett, Justin L., and Frank Keil. “Conceptualizing a Nonnatural Entity: Anthropomorphism in God Concepts.” Cognitive Psychology 31 (1996): 219–47. Bateson, Melissa, Daniel Nettle, and Gilbert Roberts. “Cues of Being Watched Enhance Cooperation in a Real-World Setting.” Biology Letters 2 (2006): 412–14. (doi:10.1098/ rsbl.2006.0509). Bergin, Allen E. “Religiosity and Mental Health: A Critical Reevaluation and Meta-­ analysis.” Professional Psychology: Research and Practice 14 (1983): 170–84. Culture 7(1–2) (2007): 89–111; idem, “Imitation Explains the Propagation, Not the Stability of Animal Culture,” Proceedings of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences, 277(1681) (2010): 651–59; Atran and Medin, The Native Mind, 158.

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Bering, Jesse M. “The Folk Psychology of Souls.” Behavioral and Brain Sciences 29 (2006): 453–62. Bering, Jesse M., and Dominic D.P. Johnson. “‘Oh Lord … You Perceive My Thoughts From Afar’: Recursiveness and the Evolution of Supernatural Agency.” Journal of Cognition and Culture 5(1–2) (2005): 118–42. Blaker, Kimberly, ed. The Fundamentals of Extremism: The Christian Right in America. Boston: New Boston Books, 2003. Bloom, Paul. “Religion, Morality, Evolution.” Annual Review of Psychology 63 (2012): 179–99. Boyer, Pascal. The Naturalness of Religious Ideas: A Cognitive Theory of Religion. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994. Boyer, Pascal. Religion Explained: The Evolutionary Origins of Religious Thought. New York: Basic Books, 2001. Boyer, Pascal. “Why Do Gods and Spirits Matter at All?” Pages 68–92 in Current Approaches in the Cognitive Science of Religion. Edited by Ilkka Pyysiäinen and Veikko Anttonen. London: Continuum, 2002. Boyer, Pascal. “Prosocial Aspects of Afterlife Beliefs: Maybe Another Byproduct. A Commentary on Bering.” Behavioral and Brain Sciences 29(5) (2006): 466. Boyer, Pascal. The Fracture of an Illusion: Science and the Dissolution of Religion. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010. Boyer, Pascal, and Brian Bergstrom. “Evolutionary Perspectives on Religion.” Annual Review of Anthropology 37 (2008): 111–30. Bulbulia, Joseph. “Charismatic Signalling.” Journal of Cognition and Culture 3(4) (2009): 518–51. Bulbulia, Joseph. “Why ‘Costly-Signalling’ Models of Religion Require Cognitive Psychology.” Pages 71–81 in Origins of Religion, Cognition and Culture. Edited by Armin Geertz. London: Routledge, 2014. Bulbulia, Joseph, and Andrew Mahoney. “Religious Solidarity: The Hand Grenade Experiment.” Journal of Cognition and Culture 8 (2008): 295–320. Bulbulia, Joseph, and Uffe Schjoedt. “Religious Culture and Cooperative Prediction Under Risk: Perspectives From Social Neuroscience.” Pages 35–59 in Religion, Economy, and Cooperation. Edited by Ilkka Pyysiäinen. Religion and Reason 49; Berlin: de Gruyter, 2010. Claidière, Nicolas, and Dan Sperber. “The Role of Attraction in Cultural Evolution: Reply to J. Henrich and R. Boyd, ‘On Modelling Cognition and Culture.’” Journal of Cognition and Culture 7(1–2) (2007): 89–111. Claidière, Nicolas, and Dan Sperber. “Imitation Explains the Propagation, Not the Stability of Animal Culture.” Proceedings of the Royal Society B: Biological Sciences, 277(1681) (2010): 651–59.

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Chapman, H.A., D.A. Suskind, and A.K. Anderson. “In Bad Taste: Evidence for the Oral Origins of Moral Disgust.” Science 323 (2009): 1222–26. Churchland, Paul M. The Engine of Reason, the Seat of the Soul. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1995. Day, Matthew. “Exotic Experience and Ordinary Life: On Andrew Newberg, Eugene d’Aquili, and Vince Rause, Why God Won’t Go Away (2001).” Pages 115–28 in Contemporary Theories of Religion: A Critical Companion. Edited by M. Stausberg. London: Routledge, 2009. Dupoux, Emmanuel, and Pierre Jacob. “Universal Moral Grammar: A Critical Appraisal.” Trends in Cognitive Sciences 11(9) (2007): 373–78. Elqayam, Shira, and Jonathan St. B.T. Evans. “Subtracting ‘Ought’ from ‘Is’: Descriptivism Versus Normativism in the Study of Human Thinking.” Behavioral and Brain Sciences 34(5) (2011): 233–90. Emmons, Robert A., and Raymond F. Paloutzian. “The Psychology of Religion.” Annual Review of Psychology 54 (2003): 377–402. Fagothey, Austin. Right and Reason: Ethics in Theory and Practice. St. Louis: Mosby, 1953. Fleck, Robert K. “Natural Selection and the Problem of Evil: An Evolutionary Model with Application to an Ancient Debate.” Zygon 46(3) (2011): 561–87. Gartner, John. “Religious Commitment, Mental Health, and Prosocial Behavior: A Review of the Empirical Literature.” Pages 187–214 in Religion and the Practice of Clinical Psychology. Edited by E. Shafranske. Washington, DC: American Psychological Association, 1996. George, Linda K., Christopher G. Ellison, and David B. Larson. “Explaining the Relationships between Religious Involvement and Health.” Psychological Inquiry 13(3) (2002): 190–200. Gervais, Will M., and Joseph Henrich. “The Zeus Problem: Why Representational Content Biases Cannot Explain Faith in Gods.” Journal of Cognition and Culture 10(3–4) (2010): 383–89. Gervais, Will M., Azim F. Shariff, and Ara Norenzayan. “Do You Believe in Atheists? Distrust Is Central to Anti-Atheist Prejudice.” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology, 101(6) (2010): 1189–206. Haidt, Jonathan. “The Emotional Dog and Its Rational Tail.” Psychological Review 108 (2001): 814–34. Haidt, Jonathan. “The New Synthesis in Moral Psychology.” Science 316(5827) (2007): 998–1002. Hamilton, William D. “The Genetical Evolution of Social Behaviour I, II.” Journal of Theoretical Biology 7 (1964): 1–16, 17–52. Hauser, Marc. Moral Minds: How Nature Designed our Universal Sense of Right and Wrong. New York: Harper Collins, 2006.

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Henrich, Joseph. “The Evolution of Costly Displays, Cooperation, and Religion: Credibility Enhancing Displays and Their Implications for Cultural Evolution.” Evolution and Human Behavior 30 (2009): 244–60. Henrich, Joseph, and Robert Boyd. “On Modeling Cognition and Culture: Why Cultural Evolution Does Not Require Replication of Representations.” Journal of Cognition and Culture, 2(2) (2002): 87–112. Henrich, Joseph, Richard McElreath, Abigail Barr, Jean Ensminger, Clark Barrett, Alexander Bolyanatz, et al. “Costly Punishment across Human Societies.” Science 312 (2006): 1767–70. Henrich, Natalie, and Joseph Henrich. Why Humans Cooperate: A Cultural and Evolutionary Explanation. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. Howson, Colin. Objecting to God. New York: Cambridge University Press, 2011. Huebner, Bruce, Marc D. Hauser, and Philip Pettit. “How the Source, Inevitability and Means of Bringing about Harm Interact in Folk-Moral Judgments.” Mind & Language 26(2) (2011): 210–33. Johnson, Dominic D.P. “Why God is the Best Punisher.” Religion, Brain & Behavior 1(1) (2011): 77–84. Johnson, Dominic D.P., and Jesse Bering. “Hand of God, Mind of Man: Punishment and Cognition in the Evolution of Cooperation.” Evolutionary Psychology 4 (2006): 219–33. Johnson, Dominic D.P., and Oliver Krüger. “The Good of Wrath: Supernatural Punishment and the Evolution of Cooperation.” Political Theology 5 (2004): 159–76. Johnson, Mark L. Moral Imagination: Implications of Cognitive Science for Ethics. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1997/1993. Kirkpatrick, Lee A. “Religion is Not an Adaptation.” Pages 159–80 in Where God and Science Meet: How Brain and Evolutionary Studies Alter Our Understanding of Religion, I–III. Volume I, Evolution, Genes, and the Religious Brain. Edited by P. McNamara. Westport, CT: Praeger, 2006. Kitcher, Philip. “Ethics and Evolution: How to Get Here from There.” Pages 120–39 in Primates and Philosophers: How Morality Evolved. Edited by S. Macedo and J. Ober. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006. Krebs, Dennis, and Maria Janicki. “Biological Foundations of Moral Norms.” Pages 125–48 in The Psychological Foundations of Culture. Edited by M. Schaller and C.S. Crandall. Mahwah; NY: Erlbaum, 2004. Krymkowski, Daniel H., and Luther H. Martin. “Religion as an Independent Variable: Revisiting the Weberian Hypothesis.” Method and Theory in the Study of Religion 10, (1998): 187–98. May, Larry, Marilyn Friedman, and Andy Clark, ed. Mind and Morals: Essays on Ethics and Cognitive Science. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1996. Moore, G.E. Principia Ethica. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1922/1903.

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Nichols, Shaun. Sentimental Rules: On the Natural Foundations of Moral Judgment. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004. Ober, Josiah, and Stephen Macedo. “Introduction.” Pages ix–xix in Primates and Philosophers: How Morality Evolved. Edited by S. Macedo and J. Ober. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006. Panksepp, Jaak. “The Neuroevolutionary and Neuroaffective Psychobiology of the Prosocial Brain.” Pages 145–62 in The Oxford Handbook of Evolutionary Psychology. Edited by R.I.M. Dunbar and L. Barrett. New York: Oxford University Press, 2007. Pargament, Kenneth. I. “The Bitter and the Sweet: An Evaluation of the Costs and Benefits of Religiousness.” Psychological Inquiry 3(3) (2002): 168–81. Piazza, Jared, Jesse M. Bering, and Gordon Ingram. “‘Princess Alice is Watching You’: Children’s Belief in an Invisible Person Inhibits Cheating.” Journal of Experimental Child Psychology 109 (2001): 311–20. Pyysiäinen, Ilkka. “Religion is Neither Costly, Nor Beneficial: A Commentary on Atran and Norenzayan.” Behavioral and Brain Sciences 27(6) (2004): 746. Pyysiäinen, Ilkka. Supernatural Agents: Why We Believe in Souls, Gods, and Buddhas. New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. Pyysiäinen, Ilkka. “Imagine There’s No Religion.” Religion, Brain, and Behavior 1(1) (2011): 87–89. Pyysiäinen, Ilkka. “Religion: From Mind to Society and Back.” Pages 239–64 in Grounding Social Sciences in Cognitive Sciences. Edited by R. Sun. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2012. Pyysiäinen, Ilkka, and Marc Hauser. “The Origins of Religion: Evolved Adaptation or By-Product?” Trends in Cognitive Sciences 14(3) (2010): 104–09. Quinn, Philip L. Divine Commands and Moral Requirements. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1978. Rosmarin, David H., Steven Pirutinsky, Randy P. Auerbach, Thörstur Björgvinsson, Joseph Bigda-Peyton, Gerhard Andersson, Kenneth I. Pargament, and Elizabeth J. Krumrei. “Incorporating Spiritual Beliefs into a Cognitive Model of Worry.” Journal of Clinical Psychology 67(0) (2011), 1–10. Saler, Benson. Conceptualizing Religion: Immanent Anthropologists, Transcendent Natives, and Unbound Categories (With a new preface). New York: Berghahn Books, 2000/1993. Sanderson, Stephen K., and Wesley W. Roberts. “The Evolutionary Forms of Religious Life: A Cross-cultural, Quantitative Analysis.” American Anthropologist 110(4) (2008): 454–66. Schloss, Jeffrey P., and Michael Murray. “Evolutionary Accounts of Belief in Supernatural Punishment: A Critical Review.” Religion, Brain & Behavior 1(1) (2011): 46–99 (with commentaries).

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Shariff, Azim F. “Big Gods Were Made for Big Groups.” Religion, Brain & Behavior 1(1) (2011): 89–93. Shariff, Azim F., and Ara Norenzayan. “Mean Gods Make Good People: Different Views of God Predict Cheating Behaviour.” The International Journal for the Psychology of Religion 21 (2011): 85–96. Sinnott-Armstrong, Walter, ed. Moral Psychology 1–3. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 2008. Sinnott-Armstrong, Walter. Morality without God. New York: Oxford University Press, 2009. Slone, Donald Jason. Theological Incorrectness: Why Religious People Believe What They Shouldn’t. New York: Oxford University Press, 2004. Smith, Adam. Theory of Moral Sentiments. London, 1892/1759. Sosis, Richard. “Religious Behaviors, Badges, and Bans: Signaling Theory and the Evolution of Religion.” Pages 61–86 in Where God and Science Meet: How Brain and Evolutionary Studies Alter Our Understanding of Religion I–III. Edited by P. McNamara, Vol. I. Westport, CT: Praeger, 2006. Sperber, Dan. “Anthropology and Psychology: Towards an Epidemiology of Representations.” Man (N.S.) 20 (1985): 73–89. Sperber, Dan. Explaining Culture: A Naturalistic Approach. Oxford: Blackwell, 1996. Taylor, Richard. Ethics, Faith, and Reason. Englewood Cliffs, NJ: Prentice-Hall, 1985. Trivers, Robert. Natural Selection and Social Theory: Selected Papers of Robert Trivers. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Waal, Frans de. “The Tower of Morality.” Pages 161–81 in Primates and Philosophers: How Morality Evolved. Edited by S. Macedo and J. Ober. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2006. Waal, Frans de, and Pier Francesco Ferrari. “Towards a Bottom-up Perspective on Animal and Human Cognition.” Trends in Cognitive Sciences 14(5) (2010): 201–07. Whitehouse, Harvey. Inside the Cult: Religious Innovation and Transmission in Papua New Guinea. Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1995. Wilson, David Sloan. Darwin’s Cathedral: Evolution, Religion and the Nature of Society. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2002. Wright, Georg Henrik von. The Varieties of Goodness. London: Routledge and Kegan Paul, 1963. Zuckerman, Phil. Society Without God: What the Least Religious Nations Can Tell Us About Contentment. New York: New York University Press, 2008.

Religious Morality or Moral Religion? Kantian and Pragmatist Reflections Sami Pihlström 1 Introduction While recent empirical findings strongly challenge the traditional conception of religion as a source or foundation of morality,1 it has been (largely nonempirically)2 argued by philosophers for a long time that basing morality on religion, or justifying ethical views theologically, leads to a severe misunderstanding of both morality and religion. Perhaps, then, religion should itself be based on morality (if it can be based on anything) instead of offering grounds or a basis for morality? Or perhaps the relation between morality and religion should be regarded as a matter of mutual holistic adjustment, with no one-way grounding either way? In order to pursue these options, this paper will first examine the Kantian argument that grounding morality in religion yields a “heteronomous” and therefore misguided conception of morality, whose true core is human autonomy. Kant, however, famously suggested that religious ideas such as God’s ­existence and the immortality of the soul can be defended as “postulates of practical reason” that need to be invoked in order for us to be able to make sense of the human moral pursuit, even though morality as such does not (and cannot, in order to remain autonomous) presuppose religion or theology. According to Kant, there can be no theological ethics or religious morality, but “moral theology” (which, for Kant, is the only legitimate form of rational theology) is nevertheless available to the critical thinker. Versions of this Kantian idea have also been further explored in different ways in philosophical traditions otherwise relatively far from Kantianism, including William James’ and John Dewey’s pragmatism.3 On the basis of Kantian and pragmatist arguments, 1 See, e.g., Ilkka Pyysiäinen’s contribution to this volume. 2 I must immediately add a qualification here: we will discuss below John Dewey’s naturalized philosophy of religion, which is based on the rejection of any sharp dichotomy between empirical science and non-empirical philosophical inquiry. 3 In addition to Kantian and pragmatist perspectives, the Wittgensteinian tradition in moral philosophy and philosophy of religion is potentially an important source here but must unfortunately be set aside in this investigation. For a comprehensive discussion of the relation

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it will be suggested in this essay that no serious moral or religious thought can ground morality in religion; on the contrary, religion itself requires continuous moral evaluation. This general position, illustrated with brief discussions of not only the classical pragmatists but also Richard Rorty’s neopragmatism, will finally be further developed with special emphasis on “negative” moral ­concepts, such as evil, which are argued to be both morally and religiously profound and significant. 2

Kant’s Critique of Traditional Theology

Famously, Immanuel Kant rejected all traditional proofs of God’s existence— the ontological argument, the cosmological argument, and the physico-­ theological (“design”) argument—that his rationalist predecessors such as René Descartes and Gottfried Wilhelm Leibniz (among many others) had employed in their attempts to demonstrate theism as a truth of reason. These traditional theistic proofs are examples of reason’s natural tendency to seek the “unconditioned” beyond the series of “conditioned” entities and events we come up with in the empirical world. Insofar as we remain at the level of mere “ideas” (concepts), there is no problem, and our tendency to form the idea of the unconditioned—in its various forms—is humanly unavoidable. Problems arise when reason finds itself compelled to postulate the unconditioned object of such an idea. Such a move to a metaphysical unconditioned is, Kant tells us, simply beyond the capacities of human cognition. Human reason’s habit of formulating ideas leading to “transcendental illusion” is natural and inevitable, but the theistic proofs are fallacies the critical thinker can and should avoid.4 The details of these issues need not concern us here. What we are concerned with is Kant’s own moral argument for theism: God’s existence and the immortality of the soul can, Kant suggests, be defended as postulates of practical reason. The moral law (categorical imperative) does not presuppose theism but it does urge us to pursue the “highest good” (summum bonum) in which duty and happiness are in harmony. In order to be fully committed to between ethics and religion from a pragmatist point of view taking into account both Kantian and Wittgensteinian dimensions of these issues, see Sami Pihlström, Pragmatic Pluralism and the Problem of God (New York: Fordham University Press, 2013). (The present article partly summarizes the more detailed reflections available in my book.). 4 See Immanuel Kant, Kritik der reinen Vernunft (A = 1st ed., 1781; B = 2nd ed., 1787), ed. ­Raymund Schmidt (Hamburg: Felix Meiner, 1990), especially the section “The Ideal of Pure Reason” in the “Transcendental Dialectic.”

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morality, we have to presuppose God’s existence and immortality. Religion is not the basis of morality but is itself based on the requirements of the moral law, particularly the highest good. I cannot examine in any close detail the way in which Kant constructs his moral argument for the existence of God and the immortality of the soul in the “Canon of Pure Reason”5 and in the Dialectics of the second Critique.6 Rather, I will introduce the basic point of this argument by briefly taking up the question concerning the metaphysical status of Kant’s postulates. It is clear that, as mere ideas of pure reason (“transcendental ideas”), the concepts of God and the soul according to Kant lack “objective reality.” At best, these ideas can be employed regulatively, not constitutively. Their employment is very different from, say, the concept of causality, which is constitutive of possible cognitive experience and its objects (as a pure concept of the understanding, that is, as one of Kant’s twelve categories). This, however, is only the point of view that theoretical, speculative reason offers to the matter. From the perspective of practical reason—which, famously, is ultimately “prior to” theoretical reason in Kant’s system7—there is indeed some kind of “reality” corresponding to these concepts (or ideas). The epistemic status of these concepts, when transformed into postulates of practical reason, is, to be sure, quite different from the status of the actual constitutive, transcendental conditions of any humanly possible experience, such as the pure concepts or categories of understanding and the forms of pure intuition (space and time).8 We may say that concepts of the latter kind necessarily structure, according to Kant, the (or any) human, experienceable, cognizable world, that is, any objects or events we may conceivably encounter in this world. There would be no world of objects at all, at least no world we would be able to cognitively represent, in the absence of such structuring principles and categories. However, the postulates of practical reason also structure—in an analogical though definitely not identical manner—the human world as 5 See ibid., A795/B823ff. 6 See Immanuel Kant, Kritik der praktischen Vernunft (1788), in Werke in Zehn Bänden, ed. W. Weischedel (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1983), A223ff. 7 Cf. ibid., A215ff. Here, the word “ultimately”—my word in this context rather than Kant’s— is crucial, because we can observe the priority of practical reason only after having done a good deal of work of theoretical reason, that is, after having become convinced of the futility of speculative theistic proofs and having thus seen the need for a different, pragmatic, approach. 8 These are, of course, explored in the “Transcendental Analytic” and the “Transcendental ­Aesthetic” of Kritik der reinen Vernunft.

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a world of ethical concern, deliberation, and action. The key idea here is that this “structuring” is not “merely ethical” but also metaphysical: the postulates of God and the immortal soul are, Kant believes, needed to structure the human world. Another key idea is that this structuring is, because of its uniquely ethical and metaphysical status, also transcendental. Frederick Beiser has offered one of the most insightful interpretations of Kant’s defense of “moral faith” as a genuinely metaphysical perspective on the reality of God and the immortal soul. He insists, against a number of commentators viewing Kant’s philosophy of religion in a deflated “thisworldly” and immanent manner—that is, avoiding any commitment to a metaphysical supernatural reality—that Kant’s notion of the highest good, or summum bonum, is irreducibly theological, quite explicitly derived from the Christian tradition, especially Augustine and the idea of a “City of God.”9 These notions, after all, also refer to a situation in which there is a harmony between the duties set by the moral law and the happiness of moral agents acting on the basis of, or purely out of respect toward (i.e., not merely in accordance with), this law. Beiser accurately summarizes Kant’s argumentation as follows: 1. 2. 3. 4.

We have a duty, set by the moral law, to promote the highest good (summum bonum). We have to presuppose the conditions for the possibility of the highest good. God’s existence is a condition for the possibility of the highest good. Therefore, we have to presuppose the existence of God.10

I am not saying that Kant’s argument is sound, but I do think that Beiser’s reading captures its essential features. We should now see how this strategy of arguing for the reality of God on moral grounds—rather than vice versa—has been employed and critically modified in the pragmatist tradition. 9

10

See Frederick C. Beiser, “Moral Faith and the Highest Good,” in Cambridge Companion to Kant and Modern Philosophy, ed. P. Guyer (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006), especially 593–99. See Kritik der reinen Vernunft, A810–811/B838–39, for Kant’s own characterization of the summum bonum. Beiser, “Moral Faith and the Highest Good,” 604. (This is not a direct quotation of Beiser’s formulation of Kant’s argument but my own paraphrase.) See Kant, Kritik der praktischen Vernunft, A223–37. See also Peter Byrne, Kant on God (Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007), especially Chs. 5–6, for a critical perspective on Kant’s arguments for moral faith—a perspective very different from Beiser’s.

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Pragmatist Philosophy of Religion: William James

Pragmatists are generally not Kantians, but an argument analogous to Kant’s defense of the postulates of practical reason plays an important role in William James’ pragmatist philosophy of religion. In order to be seriously committed to morality, an individual may, according to James, need a religious perspective on life. James argued in The Will to Believe (1897) that we have a right to believe in the “religious hypothesis” at our own risk if it is a genuine—that is, “live,” “forced,” and “momentous”—option that cannot be decided for or against on the basis of evidence.11 In a later work, Pragmatism (1907), he sketched a method of determining the true pragmatic content of our metaphysical and religious ideas by tracing out their (conceivable) practical—particularly ethical—consequences.12 This, on my reading, yields an ethical evaluation and reconstruction of any pragmatically acceptable metaphysical postulations. An example taken from James’ Pragmatism may serve to illustrate this. James argues that the metaphysical (and theological) dispute between theism and atheism (or, as James also calls them, spiritualism and materialism) would be completely empty if there were no future experiences to be expected. Construed as traditional metaphysical alternatives, both atheism and theism make the mistake of presupposing a “ready-made” and “finished” world, complete as it is. With no future experiences to be expected, the dispute between these views is “purely verbal,” “quite idle and insignificant”: “Matter and God in that event mean exactly the same thing—the power, namely, neither more nor less, that could make this completed world …”13 These views, however, entail quite different expected outcomes for the world. They “promise” quite different things regarding the future of the world. Those expectations and promises can only be examined in relation to human life and its moral possibilities. The rival metaphysical (and theological) positions must be evaluated in terms of their ability to help us live—and live forward, facing our futures—in this world. In this respect, theism is, James argues, preferable to materialistic atheism. It makes better moral sense of the world and its future. 11

12

13

William James, The Will to Believe and Other Essays in Popular Philosophy (1897), ed. F.H. Burkhardt, F. Bowers, and I.K. Skrupskelis (Cambridge, ma: Harvard University Press, 1979). The title essay, “The Will to Believe” (Ch. 1), was first presented as a famous lecture in 1896. William James, Pragmatism: A New Name for Some Old Ways of Thinking (1907), ed. F.H. Burkhardt, F. Bowers, and I.K. Skrupskelis (Cambridge, ma: Harvard University Press, 1975), especially Ch. 3. Ibid., 51–52.

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Kant’s and James’ arguments can be compared. Kant’s argument again, in nuce, is the following. Human moral pursuits (i.e., pursuing what the moral law requires, or more specifically, pursuing the “highest good”) are possible only if we postulate that God exists (and, mutatis mutandis, if we possess an immortal soul). Now, human moral pursuits are possible (because actual). Therefore, we must postulate that God exists (and, mutatis mutandis, that we possess an immortal soul). James’ argument is structurally similar. He also believes that human moral pursuits (i.e., “morally strenuous living” or the “morally strenuous mood” of life)14 are possible, in a full, serious, and “energized” sense, only if (we maintain that) God exists. Like Kant, he presupposes—though with some hesitation and uncertainty—that human moral pursuits are possible (because actual). Therefore, he also concludes, or at least gives us the “right” to conclude, that God exists. From a Jamesian pragmatist point of view, as much as from the Kantian one, ethics and metaphysics then seem to be profoundly entangled. Religion, or theism, is pragmatically legitimated as a postulate needed for morality, for our ethical life and practices. Yet, no theological ethics in the style of, say, divine command theory can be rationally accepted by a critical moral philosopher. It would amount to putting the cart before the horse to hold that ethics could be grounded in or based upon theology (or religious revelation). What we need, according to both Kant and James, is moral theology—a theology based on ethics, rather than vice versa. Any attempt to base ethics on theology, or religion, would be an example of heteronomy instead of autonomy (in Kantian terms), but the only critical and rational way to provide a basis for theology is the ethical way. In particular, toward the end of Pragmatism, James discusses in detail the need for a “melioristic” understanding of religion as an energizing source for the moral challenges of human life: we are unable to offer any metaphysical grounding for our religious ideas and hopes, but such ideas and hopes may themselves act as the morally enabling (yet never certain or infallible) sources of ethically serious human life.15 However, there are important differences between Kant and James. We may locate the possible divergence of their argumentative strategies in the following crucial question: is theism (or what James occasionally calls the “theological postulate”) here practically (pragmatically) legitimated a priori, by reason’s capacities only (as it definitely is in Kant), or does it receive its

14

Phrases such as these occur repeatedly in James’ writings, including The Will to Believe and Pragmatism. 15 James, Pragmatism, Ch. 8.

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legitimation empirically or psychologically, as an attitude de facto “energizing” moral life, because we are the kind of beings we are (as the matter seems to be in James)? My suggestion here is that just as Kantian transcendental (critical) philosophy more generally synthesizes the pre-critically opposed epistemological doctrines of empiricism and rationalism, and just as pragmatism attempts to bridge various other philosophical gaps, including the one between facts and values,16 we may try to reconcile Kantian (transcendental) and Jamesian (pragmatist, empirical, psychological) ways of justifying theism ethically.17 I am not saying that such arguments will inevitably or immediately succeed; that would be a much more ambitious claim. What I am suggesting is that the Kantian moral defense of theism in terms of Kant’s conception of postulates of practical reason is, when flexibly interpreted, open to a pragmatic (Jamesian) rearticulation, and that the thus rearticulated pragmatic theism need not be thoroughly disconnected from the Kantian transcendental work of practical reason in the service of practice-based metaphysics and theology. Indeed, James’ pragmatism itself is open to a Kantian recontextualization. Both the Kantian and the Jamesian pragmatist should view theism as, primarily, a problem of human moral life. For both, the ultimate question is the ethical basis of theistic (or, for that matter, atheistic) metaphysics. For neither can the theism issue be resolved or even usefully discussed in the total absence of ethical considerations. 4

Naturalized Pragmatist Philosophy of Religion: John Dewey

John Dewey offers, in his A Common Faith (1934), a version of pragmatist philosophy of religion quite different from James’—a conception of religiosity “naturalized.” He argues that it is crucial to distinguish between (historical, dogmatic) religions and the religious as a quality of experience, which may be related to virtually any kind of experience (scientific, moral, aesthetic, political  …). Again, religion cannot be the basis of ethics or politics but must itself be evaluated on ethical and political grounds. A naturalized account of 16

17

See Hilary Putnam, The Collapse of the Fact/Value Dichotomy and Other Essays (Cambridge, ma: Harvard University Press, 2002); Hilary Putnam, Ethics without Ontology (Cambridge, ma: Harvard University Press, 2004); as well as Sami Pihlström, Pragmatic Moral Realism: A Transcendental Defense (Amsterdam: Rodopi, 2005). For a more comprehensive discussion of this possibility, see Pihlström, Pragmatic Pluralism and the Problem of God, especially Ch. 1.

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religious experience is pragmatically preferable to any supernaturalist metaphysics, which usually leads to dogmatism and political discrimination. As Dewey puts it in A Common Faith, religious values can be “inherent in natural experience”.18 “Any activity pursued in behalf of an ideal end against obstacles and in spite of threats of personal loss because of conviction of its general and enduring value is religious in quality.”19 “The religious” must be liberated from the supernatural commitments of actual historical religions, from dogmas and doctrines that are, pragmatically, unnecessary. The values and ideals belonging to the religious attitude are not imaginary but real; they are “made out of the hard stuff of the world of physical and social experience.20 The religious is, through this rearticulation, rendered part of nature—which, for Dewey, is all-encompassing.21 The basic contrast thus lies between religions and “the religious” (that is, religious experience, or religious qualities or aspects in experience). The proton pseudos of both traditional religions and militant atheism opposed to any kind of religiosity (such as the “new atheism” popular today) is the identification of the religious with the supernatural, which disentangles religiosity from life. Religion must be brought down to earth, to what is “common” between us. Supernaturalism—especially the claim that religions have a monopoly on supernatural means to further human ideals—is an obstacle in pursuing the 18

19 20 21

LW9:20. I am citing Dewey’s work in the standard manner. The reference is to John Dewey, The Collected Works of John Dewey: The Late Works (lw), ed. J. Ann Boydston (Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1966–1987). LW9, containing A Common Faith, stands for The Late Works, vol. 9 (1986). Ibid., 19. Ibid., 33. For discussions of this basic message of A Common Faith, see Stephen C. Rockefeller, John Dewey: Religious Faith and Democratic Humanism (New York: Columbia University Press, 1991), Chs. 10–11; Michael Eldridge, Transforming Experience: John Dewey’s Cultural  Instrumentalism (Nashville, tn: Vanderbilt University Press, 1998), Ch. 5; Larry Hickman, “Cultivating a Common Faith: Dewey’s Religion,” in Pragmatism as Post-Postmodernism: Lessons from John Dewey (New York: Fordham University Press,  2007), Ch. 11; and Sami Pihlström, “Dewey and Pragmatic Religious Naturalism,” in The Cambridge Companion to Dewey, ed. M. Cochran (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010), 211–41 (available in an expanded form as Ch. 2 of Pihlström, Pragmatic Pluralism and the Problem of God). Many interpreters have argued that Dewey’s main interest in A Common Faith is not religion as such, but social progress, democracy, and other more this-worldly topics on which he wrote voluminously elsewhere. However, for a comprehensive treatment of Dewey’s theological relevance—even for Deweyan pragmatism as a theological methodology—see Jerome Paul Soneson, Pragmatism and Pluralism: John Dewey’s Significance for Theology (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993).

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natural changes that are in our power to bring about; hence, religious values need emancipation.22 This is how Dewey contrasts his proposal to the quarrels between religious and scientific ideas: I shall develop another conception of the nature of the religious phase of experience, one that separates it from the supernatural and the things that have grown up about it. I shall try to show that these derivations are encumbrances and that what is genuinely religious will undergo an emancipation when it is relieved from them; that then, for the first time, the religious aspect of experience will be free to develop freely on its own account.23 Thus, Dewey is about to tell us what is “genuinely religious”—apparently in contrast to what is pseudo-religious or superstitious. The key to this normative distinction lies, again, in the difference between (a) religion(s) and the religious. A religion is “a special body of beliefs and practices having some kind of institutional organization,” whereas “religious,” as an adjective, does not denote any specific entity but “attitudes that may be taken toward every object and every proposed end or ideal.”24 Many elements of actual religions survive from “outgrown cultures.”25 We should leave such baggage behind, as religions largely “prevent […] the religious quality of experience from coming to consciousness and finding the expression that is appropriate to present conditions, intellectual and moral”26—particularly to modern scientific thinking. Dewey, then, is not proposing a religion at all but “the emancipation of elements and outlooks that may be called religious.”27 Dewey is above all speaking about religious experience, which is well in line with his more general project of raising experience into the status of a fundamental philosophical category. However, Deweyan religious experience is social—his conception of the religious articulates a “common faith”—rather 22

23 24 25 26 27

Dewey, LW9:19–24, 38–9, 45, 50–53. Cf. also Dewey, “One Current Religious Problem” (1936), LW11:115–17; “Anti-Naturalism in Extremis” (1943), LW15:49–62, especially 56; and “Contribution to ‘Religion and the Intellectuals’” (1950), LW16:390–394. The emancipatory project of A Common Faith and these related writings is somewhat analogous to the project of liberating aesthetic experience as a natural form of human experiencing in Art as Experience (1934, LW10). Dewey, LW9:4. Ibid., 8. Ibid., 6. Ibid., 8. Ibid., 8.

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than individual, as in the otherwise equally experience-centered philosophy of religion of his fellow pragmatist, James.28 More importantly, religious experience, for Dewey, is not a special type of experience. It is not sui generis.29 As a quality of experience, “religious” can be connected with aesthetic, scientific, moral, or political experience,30 as well as with experiences of companionship and friendship.31 Whenever there is “a change of will conceived as the  organic plenitude of our being,” there is a religious attitude, outlook, or function.32 Thus, “whatever introduces genuine perspective is religious.”33 As Deweyan religious experience is in and of nature, the attitude which “attributes human achievement and purpose to man in isolation from the world of physical nature and his fellows” is “essentially unreligious.”34 Thus, a paradigmatic case of a non- or even pseudo-religious way of thinking is, for Dewey, an individualist, supernaturalist account of spirituality isolated from other individuals’ experience and concerns. Conversely, the paradigmatic case of a social enterprise carrying religious qualities is science, whose methods Dewey sought to incorporate into moral and political “inquiries.” “Faith in the continued disclosing of truth through directed cooperative human endeavor is more religious in quality than is any faith in a completed revelation,” Dewey argues.35 Our “faith in intelligence” may, then, become religious in quality too.36 Here Dewey arrives at his famous definition, concluding the first chapter of A Common Faith: “Any activity pursued in behalf of an ideal end against obstacles and in spite of threats of personal loss because of conviction of its general and enduring value is religious in quality.”37 As the argument unfolds, Dewey reaffirms his trust in the “new methods of inquiry and reflection” as having become “the final arbiter of all questions 28

See William James, The Varieties of Religious Experience: A Study in Human Nature (1902), ed. F.H. Burkhardt, F. Bowers, and I.K. Skrupskelis (Cambridge, ma, and London: Harvard University Press, 1985). 29 Rockefeller, John Dewey, 472. One contrast perceived by Rockefeller is to Rudolf Otto’s influential theory of “the holy.” 30 Thus, in “Religion in the Soviet Union” (1930), Dewey referred to communism as having the character of a religious faith (LW5:356–7). The fruits of religious experiences need not always be positive. 31 Dewey, LW9:9. 32 Ibid., 13. 33 Ibid., 17. 34 Ibid., 18. 35 Ibid., 18. 36 Ibid., 19. 37 Ibid., 19.

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of fact, existence, and intellectual assent.”38 The scientific method can accept nothing as sacrosanct, beyond critical testing.39 There is no return to any prescientific revealed religion. Dewey characterizes “faith” as “the unification of the self through allegiance to inclusive ideal ends, which imagination presents to us and to which the human will responds as worthy of controlling our desires and choices.”40 Again, there is no need to view the ideal ends as supernatural: “The assumption that these objects of religion exist already in some realm of Being seems to add nothing to their force, while it weakens their claim over us as ideals, in so far as it bases that claim upon matters that are intellectually dubious.”41 Yet, the “reality” of ideal ends and values is unquestionable. Dewey offers a pragmatic argument here: it is “unnecessary” for the religious attitude to rely on supernatural dogma. Such reliance serves no pragmatic purposes. Values arise from nature, having their roots in “natural conditions,” emerging through imagination’s “idealizing” existence.42 One of the imaginatively projected ideals dear to many is the idea, or ideal, of God, reinterpreted by Dewey as the “active relation between ideal and actual.”43 Dewey adds, however, that he would not insist that the name “God” must be given to this (or anything).44 He seems to suggest that if we speak about God, this is how we should do it: scientifically, naturalistically, immanently, not dogmatically or supernaturalistically. This position is compatible with our not using the concept “God” at all. Yet, Dewey wanted to make room for our use of that concept, to understand and recognize people who cannot help using it.45 The concept of God as a relation between the ideal and the actual also helps us overcome the “lack of natural piety” that “militant atheism” suffers from: A religious attitude […] needs the sense of a connection of man, in the way of both dependence and support, with the enveloping world that

38 39 40 41 42 43 44 45

Ibid., 22–23. Ibid., 27–28. Ibid., 23. Ibid., 29; cf. 32–33. Ibid., 33. Ibid., 34; original emphasis. Ibid., 34–35. He writes: “Whether one gives the name ‘God’ to this union, operative in thought and action, is a matter for individual decision. But the function of such a working union of the ideal and actual seems to me to be identical with the force that has in fact been attached to the conception of God in all the religions that have a spiritual content; and a clear idea of that function seems to me urgently needed at the present time.” (LW9:35.).

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the imagination feels is a universe. Use of the words “God” or “divine” to convey the union of actual with ideal may protect man from a sense of isolation and from consequent despair or defiance.46 This way of reconceptualizing the divinity enables Dewey to connect his reflections with his view of continuous growth as our highest goal. The growth of knowledge in scientific inquiry, or “growth in understanding of nature,” may also be religious in its aims and aspirations.47 After all, the study of the mysteries of creation has often been viewed as a fundamentally religious activity. Toward the end of his book, Dewey considers at more length the social relevance of his conception of faith. He argues that there is no need to “shut ­religious values up within a particular compartment”—to draw a sharp division between the religious, on the one side, and the secular or profane, on the other.48 The liberation of the religious from narrow supernaturalism is ethically and socially, even politically, relevant: I cannot understand how any realization of the democratic ideal as a vital moral and spiritual ideal in human affairs is possible without surrender of the conception of the basic division to which supernatural Christianity is committed. Whether or not we are, save in some metaphorical sense, all brothers, we are at least all in the same boat traversing the same turbulent ocean. The potential religious significance of this fact is infinite.49 We have the potential to grow, struggling together toward the actualization of ideals, instead of assuming that our ideals are “already embodied in some supernatural or metaphysical sense in the very framework of existence.”50 While James, as we saw, seems to defend a theistic metaphysics based on ethical considerations (cf. the previous section), Dewey’s philosophy of religion is more clearly anti-metaphysical: there is no such thing as “the very framework 46 47 48

49 50

Ibid., 36. Ibid., 38. Ibid., 44–45. This suggestion might be compared to analogous pragmatist accounts in moral philosophy: morality, or moral experience, is so ubiquitous in human practices that it should not be “compartmentalized” in its own special department. Moral values pervade our existence as a whole; experience comes to us “screaming with values,” as Hilary Putnam often quotes Dewey as saying. See Putnam, Ethics without Ontology; see also Pihlström, Pragmatic Moral Realism (cited above). Dewey, LW9:55–56. Ibid., 56.

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of ­existence,” because existence itself emerges in and through human idealdriven inquiries. Yet there is a tension here. Dewey, as a good naturalist, does seem to subscribe to something he describes as “the mysterious totality of being the imagination calls the universe.”51 There is, after all, the natural u ­ niverse, giving rise to any human values and ideals there may be. Religious qualities of experience are inherently related to this mysterious nature, or the awe we feel when realizing that we are parts of it, and its growth. Whereas James already took important steps away from Kant (albeit maintaining the Kantian basic idea that religion must be grounded in morality rather than the other way round), Dewey is already very far from Kant (though of course also agrees with him in rejecting any religious or theological foundations for morality). Yet, again, James and Dewey should also be critically compared from the perspective of the key issue concerning the relation between religion and morality. Both pragmatists examine religion ethically—advancing something like moral theology, instead of theological ethics. Their discussions are also connected with political issues of religious equality: Dewey’s A Common Faith is an excellent formulation of a position taking very seriously religious equality in a multicultural society as well as what today would be called mutual recognition between religious groups (or religious and non-religious groups, for that matter). However, despite its anti-dogmatism, one may argue from a Jamesian perspective that Dewey’s position suffers from a kind of monism (that is, naturalism). Dewey’s religious naturalism might therefore need to be subordinated to, or contextualized within, Jamesian pragmatic pluralism: James’ pluralism enables us to evaluate ethically any philosophy of religion, including Deweyan naturalism. This brief observation, which I cannot develop further here, should lead us to appreciate the perhaps increasing relevance of pragmatism in contemporary debates over religious equality, pluralism, recognition, and multiculturalism. 5

Neopragmatist Philosophy (and Critique) of Religion: Richard Rorty

While the classical pragmatists (Peirce, James, Dewey) were in many ways, albeit not uncritically, sympathetic to religion, neopragmatists like Richard Rorty have been much more sharply critical of religion.52 The classical p ­ ragmatists 51 52

Ibid., 56. However, Hilary Putnam’s neopragmatism is more sympathetic to religion: cf. Hilary Putnam, Jewish Philosophy as a Guide to Life (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2008).

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(James, in particular) can be interpreted as offering their own versions of the Kantian “moral argument” for God’s reality, but Rorty clearly cannot. According to Rorty’s radically neopragmatist characterization of what he calls “postPhilosophical culture,” “[…] when the secret police come, when the torturers violate the innocent, there is nothing to be said to them of the form ‘There is something within you which you are betraying. Though you embody the practices of a totalitarian society which will endure forever, there is something beyond those practices which condemns you.’”53 Rorty admits that this thought is “hard to live with,” as in the post-Philosophical culture we finally realize that we are “alone, merely finite, with no links to something Beyond.”54 This is part of Rorty’s general project of “de-divinization,” of thoroughgoing atheism applied not just to religion but to all other areas of culture, including philosophy in particular, that might still be taken to depend on archaic religious assumptions. When the secret police arrive, there is nothing transcendent— nothing in human history, and nothing deep down in the human mind (or soul)—that would or even could condemn their torturous practices. Insofar as it is an essential feature of totalitarianism that individuals qua individuals are made superfluous,55 totalitarian practices aiming at such destruction of individuality are simply among the many human practices and “vocabularies” there are, none of which is objectively correct or incorrect from a superperspective beyond those practices and vocabularies. There is, moreover, nothing over and above the contingent historical clashes of practices and vocabularies—clashes that are, in the end, merely causal, instead of being rational or normative. Even Rorty’s own claims are presumably also only intended to make this rhetorical (ultimately causal) effect on the ways we talk instead of standing in any normative, argumentative, or justificatory relation to the ways we should talk.56 Any candidate for such trans- or ahistorical transcendence would be guilty of an unpragmatic quasi-theological metaphysics that the Rortyan liberal ironist—however strongly committed to preserving liberal and democratic values—sets aside as a remnant of the theological past of humanity. Thoroughgoing atheism, or anti-theology, is thus connected with radical anti-metaphysics. Appeals to truth, humanity, history, conscience, personhood, or guilt are just quasi-secular counterparts of appeals to God, and they are therefore of no use when the secret police come. 53 Richard Rorty, Consequences of Pragmatism (Brighton: Harvester Press, 1982), xlii–xliii. 54 Ibid. 55 Cf. Hannah Arendt, The Origins of Totalitarianism (San Diego: Harcourt, 1979; first published 1951). 56 It is highly unclear whether this position can be coherently maintained—but then again, does coherence matter if the primary purpose is rhetorical persuasion?

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It is, however, possible to challenge this Rortyan line of thought and to thereby examine the possibility of a pragmatist metaphysics (including theology) that takes seriously the ethical need to actually live with the metaphysical and/or theological pictures (or their criticism) emerging in the course of our lives and practices. We may here contrast Rorty’s pragmatism with James’ (and even with Dewey’s, though Rorty clearly prefers Deweyan naturalism to Jamesian more religiously oriented pragmatism). As should be clear after our discussion of Kant’s postulates of practical reason as well as James’ and Dewey’s twists to the Kantian conception of the primacy of practice, the ethical— including the ethical evaluation of religion—need not be thought of as being simply non-metaphysical. When Rorty says that his post-Philosophical utopia is hard to live with, it is easy to agree with him: arguably, a pragmatist position is seriously defective if it prevents us from truly living with the views it advances. From a pragmatist perspective, metaphysical and religious or theological views (ideas, theories, positions) should be evaluated in terms of their ability to help us live—­ especially, to help us live ethically. This conception of pragmatist metaphysics is, arguably, central in James’ pragmatism in particular; metaphysics (and theology), as pragmatically conceived, has an ethical core, or ethical grounds. A pragmatist metaphysics or theology must be able to oppose, e.g., totalitarian attempts to make human beings superfluous as individuals. From the perspective of Jamesian pragmatism and its account of the ethical grounds of metaphysics, in particular, we might even formulate an ethical norm for any pragmatically adequate or acceptable metaphysical and theological theorizing and reflection: we are entitled to, or even pragmatically (ethically) required to, commit ourselves to such metaphysical and/or theological views of humanity, history, the soul, etc. (or virtually anything that Rorty finds a mere counterpart of worn-out religious ideas) as will enable us to “respond to the secret police,” to condemn the torturer and to acknowledge the victims of moral wrong-doing. This is not just to claim that there are “moral reasons” for our actions independent of our individual perspectives (etc.), which just amounts to standard moral realism, but to claim, more strongly, that there are moral reasons to accept or reject certain metaphysical or theological views. For example, James would argue that monism is morally dangerous and therefore not only ethically but also metaphysically and theologically unacceptable, given that metaphysics and theology are pragmatically answerable to ethics (cf. above).57

57

Cf. James, Pragmatism, Ch. 4. As we saw above, James’ defense of theism is also thoroughly ethically motivated.

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It is, indeed, a basic Jamesian premise that we have a duty to recognize, or acknowledge, the suffering of those who were (or are) visited by the secret police—to take seriously others’ perspectives. As James famously pointed out, we must not be “deaf to the cries of the wounded.”58 We must be able to hear the individual voices of suffering human beings—e.g., against totalitarian attempts to make them superfluous—and we must also use whatever metaphysical and theological means we have at our disposal to console the victims and to condemn their torturers. Pragmatist metaphysics cannot simply rely on any religious or other “spiritual” convictions—here we should of course agree with naturalists like Dewey and Rorty—but it may arrive at such convictions as a result of a careful pragmatic consideration of what kind of potential responses we are really able to live with in an ethically responsible way. Thus, something like “moral religion” or moral theology might (but of course need not) in the end emerge from the pragmatist grounding of metaphysics in ethics, as was already observed in relation to Kant’s and James’ views above. Richard Bernstein calls Rorty’s position deep humanism, capturing its key idea in the recognition that we can appeal to no “outside authority” such as God, Truth, or Reality, i.e., that there is “nothing that we can rely on but ourselves and our fellow human beings.”59 This somewhat “tough-minded” (to use a Jamesian term) “self-reliance” (to use an Emersonian term also employed by Rorty himself) is a key idea in pragmatism which has given up dogmatic, infallibilist beliefs in authorities and is willing to reinterpret our fundamental philosophical notions such as truth and reality from a thoroughly human perspective. Yet, in some cases our “deep humanism” should let us transcend not only our context, vocabulary, or ethnos, but also everything merely human. Our reliance on our fellow human beings requires us to take seriously their “voices,” especially the “cries of the wounded”—voices and cries that often reach out for something beyond the merely human—and thus to take metaphysics and theology seriously. Moreover, a commitment to (or a reaching out for) something transcendent may in some cases be a precondition for our ability to engage in some “deeply human” practices, for instance, religion. A truly deep humanism must also allow for the “tender-minded” aspects of our reliance on ourselves and others,

58 59

See William James, “The Moral Philosopher and the Moral Life” (1891), in The Will to Believe (cited above). See Richard J. Bernstein, The Pragmatic Turn (Cambridge: Polity Press, 2010), 211. See also Ch. 9 passim.

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aspects that at least in some important cases may amount to steps toward transcendence. I doubt that Rorty’s “deep humanism” sufficiently acknowledges this.60 In contrast, we should here, again, look back at James’ philosophy of religion: reaching out for transcendence is something that takes place, or something we do, or at least something we are entitled to do, on the basis of human needs and interests, from within human practices and their ethical concerns. Metaphysical theories of the transcendent must be evaluated in terms of their ethical results.61 6

Concluding Remarks: The Importance of Negative Moral Concepts

However, not just any kind of metaphysical or religious “consolation” is ethically acceptable. Our discussion must at this point acknowledge the fundamental importance of “negative” moral concepts such as failure, guilt, evil, finitude, loss, and mortality. An ethically adequate metaphysics or theology must reserve a central place for these notions. The pragmatist cannot avoid reflecting on the problem of evil either. For James this is a much more central concept than it might initially appear if one just takes a shallow look at his “melioristic” pragmatism. Evil—and the need to avoid the theodicies postulated by the absolute, monistic idealisms of James’ times, which he finds appallingly unethical—plays a key role in Pragmatism and elsewhere.62 This ethical need to take evil, suffering, guilt, and other “negative” moral concepts and phenomena very seriously, that is, the need to avoid offering any pseudo-consolation to the “wounded” whose voices we must hear, shows that there is a deep relation between ethics and religion, even though the former can never be based on the latter. Without appreciating this connection, we fail to appreciate the profundity of the moral obligation itself. There are several dimensions to, and examples of, this analogy between ethics and religion, 60

For a more comprehensive critical treatment of Rorty’s views on religion, see Sami Pihlström, “Rorty on Faith and Hope: Comparative Perspectives on Neopragmatist Philosophy of Religion,” Philosophy Today 1 (2010), url: http://www.pragmatismtoday.eu/summer2010/Pihlstrom-Rorty_on_Faith_and_Hope.pdf. This essay is also available as part of Ch. 3 of Pihlström, Pragmatic Pluralism and the Problem of God. 61 James, Pragmatism, Chs. 3–4. 62 I have elsewhere argued for a reading of James emphasizing the need to acknowledge the reality of evil: see Sami Pihlström, “The Trail of the Human Serpent Is over Everything”: Jamesian Perspectives on Mind, World, and Religion (Lanham, md: University Press of America [Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group], 2008), Ch. 4.

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g­ oing beyond the Kantian and pragmatist moral theology discussed above. In particular, the ethical requirement of avoiding any theodicies (or “antitheodicism,” as I propose to call it),63 should also be extended to secular versions of theodicies, such as the Hegelian (or pseudo-Hegelian) views that the worldhistorical development of the Spirit will eventually heal any wounds that the twists and turns of history may accidentally produce. No, they won’t. There is always something bitter at the bottom of the cup of life, as James suggested toward the end of Pragmatism, returning in the final pages of the book to evil, suffering, loss, and tragedy: In particular this query has always come home to me: May not the claims of tender-mindedness go too far? May not the notion of a world already saved in toto anyhow, be too saccharine to stand? May not religious optimism be too idyllic? Must all be saved? Is no price to be paid in the work of salvation? Is the last word sweet? Is all “yes, yes” in the universe? Doesn’t the fact of “no” stand at the very core of life? Doesn’t the very “seriousness” that we attribute to life mean that ineluctable noes and losses form a part of it, that there are genuine sacrifices somewhere, and that something permanently drastic and bitter always remains at the bottom of its cup? I cannot speak officially as a pragmatist here; all I can say is that my own pragmatism offers no objection to my taking sides with this more moralistic view, and giving up the claim of total reconciliation. […] It is then perfectly possible to accept sincerely a drastic kind of a universe from which the element of “seriousness” is not to be expelled. Whoso does so is, it seems to me, a genuine pragmatist.64 There are, then, real losses. But there may, therefore, be real gains as well. The Jamesian pragmatist should be equally appreciative of both, and so should anyone wishing to ground religion in its ethical aspects (rather than the other way round). The seriousness of the anti-theodicist attitude is comparable to the fundamental seriousness often attached to the religious perspective on life. In this 63

See Sami Pihlström, “The Problem of Evil and the Limits of Philosophy: Toward a Pragmatist Appreciation of the Impossibility of Theodicies,” in Graduate Faculty Philosophy Journal (2012), reprinted in an expanded form as Ch. 5 of Pihlström, Pragmatic Pluralism and the Problem of God. See also Sari Kivistö and Sami Pihlström, Kantian Antitheodicy: Philosophical and Literary Varieties (Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016), especially Ch. 5. 64 James, Pragmatism, 141–42.

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sense, ethics is, again, something that is of ineliminable importance to us in a very special sense. Only religion—not science, for instance, nor arguably even art—can offer an analogy of that kind of seriousness. Not only the religious believer but the non-believer as well should also be able to appreciate this line of thought, yielding the observation that morality and religion may in the end be considerably closer to each other than we usually want to admit in our secular culture. We cannot appreciate the infinity of our moral duty and our constant failure to be moral without appreciating this crucial link.65 There is a kind of depth in the concept of evil which presupposes that we take seriously the religious background ideas framing such concepts. They must be understood in order to retain the full (potential) meaning of that concept in our attempts to understand the human condition. We might say that, in facing our ethical duty, or in realizing (with horror) that we haven’t been and never will be able to face it in the way we ought to, we stand before God—whether or not we believe God to be real in some traditional metaphysical or theological sense—at least in the sense that our duty, if it is ethical at all, is inescapable and potentially unlimited. That is, any fact in the human world potentially challenges us ethically.66 Moreover, this formulation could be connected with a broader view shared by as different philosophical orientations as, say, pragmatism and phenomenology (both of which were, in different ways, influenced by Kantianism): the way the world is for us—the way it is given to us—is not as a collection of objects of mere representation and/or spectation67 but as a field of activity and experience. Thus, the human world is also a “field” of moral engagement, even in the absence of specific moral actions, when we just set out to contemplate the world religiously or metaphysically. I would like to conclude by suggesting that the “theodicist” claim that “all is well”—that there is in reality no evil, or that whatever evil there is can be explained away and/or justified within a monistic, ultimately harmonious theistic scheme (or a secular one, for that matter)—is the other side of the coin of the Rortyan de-divinization discussed above. Neither can adequately (or at all) respond to the secret police. Theodicies do not take the task of responding seriously, because “all is well”—nothing really needs to be done—while Rortyan 65 66 67

For more details, see Sami Pihlström, Transcendental Guilt: Reflections on Ethical Finitude (Lanham, md: Lexington Books [Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group], 2011). In my Transcendental Guilt (see the previous note), I try to develop the idea that, therefore, any fact may make us, or me, guilty. Compare this to Dewey’s well-known rejection of what he called the “spectator theory of knowledge” in John Dewey, The Quest for Certainty (1929; LW4).

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ironism surrenders without being able to respond at all. Pragmatist philosophy of religion, like Kantianism, requires an active response based on a continuous ethical struggle for a better world and on the continuously renewed obligation to recognize suffering. Pragmatic meliorism must, therefore, be based on a full recognition of the reality of evil—and it is right here, at the heart of these negative moral concepts, that the fundamental link between ethics and religion must be appreciated. Finally, we may pause to reflect on what it actually means to evaluate religious and theological (or, presumably, any metaphysical) commitments ethically (as I have argued that the pragmatists have done—following Kant in this—and as I have urged throughout this essay that we should do). We cannot engage in such evaluation on the basis of any pre-given, substantial ethical theory—nor of any purely formal one—because what is given to us here is the ethical requirement to autonomously evaluate our own life, including our commitment to ethical theories and religious beliefs. We must, then, evaluate our commitments from within those commitments themselves, whatever they are. This is, inevitably, a reflexive self-evaluation. In the end, our entire life must be at stake in this process, which again brings ethics and religion together in the deep way pictured above. Furthermore, autonomous evaluation is also committed to stepping forward in order to place oneself into a process of evaluation by others. Any substantial ethical views, or religious ones for that matter, can emerge only within such concrete self-critically evaluative engagements—thus in a sense always ad hoc, rather than abstractly or generally. Only then can religion be moral.68 References Arendt, Hannah. The Origins of Totalitarianism. San Diego: Harcourt, 1979[1951]. Beiser, Frederick C. “Moral Faith and the Highest Good.” Pages 588–629 in Cambridge Companion to Kant and Modern Philosophy. Edited by P. Guyer. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2006.

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This paper was partly presented in the symposium, Morality—the Role of Religion and Religious Communities, at the Helsinki Collegium for Advanced Studies (March, 2011). I am grateful to the organizers—Anne Birgitta Pessi, Petri Luomanen, and Ilkka Pyysiäinen— for the kind invitation to contribute this paper to the symposium and to this volume. Parts of the paper were also presented at the New York Pragmatist Forum (Fordham University, New York City, February, 2011). My 2013 monograph, Pragmatic Pluralism and the Problem of God (cited above) develops the same themes at more length.

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Bernstein, Richard J. The Pragmatic Turn. Cambridge: Polity Press, 2010. Byrne, Peter. Kant on God. Aldershot: Ashgate, 2007. Dewey, John. The Collected Works of John Dewey: The Late Works (LW). Edited by J. Ann Boydston. Carbondale: Southern Illinois University Press, 1966–1987. Eldridge, Michael. Transforming Experience: John Dewey’s Cultural Instrumentalism. Nashville, TN: Vanderbilt University Press, 1998. Hickman, Larry. Pragmatism as Post-Postmodernism: Lessons from John Dewey. New York: Fordham University Press, 2007. James, William. Pragmatism: A New Name for Some Old Ways of Thinking (1907). Edited by F.H. Burkhardt, F. Bowers, and I.K. Skrupskelis. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1975. James, William. The Will to Believe and Other Essays in Popular Philosophy (1897). Edited by F.H. Burkhardt, F. Bowers, and I.K. Skrupskelis. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1979. James, William. The Varieties of Religious Experience: A Study in Human Nature (1902). Edited by F.H. Burkhardt, F. Bowers, and I.K. Skrupskelis. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1985. Kant, Immanuel. Kritik der praktischen Vernunft (1788), in Werke in Zehn Bänden. Edited by W. Weischedel. Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1983. Kant, Immanuel. Kritik der reinen Vernunft (A = 1st ed., 1781; B = 2nd ed., 1787). Edited by R. Schmidt. Hamburg: Felix Meiner, 1990. Kivistö, Sari, and Sami Pihlström. Kantian Antitheodicy: Philosophical and Literary Varietics. Basingstoke: Palgrave Macmillan, 2016. Pihlström, Sami. Pragmatic Moral Realism: A Transcendental Defense. Amsterdam and New York: Rodopi, 2005. Pihlström, Sami. “The Trail of the Human Serpent Is over Everything”: Jamesian Perspectives on Mind, World, and Religion. Lanham, MD: University Press of America [Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group], 2008. Pihlström, Sami. “Dewey and Pragmatic Religious Naturalism.” Pages 211–41 in The Cambridge Companion to Dewey. Edited by M. Cochran. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2010. Pihlström, Sami. “Rorty on Faith and Hope: Comparative Perspectives on Neopragmatist Philosophy of Religion.” Philosophy Today 1 (2010). URL: http://www.pragmatismtoday.eu/summer2010/Pihlstrom-Rorty_on_Faith_and_Hope.pdf. Pihlström, Sami. Transcendental Guilt: Reflections on Ethical Finitude. Lanham, MD: Lexington Books [Rowman & Littlefield Publishing Group], 2011. Pihlström, Sami. “The Problem of Evil and the Limits of Philosophy: Toward a Pragmatist Appreciation of the Impossibility of Theodicies.” Graduate Faculty Philosophy Journal (2012). Pihlström, Sami. Pragmatic Pluralism and the Problem of God. New York: Fordham University Press, 2013.

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Putnam, Hilary. The Collapse of the Fact/Value Dichotomy and Other Essays. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press, 2002. Putnam, Hilary. Ethics without Ontology. Cambridge, MA and London: Harvard University Press, 2004. Putnam, Hilary. Jewish Philosophy as a Guide to Life. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2008. Rockefeller, Stephen C. John Dewey: Religious Faith and Democratic Humanism. New York: Columbia University Press, 1991. Rorty, Richard. Consequences of Pragmatism. Brighton: Harvester Press, 1982. Soneson, Jerome Paul. Pragmatism and Pluralism: John Dewey’s Significance for Theology. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1993.

Divine Evil, Godless Responsibility, Religious Happiness Mika Ojakangas Looking to the gods you must go where they bid you, even if it takes you outside of justice (dikē); for where the gods take the lead nothing is shameful. sophocles, Thyestes

∵ 1 Everybody knows Dostoyevsky’s famous phrase in The Brothers Karamazov: if God does not exist then everything is permitted. Simone de Beauvoir’s response to Dostoyevsky is quite well known as well. According to her, if God does not exist, then we are all responsible.1 It is not difficult to understand what Beauvoir means by her reversal: God is an excuse. For the Homeric heroes, it went without saying that gods were such excuses. Evil deeds, which were interpreted as accidents rather than acts of a responsible subject, were due to gods. For instance, when Automedon (Il. 17.469) was foolishly attempting to double the parts of charioteer and spearman, his friend asked: “Which of the gods had put an unprofitable plan in his breast and taken away his excellent understanding?” In a similar vein, when Agamemnon (Il. 19.86) realized that he had made a mistake by stealing Achilles’ mistress, he blames gods: Not I, he declared, not I was the cause of this act, but Zeus and my portion and the Erinys who walks in darkness: they it was who in the assembly put wild delusion (atē) in my understanding, on that day when I arbitrarily took Achilles’ prize from him. So what could I do? Deity always has its way.

1 Simone de Beauvoir, The Ethics of Ambiguity (New York: Citadel Press, 1976), 15.

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi 10.1163/9789004343535_006

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During the classical age, this Homeric logic was put into question. Aeschines, a pupil of Plato, says in his speech against Timarkhos (1.190): For you must not imagine, fellow citizens, that the impulse to wrong doing (adikēma) is from the gods; nay, rather, it is from the wickedness (aselgeia) of men; nor that ungodly men are, as in tragedy, driven and chastised by the Furies with blazing torches in their hands. According to Aeschines, evil originates in the wickedness of men because it cannot originate in the wickedness of god, for god is good and nothing but good. This was, at least in principle, also the message of Christian theology from very early on: God does not do evil. Yet there is a dilemma at the heart of Christianity. The Christian God is not only a pantokratōr, that is, a being that rules over everything. He is also the origin and the cause of everything, for he has created everything ex nihilo, as Irenaeus reasoned arguing against the Platonic image of god as a demiurge who created everything by giving form to the primeval matter (hylē) (Adv. Haer. 2.1.15). Furthermore, the Christian God is omnipotens, that is, capable of everything. Although omnipotens is Jerome’s translation of the Biblical pantokratōr, it connotes, as Augustine already noted, something more than the Greek word.2 The omnipotens is the one to whom everything is possible. Finally, God knows everything, not only things past and present but also everything that happens in future, for He himself has planned everything beforehand. Now, if the good God is the origin and the cause of everything, if He rules over everything, if everything is possible to Him, and He knows everything, why then is there evil in the world? We can always claim that evil originates in man, but if God is the origin of everything, what does it mean that he is not the origin of evil. In Christian theology, there have been several attempts to solve this dilemma. According to Augustine (De natura et gratia, 7.8), for instance, God can do whatever he wants, even evil, but he does not wish to (potuit, sed noluit) because if he did, he would contradict his nature as wise, just, good, and so forth. Boethius agreed with Augustine about the nature of God (De consolatione philosophiae iv, prosa 2), arguing furthermore that God’s “incapacity” to do evil is not incapacity at all, since evil itself entails incapacity.3 2 On the history of the terms, see Gijsbert van den Brink, Almighty God: A Study of the Doctrine of Divine Omnipotence (Kampen: Pharos, 1993). 3 A brief summary of the discussion concerning God’s omnipotence in the writings of the Church Fathers can be found in Irven Michael Resnick, Divine Power and Possibility in St. Peter Damian’s De divina omnipotentia (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1992), 23–39.

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Yet even if we accept that God does not want to contradict His nature as good or that He is not capable of incapacity, the dilemma is not solved because God, even though He does not do evil, permits evil to happen in the world. Even more: evil is planned by Him, because it is necessarily included in God’s overall plan of creation. Hence, even if we impute evil deeds to man, these deeds themselves cannot be external to God’s overall plan. Therefore, even in Christianity, evil deeds are due to God and men can always explain them away by referring to God’s hidden plan. The Christian God is an excuse. This is not, however, the only way that Christianity legitimates evil, inasmuch as the Christian God may command men to do evil. To be sure, this is a rather complicated procedure: when God commands somebody to do evil, the deed is no longer evil, because when the good God commands evil, the ensuing act, if a man obeys Him, is not evil at all but turns out to be good and virtuous. In the Bible, the most famous example of such a command is of course God’s command to Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac. Now, God’s law prescribes that it is forbidden to kill—especially innocent ones. This is God’s everlasting and eternal law. Yet He himself commands that Abraham kill his son which is contrary to His law. How, then, have the Christian theologians attempted to solve this dilemma? From very early on, they have argued that if Abraham had killed his son (which did not happen), he would not have committed a crime. In other words, although theologians have as a rule agreed that the prohibition against the killing of an innocent is a self-evident and absolutely valid moral principle, they have nevertheless argued that God can make exceptions to the rule without contradicting Himself, that is, without becoming evil. In the Summa Theologica (Ia, IIae, q. 100, a. 8, ad 3), Thomas Aquinas tells us: “When Abraham consented to slay his son, he did not consent to murder.” The medieval theologians called these exceptions miracles, for only a miracle can suspend the lawful order of things and violate the divine constitution. To sum up: both the Homeric and the Christian tradition seem to attribute evil to God, the Homeric tradition directly, the Christian one more indirectly (for although the Christian God may command men to do evil, the ensuing act turns out to be good). Is there no other difference then between the Homeric and the Christian God in this respect? Basically, the difference is this: while the Greek gods delude men to do evil, the Christian God makes men to do evil without any delusion. In the Christian context, it is not someone who has become crazy that performs God’s “evil” works but the most faithful and obedient one, the one that is the most pious and virtuous—like Abraham. God did not delude Abraham but told him, clearly and without any tricks, that it is his duty to sacrifice Isaac. Hence, the religious legitimation of evil is even more obvious in the case of Christianity than in the Greek world of gods. In the Greek world, evil remains evil, even if the cause of evil is god, whereas in Christianity, evil

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is transformed into good if the cause of evil is God. In this scheme, even the most evil men become good: “The greatest tyrant in the world,” as the English Lutheran William Tyndale wrote in his Obedience of a Christian Man, is a “great benefit of God and a thing wherefore thou ought to thank God highly.”4 This is the price that we have to pay, if we want a god that is simultaneously omnipotent and supremely good and nothing but good. A religion endowed with an omnipotent God cannot establish any morality, because such a religion necessarily legitimates evil.5 2 This is not the whole story, however. Let us return to Simone Beauvoir. It was not her idea that only the death of God makes us responsible in the proper sense of the word. But what is God’s death? Although the theme is ancient (is it not the very foundation of Christianity as well?), as a slogan it became famous with Friedrich Nietzsche. Yet, Nietzsche did not draw the same conclusion from this death as Beauvoir. According to Nietzsche, the Christian God is the source of the uttermost sense of guilt—the sense of guilt which for Nietzsche is equivalent to the sense of responsibility—whereas God’s death and atheism entail innocence: “Atheism and a kind of second innocence belong together,” he writes in the Genealogy of Morals.6 Indeed, it was not Nietzsche but Martin Heidegger to whom Beauvoir owes her conclusion, not directly but through Jean-Paul Sartre’s interpretation of Being and Time. In Being and Nothingness, Sartre, this professional atheist, writes: I am abandoned (delaissé) in the world, not in the sense that I might remain abandoned and passive in a hostile universe like a board floating on the water, but rather in the sense that I find myself suddenly alone and without help engaged in a world for which I bear the whole responsibility without being able, whatever I do, to tear myself away from this responsibility for an instant.7 4 William Tyndale, The Obedience of a Christian Man (London: Penguin Books, 2000), 41, 50–51. 5 According to Lactantius (De Ira Dei 17), Epicurus was already aware of the paradox of God’s omnipotence. In his Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion, David Hume paraphrased the Epicurean argument as follows: “Is he [God] willing to prevent evil, but not able? then he is impotent. Is he able, but not willing? then he is malevolent. Is he both able and willing? whence then is evil?” David Hume, Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion (London 1779), 186. 6 Friedrich Nietzsche, On the Genealogy of Morals (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), 2.20, 71. 7 Jean-Paul Sartre, Being and Nothingness (London: Routledge, 2003), 701.

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According to Sartre, I am absolutely and irreducibly responsible for what happens to me and even for the whole world: “From the instant of my upsurge into being, I carry the weight of the world by myself alone without anything or any person being able to lighten it.”8 Here, there is no room for excuses: “The peculiar character of human-reality is that it is without excuse.”9 Yet I can be absolutely and irreducibly responsible for what happens to me and for the whole world only if there are no gods, no divine plans, and no providence, for all gods, plans, and providences destroy my absolute responsibility, because they put into question my unlimited freedom I am endowed with. I must be the cause of all my deeds and even all my fantasies, for as long as I can attribute the cause of my deeds and thoughts to external agents, be they human or superhuman, material or spiritual, sociological or theological, I am not yet a moral subject of responsibility. Thus, we have two positions here: one religious and one non-religious, one filled with excuses, one absolutely devoid of them. Should we thus conclude that the religious position is a non-ethical position and the non-religious position an ethical position? Everything depends on the definition of the ethical. If the ethical is exhausted in the notion of responsibility, then the atheist position is certainly more ethical. For the atheist position entails, not only that I am responsible for that evil I do, but also and more fundamentally that I am responsible for the very definition of evil. It is up to me to decide what is evil and what is good. Hence, I have become a god, not in the sense that I am omnipotent (I cannot do everything) but in the sense that I am responsible for everything, even if, and perhaps especially if, I cannot do everything. Now, it is not the omnipotent God but the impotent man who carries the weight of the whole world on his shoulders. This is the price we have to pay if we want to be truly ethical beings in terms of responsibility: our burden has become immeasurable. I am responsible even for God’s existence or non-existence. 3 In the history of western ethics, man’s accountability has of course always been one of the central issues, but it was not until the 18th century that this issue became the question of ethics. This also was one of the main reasons why the philosophers of the Enlightenment were so obsessed with human freedom. This has not always been the case. When we read Duns Scotus’ attempts to 8 Ibid., 710. 9 Ibid., 709.

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prove the absolute freedom of the will, we find that human responsibility is not his primary concern. The same can be said of many subsequent defenders of the freedom of the will. When Pico della Mirandola in his Oratio de Hominis Dignitate (13.74) describes man as entirely mutable and transformable by his will, a chamaeleonta of sorts, he has no need of adding that for this reason man is universally responsible. He emphasized instead that willpower and mutability make man the master of all nature, including his own nature. As God in Mirandola’s presentation says: We have made you a creature neither of heaven nor of earth, neither mortal nor immortal, in order that you may, as the free and proud shaper of your own being, fashion yourself in the form you may prefer. This idea was adopted later by Francis Bacon in his Novum Organum and subsequently, by many early modern thinkers. For the 18th-century philosophers, however, the question of freedom was almost without exception linked with the question of accountability and responsibility, to the effect that the former reached the proportions of an obsession needing to be proved at all costs. This also forms the backdrop to Immanuel Kant’s moral philosophy from the very beginning. He did not insist that every reasonable being is free because he wanted to cherish human malleability and mastery over nature. His aim was to make it crystal clear that man cannot escape his absolute accountability: man is and must be responsible for everything in him and he also knows it thanks to the voice of reason that ineluctably forces the concept of freedom upon him. In Religion within the Limits of Mere Reason, Kant wrote: Every evil action must be so considered, whenever we seek its rational origin, as if the human being had fallen into it directly from the state of innocence. For whatever his previous behavior may have been, whatever the natural causes influencing him, whether they are inside or outside them, his action is yet free and not determined through any of these causes; hence the action can and must always be judged as an original exercise of his power of choice (Willkür).10 It is precisely this 18th-century endeavor that resurfaces in the 20th-century existentialism. However, while Kant still thought that accountability of man

10

Immanuel Kant, Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason (Cambridge: University of Cambridge Press, 1998), 6:41, 62–63.

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presupposes a subjective idea or image of God, the 20th-century existentialists believed that even such a subjective idea destroys man’s absolute responsibility. 4 Let us return to Beauvoir. Although Beauvoir says that responsibility presupposes the non-existence of God, this does not mean that there would be no connection between responsibility and God. In point of fact, it is possible that God (or gods) is a historical solution to the Sartrean reality of the human. If the human being truly is absolutely free and therefore absolutely responsible as Sartre maintains, if there is no excuse available to him, is it not natural that he invents gods and religions and that he invents them in order to get rid of his burden? If this is the case, we must also re-examine the relationship between religion and ethics. To us, ethics appears somewhat naturally in terms of responsibility, but the reason for this is that we identify ethics with law and legal thinking. Originally, responsibility was not an ethical but a juridical notion. It derives from the Latin verb spondeo, which means “to become the guarantor of something for someone (or for oneself) with respect to someone,” and in ancient Rome it was usually employed in the context of contracts and legal procedures: Thus, in the promise of marriage, the father would utter the formula spondeo to express his commitment to giving his daughter as wife to a suitor (after which she was then called a sponsa) or to guarantee compensation if this did not take place.11 Yet ethics has not always been the ethics of obligation and responsibility. For the Greeks, for instance, ethics was a doctrine of happy life (eudaimonia). In fact, although the medieval theologians usually adopted the Latin law model as the point of departure in their ethical treatises, even they did not want to dispense with the idea of happiness. It was not until Kant that happiness became “pathology” in the field of morality. Yet, if ethics is about happiness and not about responsibility, then there is, at least not necessarily, no contradiction between religion and ethics. Religion is a means to alleviate the pain of man who walks here on earth under the burden of responsibility, namely absolute responsibility to which man is naturally 11

Giorgio Agamben, Remnants of Auschwitz: The Witness and the Archive (New York: Zone Books, 2002), 22.

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c­ onsigned. Without gods, there are no excuses. Without gods, accusations— especially self-accusations—continue eternally. Gods are therapeutic channels through which the absolutely responsible man can lighten his burden. Hence, when men discovered gods, perhaps they were not entirely insane. Perhaps they realized that, humanly speaking, it is impossible to carry the weight of the whole world on one’s shoulders. Surely, the Christians have always wanted to see themselves guilty, even utterly and infinitely guilty, as in Protestantism. Yet, we do not find that absolute responsibility that is present in the 20th-century atheist philosophy even in Protestantism. We know that for Luther every good work is simultaneously also sin (“there is no moral virtue […] without sin”),12 but he did not thereby proclaim that the world is on man’s shoulders. The world is on God’s shoulders. In other words, even if religions are not ethical in the sense of the ethics of responsibility, they are nevertheless profoundly human in the sense that they, unlike the atheist ethics, take into account the insurmountable rupture between man’s ontic impotence (finitude) and his ontological (infinite) responsibility. Religions are, or rather, they may be, ethical from the point of view of happiness alone. In Christianity, the name for this happiness is grace (kharis). According to some theologians, to be sure, grace merely restores nature after the fall. It enables man to assume that natural responsibility to which he was consigned in the first place. Yet if we believe those who maintain that God’s grace entails the destruction of the natural order of things, then grace names that capacity by means of which man is able to overcome his natural responsibility. In grace, as in God’s miracle, the natural order of things and, hence, absolute responsibility, is rendered inoperative. Here, however, we must distinguish grace (kharis) from mercy (eleos). ­Mercy is imperfect grace, for although both mercy and grace entail the suspension of the law and hence of responsibility, mercy indicates their temporary suspension. Therefore, we do not usually attribute to mercy those features we ­attribute to grace, for grace denotes joy and happiness, while mercy means mere absence of punishment. To be sure, grace too refers to the absence of punishment, but this absence is not due to the temporary suspension of the law but to the very absence of the law. Mercy is thwarted grace, while grace is absolutized mercy. Mercy falls within the sphere of law through its suspension (“at this particular moment, you are not responsible”), but grace entails its end (“you are no longer responsible”). 12

Martin Luther, “Disputation Against Scholastic Theology,” in Luther’s Works, Vol. 31. (­ Philadelphia: Fortress, 1958), par. 38, 11.

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This is, I believe, the meaning of Paul’s assertion in Romans (6:14): “You are not under law (hypo nomon) but under grace (hypo kharin).” Grace is not a suspension of the law but the principle that renders the law inoperative for good: “You who want to be justified by the law (nomos) have cut yourselves off from Christ; you have fallen away from grace (kharis).” (Gal 5:4). 5 But how did man find himself to be guilty and responsible in the first place? What is the origin of this debt? In The Concept of Anxiety, Kierkegaard says in passing that this relates to the birth of language. Analyzing the enigma of original sin—original sin is yet another name for responsibility, guilt and debt—he writes: “If one were to say further that it then becomes a question of how the first man learned to speak, I would answer that this is very true.”13 In his own analysis, Kierkegaard leaves this question aside (“this question lies beyond the scope of the present investigation”). Let us assume, however, that this is true. Let us assume that the question of sin relates to the question of how the first man learned to speak, that is, to the question of language and more generally, to the question of immediacy (presence) and mediacy (representation).14 And if this is true, the origin of guilt—and thus, of responsibility, sin and so on—lies in the origin of language. Guilt and language are inseparable. Language introduced a rupture in man’s natural condition. Man lost his innocence when he learned to speak. He became separated from his immediacy and became guilty and responsible. But what is the role of language in the life of man? Obviously, man did not invent language. He was caught by it, as his fate. Therefore, he is not responsible for the fact that he is a speaking being. Moreover, to the extent that guilt and responsibility derives from the fact that he is a speaking being, that 13 14

Søren Kierkegaard, The Concept of Anxiety (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980), 47 n. 2. Shortly before raising this question Kierkegaard had said that the question of innocence is not parallel to the question of immediacy, that is, to the question of experience before language. According to Kierkegaard, and here he follows Hegel, immediacy appears at the same time as it is annulled. In other words, immediacy is a presupposition of language produced by the very same language in order to annul it. Hence, immediacy is nothing. Innocence, in contrast, is something. For Kierkegaard, it is ignorance. Hence, guilt, as the opposite of innocence, must be knowledge. In innocence, man is “psychically qualified in immediate unity with his natural condition,” whereas guilt introduces a rupture in this immediate unity through knowledge. Kierkegaard, The Concept of Anxiety, 35–45.

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l­ anguage is his law, he cannot be responsible for his guilt and responsibility. He is as innocent with regard to his responsibility as Adam was with regard to his guilt—for how could Adam be responsible for his sin before he ate the fruit, that is, before he knew the difference between good and evil? And to the extent that he is innocent with regard to his responsibility (he is not responsible that he is responsible), there is, after all, innocence even in the fallen in man. Perhaps this is the good that remained in man after the fall—and not, as Augustine says in De Civitate Dei (19.13), his capability of feeling pain because of the loss of his innocence: “For, were nothing good left, there could be no pain (dolor) on account of the good which had been lost.” 6 But the question of responsibility is not yet fully addressed. We have already said that the origin of guilt—and thus, of responsibility, sin and so on—lies in the origin of language. Man lost his innocence when he learned to speak, because he became separated from his immediacy, and thus he became guilty. But what is this pre-linguistic innocence? In point of fact, there is no such prelinguistic innocence. Homo sapiens has always already been a speaking animal, that is to say, under the law of language. Indeed, if there is innocence in the human world, this innocence must be—and this is contrary to Kierkegaard’s opinion—coeval to the fall. My intention is not to say that innocence is an effect of language, a sort of surplus or a remainder (a Lacanian Real, for instance, as opposed to the law of the Symbolic), not to mention fantasy. Language and thus, the law into which the human animal is captured, is itself innocent—for language, which mediates everything for human beings, is itself immediate. Giorgio Agamben writes: “Nothing immediate can be reached by speaking ­beings—nothing, that is, except language itself, mediation itself.”15 To be sure, we can use language for very evil purposes. But we are innocent to the extent that we are speaking beings, beings consigned to language as our law. Is this not the solution to the Pauline paradox according to which the law (nomos) is at the same time “holy, just and good” (Rom 7:12) and a “curse” (Gal 3:10)? The law brings about a curse, but it brings it only if we live under the law, hypo nomon. The law in itself is innocent. Does not this apply to the Christian God himself, especially if we interpret Him as the name for language? In Christian theology, the idea that God is the 15

Giorgio Agamben, Potentialities: Collected Essays in Philosophy (Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999), 47.

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name for language has always been present, at least implicitly. Recall the first words in the beginning of the Gospel of John: “In the beginning was the Word, and the Word was with God, and the Word was God (theos ēn ho logos).” Moreover, all the standard Christian definitions of God are definitions that could be applied to language. On the one hand, God is unnameable, unspeakable, and ineffable—that is to say, without name. On the other hand, all the names bear reference to God. Hence, God is like language: there is no name for language (there is no name for name, no metalanguage), but all the names are in language.16 I see everything through language but I do not see language, or, to put it in theological terms, through God but not God himself. However, if we were capable of seeing language (God), the law of the humans, we could say that we have seen innocence. And if we could see innocence, the law of language constitutive of us, perhaps it would be possible to live it as well, that is, to live without guilt. But this seeing and living, which parallels the task of the medieval mystics as they strove for mystical union with the Godhead, may also be extremely difficult and, if we are to believe contemporary philosophers from Kant to Jacques Derrida, absolutely impossible. Indeed, for them, and especially for Derrida, this very impossibility is constitutive of ethics, while recognition of this impossibility, that is, one’s insufficiency before the demand of the ethical, can be the only “ethical” act. To put it differently, Derrida believes that every allegedly ethical act is always already an unethical act, because every act entails exclusion and sacrifice: if I give money for these poor people here, I sacrifice all the rest.17 Yet it is precisely this impossibility of being and doing good that is, for Derrida, the very condition of the ethical, while recognition of this impossibility (guilt) is the only possible ethical act. Derrida’s response to John Milbank in a roundtable discussion at Villanova University in October 1999 illustrates his position well. After lengthy discussion, Milbank, a theologian from Nottingham, points out that in the Middle Ages it was fully legitimate to prefer one’s relatives to other people without remorse and then he wonders whether Derrida is too moralistic, which in turn leads him to insist that one cannot do anything moral in the ordinary sense of the word. Derrida replies as follows:

16

17

From this perspective, Anselm’s ontological argument according to which the simple utterance of the word “God” implies His existence does not seem as absurd as it might. If God is but a name for language, it does imply His existence: the fact that I speak necessarily implies the existence of language. See Jacques Derrida, The Gift of Death (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1995).

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You might call this indifference, but if you think that the only moral duty we owe is the duty to the people—or the animals—with whom you have affinity, kinship, friendship, neighborhood, brotherhood, then you can imagine the consequences of that. I, of course, have preferences. I am one of the common people who prefer their cat to their neighbor’s cat and my family to others. But I do not have a good conscience about that. I know if I transform this into a general rule it would be the ruin of ethics. If I put as a principle that I will feed first of all my cat, my family, my nation, that would be the end of any ethical politics. So when I give a preference to my cat, which I do, that will not prevent me from having some remorse for the cat dying or starving next door, or, to change the example, for all the people on earth who are starving and dying today. So you cannot prevent me from having a bad conscience, and that is the main motivation of my ethics and politics.18 But we must remember that such an ethics of bad conscience is not the only possible ethics and that happiness may be possible, even in the sphere of ethics. By saying this, my intention is not to affirm Milbank’s eminently pre-­modern position in which goodness and justice (and hence, happiness) is found in the “pneumatic spark” within biological life.19 Happiness is possible, not because we have a “pneumatic spark” or an angelic synderesis within us, as the Scholastics had it, but because we are not doomed to mediation, since language, our law, which constitutes us, is immediate, guiltless. References Agamben, Giorgio. Potentialities: Collected Essays in Philosophy. Stanford: Stanford University Press, 1999. Agamben, Giorgio. Remnants of Auschwitz: The Witness and the Archive. New York: Zone Books, 2002. Beauvoir, Simone de. The Ethics of Ambiguity. New York: Citadel Press, 1976.

18 19

John D. Caputo, Mark Dooley, and Michael J. Scanlon, ed., Questioning God (Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001), 69. “Human life must somehow bear within its biological spark (which itself must logically be prior to death, which is sheer negation) also a pneumatic spark that links it to undying goodness and justice.” John Milbank, “Paul against Biopolitics,” Theory, Culture & Society 25(7–8) (2008): 125–72, esp. p. 160.

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Brink, Gijsbert van den. Almighty God: A Study of the Doctrine of Divine Omnipotence. Kampen: Pharos, 1993. Caputo, John D, Mark Dooley, and Michael J. Scanlon, ed. Questioning God. Bloomington: Indiana University Press, 2001. Derrida, Jacques. The Gift of Death. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 1995. Hume, David. Dialogues Concerning Natural Religion. London 1779. Kant, Immanuel. Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason. Cambridge: University of Cambridge Press, 1998. Kierkegaard, Søren. The Concept of Anxiety. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1980. Luther, Martin. “Disputation Against Scholastic Theology.” In Luther’s Works, Vol. 31. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1958. Milbank, John. “Paul against Biopolitics.” Theory, Culture & Society, 25(7–8) (2008): 125–72. Nietzsche, Friedrich. On the Genealogy of Morals. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996. Resnick, Irven Michael. Divine Power and Possibility in St. Peter Damian’s De divina omnipotentia. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 1992. Sartre, Jean-Paul. Being and Nothingness. London: Routledge, 2003. Tyndale, William. The Obedience of a Christian Man. London: Penguin Books, 2000.

Comment 1: Comments on Ilkka Pyysiäinen’s “The Evolution of Morality and Religion” Simo Knuuttila Pyysiäinen argues that “religion is not—and cannot be—the necessary basis of morality.” Empirical evidence does not support the hypothesis of a necessary causal relationship between religion and morality according to the common usage of these terms in empirical research. He further stresses that the ques­ tion about the connection between religion and morality is associated with various conceptual difficulties. This may be the background of the complicat­ ed formulation of the thesis above with iterated modal phrases about which one could ask what kind of necessity or impossibility is meant. I shall return to this below. The paper includes learned and useful comments on recent topical studies in social sciences and evolutionary psychology. Together with some other re­ presentatives of the cognitive science of religion, Pyysiäinen holds that religion has emerged as a by-product of adaptive cognitive systems such as hyperactive agency detection devices and high sensitivity to counter-intuitive phenom­ ena. Some researchers of evolutionary psychology are interested in the origins of morality from the point of view of their research paradigm as well as the relationship between the emergence of religion and morality.1 Pyysiäinen de­ fends the view that morality and religion are basically different and indepen­ dent things. This probably sounds congenial to many theologians of the major Western churches who are inclined to regard the basic moral attitudes as uni­ versal. The research of religion and morality in evolutionary psychology tries to formulate questions which could be treated by the methods of scientific explanations. Because of the different perspectives in theological and scien­ tific approaches, the similarity of Pyysiäinen’s view with mainstream classical theology looks coincidental. Nevertheless, it is of some interest to consider this parallelism and the relationship between the assumptions in the evolutionary psychology of morality and in traditional moral teaching in general.

1 See also P. Bloom, “Religion, Morality, Evolution,” Annual Review of Psychology 63 (2012): 179–99; A. Norenzayan, “Does Religion Make People Moral?” Behaviour 151 (2014): 365–84; V. Girotto, T. Pievani, and G. Vallortigara, “Supernatural Beliefs: Adaptations for Social Life or By-Products of Cognitive Adaptations?” Behaviour 151 (2014): 385–402.

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Plato let Socrates and the sophist Protagoras agree that God has put the sense of shame and justice into the heart of all humans; elsewhere he has Socrates teach that God does not decide what is right and wrong and that the divine judgment of souls is an important motivator for avoiding shameful action.2 Pope John Paul ii writes in his encyclical letter Veritatis splendor (1993) that all human beings in their heart know the same elementary principles of moral­ ity which are traditionally called the natural law.3 The same view is found in many theologians of Protestant denominations, although there are differences between their ideas about the degree to which this knowledge is darkened af­ ter the fall of Adam and Eve.4 In addition to the assumption of natural moral law, Luther and Calvin taught that human beings have a natural awareness of divinity, sensus divinitatis, which, because of the deterioration of the hu­ man race after Paradise time, works in a wrong way among the pagans, giving rise to religions based on their own thoughts and not on divine revelation.5 In his Meditations, Descartes considers it reasonable that the creator of souls has left a sign of itself in them, an awareness of the maker.6 He seems to follow Thomism rather than Protestantism because immediate religious knowledge is not a stained sign in his view.7 According to Luther and Calvin, the correct elements of natural moral law are found in all persons; the natural awareness of divinity is also universal, but it does not function properly on its own. Natu­ ral religion and natural morality are different things in this sense. Luther and Calvin are basically interested in saving faith and consequently speak about good deeds as part of the faith rather than as something in conformity with the moral awareness of the pagans. John Paul ii argues that the magisterium of the church is required not merely for improving moral motivation, but also for shedding light on the moral truths that are darkened without the light of faith.8 2 Protagoras 322c–d, Euthyphro 10a–e, Gorgias 523a527a. 3 John Paul ii, Veritatis splendor (Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 1993), 54, 57. 4 See H. Olsson, Schöpfung, Vernunft und Gesetz in Luthers Theologie (Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1971); I. Backus, “Calvin’s Concept of Natural and Roman Law,” Calvin Theological Journal 38 (2003): 7–26. 5 Jean Calvin, Institutio christianae religionis, Opera selecta, vol. 3, ed. P. Barth and G. Niesel (Munich: Chr. Kaiser Verlag, 1926), I.3; Martin Luther, Der Prophet Jona ausgelegt, in D. Martin Luther’s Werke, Kritische Gesamtausgabe 19 (Weimar: Herrmann Böhlaus Nachfolger, 1912), 205–07. 6 R. Descartes, Meditationes de prima philosophia, in Oeuvres de Descartes, vol. vii, ed. C. Adam and P. Tannery (Paris: Vrin, 1996), 51. 7 See also Thomas Aquinas, Summa Theologiae, ed. P. Caramello (Turin: Marietti, 1948), I.2.1, ad 1. 8 Ibid. 64.

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At the beginning of his paper, Pyysiäinen refers to Sinnott-Armstrong’s re­ mark that if God existed, then everything would be permissible. As far as I know, no one has defended this view. Since the claim is meant to be critical of divine command ethics, the consequence should be: If something is com­ manded by the highest moral authority, it is permitted. I think, like William Ockham, that this is true and not surprising. Of course, one may ask whether there is any highest moral authority and so on. The example of Abraham and Isaac is sometimes understood from a Kantian perspective as a case where that which is thought to be the highest moral authority commands something against what a person thinks to be right. Kant bluntly said that alleged divine voices to this effect are hallucinations.9 Michael Persinger argues in his neu­ roscience theory that religious experiences have the same source as epileptic seizures and may be accompanied by potentially dangerous commands of an inner voice. Persinger has evolutionary ideas about religion as well, but it is particularly his view of religious experiences as mental disturbances that is readily received by anti-religious authors. Persinger has reported on experi­ ments of how the influence of weak magnetic fields on the brain causes re­ ligious mental states, but other researches have not managed to replicate his God Helmet experiments.10 In the opening section of his paper, Pyysiäinen refers to some empirical studies which investigate the positive or negative impact of religion on happi­ ness, health, or moral intuitions. He thinks that the results are mixed, except that Hauser’s Moral Test provides evidence for the claim that there are uni­ versal moral intuitions which are independent of religion. Referring to vari­ ous empirical studies and surveys, Bloom concludes that religion often makes people somewhat more generous than others in giving money to charities.11 As Pyysiäinen remarks, it seems that the community associated with religion is important here. As for the evolutionary connection between religion and mo­ rality, Pyysiäinen is skeptical of the attempts to embed the origin of morality in that of religion. This is in agreement with his view that religion is a by-product of other cognitive and emotional mechanisms. He also stresses the ambigui­ ties of the term “religion” in the studies of the evolution of religion, thinking 9 10

11

Der Streit der Facultäten in Werke, ed. W. Weischedel, vol. IX.1 (Darmstadt: Wissenschaftli­ che Buchgesellschaft, 1983), 861 (A 103). See A. Runehov, Sacred or Neural? The Potential of Neuroscience to Explain Religious Experience (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007). For a critical survey of contemporary neuroscience of religion, see J. Bulbulia and U. Schjoedt, “The Neural Basis of Religion,” in The Neural Basis of Human Belief Systems, ed. F. Krueger and J. Grafman (New York: Routledge, 2013), 169–85. Bloom, “Religion, Morality, Evolution,” 192.

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that it would be good if the researchers of religion could say more clearly what the object of their research is. “Morality” suffers from the same problem, its largest scope extending heterogeneously from manners and rituals to Kantian ethics. Assuming that we know what we are speaking about, Pyysiäinen’s re­ marks on the relationship between morality and religion are reasonable, but this branch of research in general would be benefited by better elaborated con­ ceptual frameworks. This, of course, is the most common philosophical reac­ tion in this context. But in any case, for example, distinguishing between the epistemic, semantic, and causal priorities in relation to the mental, neural, and behavioral domains would often be helpful and also relevant with respect to the modalities mentioned at the beginning.12 In his book Moral Minds, Marc Hauser argues that human beings have in­ nate moral instincts. He refers to them as a universal moral grammar which is grounded in the human brain.13 Critics have not been convinced about the moral organ and they have been skeptical of Hauser’s view of the nature of the elements of morality in monkeys. The difficulties in interpreting the empirical data derived from the behavior of monkeys led for its part to the unfortunate Hauser affair with manipulated results of experiments in 2010. While seeing problems in Hauser’s view, Pyysiäinen operates with the conception of pan­ human moral intuitions. “Intuition” plays an important role in the evolution­ ary studies of morality and religion, but it is a further example of ambiguous terms in philosophy and science and therefore not particularly helpful without a definite description whenever it is used. This is a general remark and not a criticism of Pyysiäinen. At the end he refers to some authors interested in Aristotelian virtue ethics from the point of view of evolutionary neuroscience. In her recent work on virtue ethics, Julia Annas refers to some studies of this sort and regards them as psychological investigations of skills and know-how knowledge rather than virtue ethics activity, which in her view could be an interesting subject for psychological research.14 References Annas, J. Intelligent Virtue. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011. Aquinas, Thomas. Summa Theologiae. Edited by P. Caramello. Turin: Marietti, 1948. 12 13 14

See G.H. von Wright, In the Shadow of Descartes: Essays in the Philosophy of Mind (Dor­ drecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1998), 147. M.D. Hauser, Moral Minds: How Nature Designed our Universal Sense of Right and Wrong (New York: Harper Collins, 2006). J. Annas, Intelligent Virtue (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2011), 174–75.

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Backus, I. “Calvin’s Concept of Natural and Roman Law,” Calvin Theological Journal 38 (2003): 7–26. Bloom, P. “Religion, Morality, Evolution,” Annual Review of Psychology 63 (2012): 179–99. Bulbulia, J., and U. Schjoedt. “The Neural Basis of Religion,” in The Neural Basis of Human Belief Systems. Edited by F. Krueger and J. Grafman. New York: Routledge, 2013. Calvin, Jean. Institutio christianae religionis, Opera selecta, vol. 3. Edited by P. Barth and G. Niesel. Munich: Chr. Kaiser Verlag, 1926. Descartes, R. Meditationes de prima philosophia, in Oeuvres de Descartes. Meditationes de prima philosophia, vol. VII. Edited by C. Adam and P. Tannery. Paris: Vrin, 1996. Girotto, V., T. Pievani, and G. Vallortigara. “Supernatural Beliefs: Adaptations for Social Life or By-products of Cognitive Adaptations?” Behaviour 151 (2014): 385–402. Hauser, M.D. Moral Minds: How Nature Designed our Universal Sense of Right and Wrong. New York: Harper Collins, 2006. John Paul II. Veritatis splendor. Vatican City: Libreria Editrice Vaticana, 1993. Kant, I. Der Streit der Facultäten, Werke XI.1. Editied by W. Weischedel, Darmstadt: Wissenschaftliche Buchgesellschaft, 1983. Luther, Martin. Der Prophet Jona ausgelegt, in D. Martin Luther’s Werke, Kritische Gesamtausgabe 19. Weimar: Herrmann Böhlaus Nachfolger, 1912. Norenzayan, A. “Does Religion Make People Moral?” Behaviour 151 (2014): 365–84. Olsson, H. Schöpfung, Vernunft und Gesetz in Luthers Theologie. Uppsala: Almqvist & Wiksell, 1971. Runehov, A. Sacred or Neural? The Potential of Neuroscience to Explain Religious Experience. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2007. Wright, G.H. von. In the Shadow of Descartes: Essays in the Philosophy of Mind. Dor­ drecht: Kluwer Academic Publishers, 1998.

Comment 2: Religion Irrespective of Morality Jutta Jokiranta Morality is not based on religion, but rather the other way around: religion needs morality. This is argued for in many ways by the four opening papers of the volume (Petri Ylikoski, Ilkka Pyysiäinen, Sami Pihlström, Mika Ojakangas). It is thus not the question whether moral people have religion but rather: when the two are linked, why and how this happens. This is how Ojakangas argues philosophically: gods are harmful to responsibility in the absolute sense (man can present gods as his excuse) but helpful for human happiness (man discovers gods in order to find relief from guilt). By understanding ethics as the teaching of happy life, rather than that of responsibilities and obligation, it is possible to argue that an atheistic position on ethics is not the only possibility—a theistic position can equally be ethical. In the sphere of the cognitive science of religion, the question of the relationship between morality and religion is this: Is there any evidence that god-beliefs enhanced pro-social behaviour (also towards non-kin group members) and thus played a role in human cultural evolution? “Which comes first, cooperation or beliefs about moralizing gods?” as Ilkka Pyysiäinen puts it. Pyysiäinen argues that morality is not derived from religion: religion or lack of religion does not influence the way in which people make intuitive moral judgments. Nevertheless, there is some evidence that beliefs in all-seeing gods (beliefs in supernatural monitoring and punishment) can promote human cooperation in a manner similar to social surveillance. (Ylikoski critically discusses this empirical evidence). Thus gods are not harmful to responsibility in practice if it can be shown that thinking of gods can heighten people’s moral sensitivity. However, such a factor is a consequence of evolved cognitive mechanisms, not the condition for human cooperation. “The role of religion is more in giving an expression and justification to our moral intuitions, rather than being the necessary basis for morality.” Pihlström seems to be agreeing with this in his claim that we need theology based on ethics, not ethics based on theology: that is, religion cannot be the basis for ethics but religion can be argued for on moral grounds. Such a position is held by some pragmatists in the philosophy of religion: we must take into account the fact that religion can be morally enabling and energizing for human life. To follow the lead that Pihlström presents (in discussing Rorty), the question is put as follows: How could the torturous practices of a totalitarian society

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(“secret police”) be condemned? Those practices can be perfectly “legal” and even agreed to by the majority. Only something outside this system (“beyond”) could condemn this. This something can be god but also other metaphysical views. Some philosophers (Rorty) wish to argue that no such thing should be accepted in any argument, but Pihlström does not find this satisfactory. Yet how does this relate to the logic presented by Ojakangas: if there is something outside this system, humans can blame it for their evils. So are we trapped? If we do not have god, we have only ourselves to blame and we bear the burden of being gods ourselves; if we do have god, we are in danger of blaming it—we are in a way condemned to struggle not to blame others, silence the victims, and set up a totalitarian body. The consolation of religion (god bears the ultimate responsibility of what is good and bad or brings relief from guilt) is not absolute: it does not take the burden away from man to evaluate which practices and beliefs are ethically acceptable. Let us play with an idea: think of a parent and child. Without the parent, the child would not exist. When the child commits some immoral action, can she blame the parent for it? She might try to do exactly that, but her education and upbringing aims at teaching the child that she has to acknowledge and bear the consequences of her actions herself. Even though she had inherited properties from her parent to make her behaviour short-tempered, or even though her previous upbringing was twisted to teach her some bad habits, she reaches a point at which we say she is responsible for her actions and cannot continue to blame others. Is this what moral religion needs? Religions always have the excuse when they take the child’s position (“god says so,” “god made it so”), but when they take the role of the parent, they must reflect on the consequences of their actions (“god made it so but how can we respond to that?”).1 Related to the question of the role of god in ethics or morality, a classic example of the “immoral” stories of the Hebrew Bible is the story of God commanding Abraham to sacrifice his son Isaac (Gen 22). The story is referred to in this volume both by Ojakangas and Pyysiäinen. The problem has been widely discussed in the field of philosophy: Can God command immoral actions and should these be carried out? Theologians themselves have presented different answers and defended either the divine command theory (God is 1 Furthermore, I am a little puzzled whether the philosophical discussion on God and responsibility takes into account that, in religious self-understanding, it is often central to whom one is responsible. Responsibility is about relations. To say that I am the sole source of all my deeds and thoughts is denying the reality in which I am influenced by others and my environment, but to say I am responsible for all my deeds and thoughts (to someone) is another matter—is not origin different from accountability?

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the sole m ­ easure of the moral) or the natural law theory (humans have access by reason to what is moral). This enterprise is certainly necessary and valid. However, a biblical scholar cannot help feeling a little uncomfortable with the negligence of the historical and literal contexts of stories like this. I mention only two details about Gen 22. First, at the very outset, the reader of the story knows that this is a test by God (22:1). This gives a particular flavour to what follows. In congruence with this, the greater part of the interpretation history of the story has focused on Abraham’s obedience and trust, rather than his moral ­dilemma.2 This does not take away the question of whether the good God can test his people in all possible ways. Testing and martyrdom have been other emphatic themes in the story’s reception history. That is another important element to note about the story: the divine test is about a particular thing, giving up one’s future (Isaac as the only legitimate heir of Abraham). Thus, the story can be compared to the testing of Job, or even to the command by Jesus to the rich man to “sell everything that you have” (Mark 10:21). Giving up one’s life to gain it is a unifying theme. This is not to say that the Hebrew scriptures do not have morally disturbing stories or do not require moral reflection (e.g., divine commands to genocide are a case in point). I am only saying that this way of deriving divine laws on the basis of a command in a narrative is as random as saying that, since God in the paradise story must ask Adam where he is (Gen 3:9), God is not all-­knowing. Context deserves to be taken into account, even in moral philosophical discussions. Religious legitimation of evil, where it occurs, needs to be rejected for the right reasons. One relevant issue intrinsically connected to religion’s role in moral discourse seems to me to be religious views about revelation and interpretation of sacred writings—these have immediate relevance on how narratives and divine commands will be evaluated in the present-day world. Petri Ylikoski argues that, in hunter-gatherer societies, morality and gods existed independently. The emergence of the idea of gods as supernatural agents is not the same as the emergence of large-scale pro-sociality (which is the part of morality focused on here). These were only later linked: Ylikoski refutes the “supernatural surveillance and punishment hypothesis” (ssp), according to which fear of gods’ punishment is the source of increasing prosocial behaviour. There are two forms of this hypothesis. The early form claims that ssp beliefs are a biological adaptation: ssp beliefs were selected on the individual-genetic level predating large-scale societies. Ylikoski rejects (similarly Pyysiäinen) this 2 Timo Veijola, “Abrahamin uhri—valistuneen jumalakuvan loppu?” in Vanhan testamentin tutkimus ja teologia, Suomalaisen teologisen kirjallisuusseuran julkaisuja 167 (Helsinki: Suomalainen teologinen kirjallisuusseura, 1990), 133–60.

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since the same effects for pro-sociality can be achieved merely through surveillance by an “other” (person); ssp beliefs are not an essential part of all religions and god-beliefs. This seems as an important correction, although I am pondering if the ssp hypothesis itself could include the idea of the “other” which does not need to be omnipresent and omnipotent: the idea of surveillance by some “other” agent, even if this would be restricted in its power to punish, may still be a step towards new pressure to act in a certain way. When god-beliefs emerged, my intuition says it would have been rather laborious to keep them from not being connected to the idea that these gods care about human behaviour (be it directed to gods directly, or to the environment, or to fellow humans); mental states and motivations are naturally connected to agency.3 Ylikoski then discusses the late form of the ssp hypothesis and sees no confirming evidence for it either. This form claims that ssp beliefs are a cultural adaptation: they were selected on the group level for enabling the expansion of cooperation in large-scale societies. “High gods” as creators and governors of all beings indeed seem to be connected to large-scale communities, but, according to Ylikoski, this does not prove that ssp beliefs led to the emergence of such civilizations. Here Ylikoski cites as an example the Roman Empire whose pantheon lacked morally concerned high gods. The Greek and Roman gods were certainly to some extent morally interested but perhaps not in the sense the ssp hypothesis requires. However, one objection could be that the Roman Emperors acquired properties that may come close to morally interested gods: they adopted divine epithets and demanded emperor cult and loyalty to the Laws and the Empire; their “surveillance” reached the far ends of the expanding empire. Can the idea of a (super)human agent, if that agent is remote, impersonal, impartial, and powerful enough, function in the role of gods in the way the ssp hypothesis requires? Furthermore, Greek philosophers presented high and sophisticated ideas about the divine as magnetically drawing human beings to living a virtuous life, and the divine was also connected to the idea of

3 In his oral presentation, Ylikoski investigated the different “grades” in which supernatural agents could have acquired moral relevance: 1) supernatural surveillance (“god watches”), 2) threats/promises of supernatural intervention (“god watches and can punish/reward”), 3) threats/promises of intervention also concerning afterlife (“god watches and will punish/ reward even influencing the nature of the afterlife”), 4) divine commands based on benevolence (“god watches and also commands certain behavior”). All these ideas were probably present in restricted forms in hunter-gatherer societies, but in order to be connected to moral relevance, cultural transmission was needed in which theological ideas of morally interested and powerful but benevolent gods developed.

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the natural law.4 Thus, historians of ancient civilizations may wish to evaluate and nuance this late form of ssp. It seems that real and important differences did exist between early polytheistic Mesopotamian states and the later monotheistic Israelite religion, for example. The Mesopotamian pantheon never agreed on a common purpose and could thus not cause pressure on human moral behaviour in the same way as when the idea of one (supreme) God gained ground.5 In any case, the explanation of how gods become increasingly moral and how moral religions become dominant has to be socio-cultural, not evolutionary. From the biblical studies perspective, religious texts (such as the Hebrew Bible) themselves provide examples of not coupling morality and religion together.6 God-beliefs also often exist in other than moral functions. The idea that, when small groups became larger (as a result of agriculture and formation of kingdoms) and there emerged the need to create social cohesion in the group and have social rules of behaviour, gods and shared cult served as legitimation of power and social order is also seen in ancient Israelite society. Different tribes/groups were tied together by combining features of divinities (El-Yhwh-Baal-Asera), by merging divinities, and eventually by claiming superiority of one divinity over the others.7 Divinity transferred from family deity, to tribal warrior god, to royal deity.8 The Yhwh alone movement was connected with the centralization of power, needed in the face of the Assyrian and Babylonian threats in the 7th and 6th centuries bce. First gods have a role in political legitimation, then this legitimation will be explained and argued for (“god sees it,” “god knows,” “god punishes/rewards,” “god says so”). The Hebrew Bible witnesses the ways in which God becomes more moral. For example, Yhwh’s theophany on Mount Sinai (Exod 19) has been regarded as an originally independent tradition from the tradition of the 4 John Hare, “Religion and Morality,” in The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Spring 2014 Edition. Edited by Edward N. Zalta. url = http://plato.stanford.edu/archives/spr2014/ entries/religion-morality/, 2014. 5 However, the comparison between ancient Mesopotamia and Israel presented by Giorgio Buccellati seems too dichotomous (“Ethics and Piety in the Ancient Near East,” in Civilizations of the Ancient Near East, Vol. 3, ed. J.M. Sasson et al., [New York, Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1995], 1685–96). See also K. van der Toorn, Sin and Sanction in Israel and Mesopotamia: A Comparative Study. Studia Semitica Neerlandica 22 (Assen: Van Gorcum, 1985). 6 Cf. the discussion in Y. Tzvi Langermann, ed., Monotheism and Ethics: Historical and Contemporary Intersections among Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Studies on the Children of Abraham 2 (Leiden: Brill, 2012). 7 Mark S. Smith, The Early History of God: Yahweh and the Other Deities in Ancient Israel (Grand Rapids, mi.: Eerdmans, 1990). 8 Erhard S. Gerstenberger, Theologies in the Old Testament. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002.

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Law on the Mount (Exod 20–24): God’s revelation of himself is something other than legal requirements for the people. Many law collections in the Torah are “family and village laws,” not divinely motivated or sanctioned; yet later they acquire the sense of “divine laws” as parts of the Mosaic discourse. However, not all ways of increasing the moral relevance of God are employed: for example, the idea of divine sanctions affecting the afterlife is remarkably faint within the Hebrew Bible. It becomes more clearly conceptualized in the other Second Temple literature, including the New Testament. New ways of thinking emerged concerning the heavenly sphere and the divine plan, demonstrated in the rise of apocalyptic literature—which is often understood as “resistance literature” in the circumstances where the people were under foreign powers. Family ethics was about mutual solidarity whereas state ethics was a matter of law and the needs of the dynasty. But such ethics was not accepted uncritically by ancient peoples. Rulers who misused their power were represented as without divine protection. The idea that God is to be served by serving the fellow human being is often regarded as an innovation by such thinkers. God is not merely an observer, commander, or judge; God participates in human life. Ylikoski argued that the idea of morally interested gods means that gods are interested in human relations, not only in how humans behave towards the gods. Correct cult and worship of the divine is not sufficient to satisfy the morally interested gods. This is connected to the idea of ethics as teaching of good life (Ojakangas), an alternative path that is often overlooked. The students of “Hebrew Bible ethics” expect to study laws and principles derived from these laws, but the ethics can be more profoundly found in the narratives, in stories of liberation, in answers to what it is to be human, in moral dilemmas faced by biblical characters, in communication and giving voice to the unheard.9 The suggested and certainly often existing independence of morality and religion brings to my mind one final question: religion needs morality but why is religion not completely reducible to morality? In secularization, moral religions take dominance. But at the same time, gods are other than moral: they are creators and maintainers of life, saviours and helpers, explanations and reasons, discussion partners, sources of revelations, entertainers and pain relievers, symbolic identity markers. In explaining the ways in which gods are coupled with morality and the ways in which religion is accepted (or not) in contemporary ethical discourse, we must not disregard this aspect of religion. 9 John Rogerson, Theory and Practice in Old Testament Ethics (London: T & T Clark, 2004). Similarly, ancient Greek and Roman mythologies are moral lessons about correct behaviour and attitude.

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References Buccellati, Giorgio. “Ethics and Piety in the Ancient Near East.” Pages 1685–96 in Civilizations of the Ancient Near East. Vol. 3. Edited by editor-in-chief J.M. Sasson and associate editors John Baines, G. Beckman, and Karen S. Rubinson. New York, Charles Scribner’s Sons, 1995. Gerstenberger, Erhard S. Theologies in the Old Testament. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2002. Hare, John. “Religion and Morality.” In The Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. Spring 2014 Edition. Edited by Edward N. Zalta. URL = . Langermann, Y. Tzvi, ed. Monotheism and Ethics: Historical and Contemporary Intersections among Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Studies on the Children of Abraham 2. Leiden: Brill, 2012. Rogerson, John. Theory and Practice in Old Testament Ethics. London: T & T Clark, 2004. Smith, Mark S. The Early History of God: Yahweh and the Other Deities in Ancient Israel. Grand Rapids, MI: Eerdmans, 1990. Toorn, K. van der. Sin and Sanction in Israel and Mesopotamia: A Comparative Study. Studia Semitica Neerlandica 22. Assen: Van Gorcum, 1985. Veijola, Timo. “Abrahamin uhri—valistuneen jumalakuvan loppu?” Pages 133–60 in Vanhan testamentin tutkimus ja teologia. Suomalaisen teologisen kirjallisuusseuran julkaisuja 167. Helsinki: STKS, 1990.

part 2 Morality and Early Christianity

⸪

Morality and the Evolution of Christianity1 Petri Luomanen 1 Introduction Some evolutionary theorists and cognitive scientists, like Richard Dawkins and Pascal Boyer, take religion as a spandrel, a by-product of mental modules that originally supported the evolutionary adaptation of our hunter-gatherer ancestors to some natural surroundings. These mental structures include modules like agent detector, cheater detector and various alarm systems that in addition to (or instead of) their original functions work like “gadgets” (Boyer’s term) that produce religion.2 In its extreme form the by-product theory sees religion as a harmful virus (or meme), effective in copying itself and spreading in culture. Its effect on morality is disastrous: it is a major source of conflict and evil.3 On the other hand, there are evolutionary biologists who think that religion is itself an adaptation. David Sloan Wilson, for instance, argues in contrast to the by-product theory that religions survive because of their own ability to enhance in-group morality and cohesion. This gives religious groups an adaptive advantage over other groups in evolution—purely in material terms.4 1 The article is shortened and modified version of “From Mark and Q to Matthew: An Experiment in Evolutionary Analysis,” in Mark and Matthew ii, ed. E.-M. Becker and A. Runesson. Wissenschaftlice Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 304. (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 27–73. 2 Pascal Boyer, Religion Explained: The Human Instincts that Fashion Gods, Spirits and Ancestors (London: Vintage, 2002), 150–54. 3 Cf. Pascal Boyer, The Naturalness of Religious Ideas: A Cognitive Theory of Religion (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994); and Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion (London: Bantam Press, 2006). 4 David Sloan Wilson, Darwin’s Cathedral: Evolution, Religion and the Nature of Society (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2002), 44. Daniel Dennett locates his position somewhere between Wilson and Dawkins, criticizing Wilson’s group selection model, which, by definition, does not cohere with Dennett’s own “meme’s eye” perspective. On the other hand, Dennett regards his meme-theorizing as more friendly towards religion than that of Richard Dawkins. See Daniel Dennett, Breaking the Spell: Religion as a Natural Phenomenon (London: Penguin Books, 2006), 181–88. For an assessment (and critique) of Dawkins and Dennett, see Armin Geertz, “New Atheistic Approaches in the Cognitive Science of Religion: On Daniel Dennett, Breaking the Spell (2006) and Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion (2006),” in Contemporary Theories of Religion, ed. M. Strausberg (Oxon: Routledge, 2009), 242–63.

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Throughout the history of the critical study of biblical traditions, scholars have also presented overall interpretations of the development of Christianity. One of the best known examples must be Ferdinand Christian Baur’s Hegelian interpretation of the birth of Christianity as the result of the two opposing theses of strict Jewish Christianity and more liberal Pauline Christianity, resulting in the synthesis of Catholic Christianity.5 What have been largely missing are approaches that tie the analysis with the discussion about the significance of biological evolution for cultural studies or with the discussion about the coevolution of nature and culture. Now there is growing interest in this kind of approach, especially in the context of interdisciplinary analyses of the beginnings of Christianity. Morality plays a central role in the discussion because scholars who argue for Christianity’s adaptive evolutionary function think that Christianity was adaptive because of its moral qualities, ability to enhance altruism and care for dispossessed. ­Nevertheless— as the following summary of previous analyses shows—­discussion has remained highly abstract, suggesting more than providing critical evidence. As far as there have been more concrete claims concerning specific social processes that would explain the evolution of Christianity, these have been presented by scholars from outside the field of biblical studies. These are important and welcome contributions to interdisciplinary discussion but they also require more detailed assessment in the light of available sources. This article does not attempt to solve the overall problem of the birth of religion or the question of why religions in general could be adaptive. Instead, I will be focusing on early Christianity (and partly its predecessor Judaism). Even within this sphere of religious thinking and practice, my scope is limited because I am developing and testing a model that would enable us to trace something of a cultural-evolutionary history of early Christian writings and communities where these writings were produced and used. Thus, I am taking the early Christian writings to be analyzed in this chapter as literary expressions of religious ideas and forms of communal life. In the following, I first introduce and assess some of the key interdisciplinary evolutionary approaches to early Christianity (Section 2). This leads to the formulation of a general model for an evolutionary analysis and comparison of early Christian gospels (Section 3) followed by an example (Section 4) and conclusions (Section 5). 5 Baur, Ferdinand Christian, “Die Christuspartei in der korinthischen Gemeinde, der Gegensatz des petrinischen und paulinschen Christentums in der ältesten Kirche, der Apostel Petrus in Rom,” Tübinger Zeitschrift für Theologie (1831) 61–206. Reprinted in Ausgewählte Werke in Einzelausgaben, Vol. 1, ed. Klaus Scholder (Stuttgart: F. Frommann), 1–146.

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The example deals with the Gospel of Matthew, the Gospel of Mark, and the sayings gospel Q.6 Because Q has not survived as a full document—but has to be reconstructed on the basis of Matthew’s, Mark’s and Luke’s gospels—it is possible to regard Q as a document that was not selected as such in the cultural evolution of early Christianity. The comparison of Q with the Gospel of Matthew is also highly relevant for the discussion of the development of Christian morality because Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount was in its incipient form already in Q. Although often regarded as a crystallization of Jesus’ genuine teaching, the Sermon on the Mount as we now have it in the Gospel of Matthew is a composition that derives from the editor of the Gospel of Matthew. Why did the Sermon survive in its Matthean form and not in its earlier Q form? My own interest in this topic is rooted in a larger project which aims at ­developing an overall socio-cognitive approach to the spread of early Christianity in which I draw on the social-scientific criticism of biblical traditions, especially the social identity approach,7 and the cognitive science of religion.8 These methodological interests also characterize the evolutionary model to be developed below. 2

Evolutionary Accounts of Early Christianity

2.1 Background Many of the recent evolutionary approaches to the birth of Christianity—­ especially those falling outside early Christian studies—are characterized by the use of Rodney Stark’s sociological analysis of the reasons for the rise 6 Q, from the German word Quelle, is generally regarded as a common source for the Matthew and Luke gospels. It has not survived but it can be reconstructed on the basis of Matthew and Luke. 7 Following Dominic Abrams and Michael A. Hogg, “An Introduction to the Social Identity Theory,” in Social Identity Theory: Constructive and Critical Advances, ed. D. Abrams and M.A. Hogg (New York: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1990), 1–9, I am using the term social identity approach as an umbrella term that encompasses both social identity theory, originally developed by Henry Tajfel and John Turner, and the more specific self-categorization theory developed later by Turner and his colleagues. Both are closely related social-psychological theories. Their main difference is that social identity theory is more concerned with group phenomena while self-categorization theory pays more attention to the cognition of individuals who categorize themselves and their in-groups in relation to others. 8 For an introduction on how to combine these approaches, see Petri Luomanen, Ilkka Pyysiänen, and Risto Uro, ed., Explaining Christian Origins and Early Judaism: Contributions from Cognitive and Social Science, Biblical Interpretation Series 89 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2007).

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of Christianity. For instance, David Sloan Wilson, who is an evolutionary biologist, presents in his Darwin’s Cathedral: Evolution, Religion, and the Nature of Society (2002) an adaptationist program for the study of culture and religion, including examples from Judaism and early Christianity. Wilson argues for his program in discussion with Stark, criticizing Stark’s Theory of Religion (1987; coauthored with William Sims Bainbridge) and hailing Stark’s The Rise of Christianity (1996). Likewise, W.D. Runciman, a British representative of historical sociology, has also drawn on Stark in his article “The Diffusion of Christianity in the Third Century ad as a Case-Study in the Theory of Cultural Selection” (2004). Similarly, Peter Richerson and Robert Boyd refer to Stark’s analysis when discussing the role of religion in group selection in their Not by Genes Alone: How Culture Transformed Human Evolution (2006).9 Presumably, one of the reasons for the use of Stark by these evolutionary theorists is that Stark’s understanding of the reasons for the rise of C ­ hristianity— if viewed from the viewpoint of evolution—seems to present a clear case of group selection. Stark seeks to show how Christianity spread through open networks and by improving the quality of life of those who joined Christian communities. Christian groups survived better in times of famine and plague and therefore their relative percentage of the population increased.10 An interesting feature in this positive reception of Stark among evolutionary theorists is that the frameworks from which the evolutionary theorists view Stark’s research data differs quite clearly from Stark’s own perspective. Stark himself is a supporter of Intelligent Design.11 He thinks it is possible to apply the evolutionary viewpoint of variation and selection of the fittest in the study of cultural “evolution” but that happens only “within the ‘species’ known

9

10 11

Rodney Stark and William S. Bainbridge, A Theory of Religion, Toronto Studies in Religion 2 (New York: P. Lang, 1987); Rodney Stark, The Rise of Christianity: A Sociologist Reconsiders History (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996); Peter J. Richerson and Robert Boyd, Not by Genes Alone: How Culture Transformed Human Evolution (Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2006), 162–63, 210–11, 273 n. 29 (Richerson and Boyd also refer to David Sloan Wilson, Darwin’s Cathedral); W.G. Runciman, “The Diffusion of Christianity in the Third Century ad as a Case-Study in the Theory of Cultural Selection,” European Journal of Sociology 45(1) (2004): 3–21. See, for instance, Stark, The Rise of Christianity, 73–94, 95–120, 147–62. Rodney Stark, Discovering God: The Origins of the Great Religions and the Evolution of Belief (New York: HarperCollins, 2007), 395–99. In his most recent publications Stark has clearly lost touch with appropriate academic discussion. He often ridicules his opponents energetically instead of focusing on presenting proper arguments. One example of this is the way he treats Boyer, Dawkins and Dennett in Stark, Discovering God, 40–42.

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as human cultures or, … within the ‘species’ called religion.”12 It is clear that this kind of evolutionary analysis is quite restricted as compared with Darwinian evolutionary analysis which allows reasoning across species. Nevertheless, these discrepancies notwithstanding, I agree with the aforementioned evolutionary theorists that it is possible to apply Stark’s research data in a broader Darwinian cultural analysis of the evolution of early Christianity. In another context, I have assessed Rodney Stark’s sociology of early Christianity in detail,13 showing the weak points of his approach, which relies too heavily on social laws and is therefore susceptible to anachronisms. Space does not allow a repetition of the discussion here, but I agree with Stark that open networks were necessary for the spread of Christianity and I have adopted that viewpoint as a part of the model applied in this article. W.D. Runciman’s analysis of Christianity in the framework of cultural evolution draws largely on Stark but makes some important qualifications, especially concerning strategies towards insiders and outsiders, which I take into account in the model (see below). In the following, I introduce and assess two different evolutionary approaches as a background for the model of this article, one by David Sloan Wilson, and the other by Gerd Theissen. Wilson and other contemporary evolutionary theorists of religion seem to be totally unaware of Theissen’s ­contribution 12

13

Ibid., 8–9. In the present context, it is not possible to go into the details of Stark’s understanding of religion, nature and science. In short, the cornerstones of his view seem to be: (1) The world was created by Intelligent Designer (ibid., 395–99). Thus (2) both nature and human social life are governed by natural and social laws (Stark, The Rise of Christianity, 23, 26; Stark, Discovering God, 398–99). (3) Revelation is guided by divine accommodation, which means that humans, according to their growing capacities of understanding, get more information about and from God (ibid., 5–8). (4) Religions are doctrinally driven (although people do not join religious movements on the basis of doctrine but through their social networks); doctrines create the forms of life, and great leaps in the development are instigated by religious geniuses who invent the new ideas (alternatively, “God reveals them”; ibid., 43–46). Therefore, (5) theology involves formal reasoning about God, and science is also theology (ibid., 5, 399). This is also (6) the reason for the rise of science and western success; it was made possible by Jewish-Christian understanding of the one and the reasonable Intelligent Designer (Rodney Stark, The Victory of Reason: How ­Christianity Led to Freedom, Capitalism, and Western Success [New York: Random House, 2005]). Consequently, (7) rational choice / exchange theory is well suited for analyzing culture and religion. Petri Luomanen, “Rodney Starks tatsächliche Sozialwissenschaft (Real Social Science) im Lichte des sozial-mechanischen Zugangs (social mechanism approach),” in Alte Texte in neuen Kontexten: Wo steht die sozialwissenschaftliche Biblelexegese? ed., R.E. DeMaris and W. Stegemann (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 2015), 265–84.

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although it was published already in 1984. The discussion of these two approaches, coming from two different branches of scholarship, sets the larger framework for the model that this article applies to the gospels of Mark and Matthew and their common source Q. 2.2 David Sloan Wilson’s Darwin’s Cathedral As noted above, Wilson differs from evolutionary theorists and cognitive scientists like Richard Dawkins and Pascal Boyer, who take religion as a by-product, by arguing that religions survive because of their ability to enhance in-group morality and cohesion. Since Wilson pictures groups as organisms that are adapted to their surroundings, he realizes that his application of evolutionary biology to social ­sciences “amounts to a revival of functionalism in social sciences.”14 The new methodological impact that Wilson claims to offer to social sciences can be summarized in three points: First, social sciences should learn from evolutionary biology the art of making distinctions between ultimate and proximate explanations. In Wilson’s approach, ultimate explanations refer to the survival and reproduction of the species. Since, from the viewpoint of biological evolution, history is ultimately steered by survival and reproduction, these are the most profound explanations. Wilson calls this the prediction arm of the adaptationist program.15 Proximate explanations refer to the mechanisms that actually cause the behavior. Wilson calls these the production arm of the adaptationist program. Wilson emphasizes at several points that it is important to keep the ultimate and proximate explanations apart. This is because 14 Wilson, Darwin’s Cathedral, 48. Thus, Wilson has a double mission among social scientists. On the one hand, he seeks to show how his adaptationist evolutionary program would revolutionize the study of religion in social sciences. On the other hand, in order to convince his readers in the social sciences he also needs to prove that the bad reputation of functionalism within the social sciences is not totally justified and that functionalism, at least in the form that he applies it, is theoretically solid and empirically ­verifiable. ­Furthermore, group selection is the topic for which Wilson has argued among evolutionary biologists. Although he may have convinced some of his colleagues that group selection is something one has to take into account in addition to individual selection, many think that the effects of group level selection are relatively limited. Cf. Pascal Boyer, “Religion, Evolution, and Cognition,” Current Anthropology 45(3) (2004): 431–32; Samir Okasha, “Could Religion Be a Group-Level Adaptation of Homo sapiens?” review of Darwin’s Cathedral: Evolution, Religion and the Nature of Society, by David Sloan Wilson, Studies in History and Philosophy of Biological and Biomedical Sciences 34(4) (2003): 700–01, 703–04; Michael Ruse, “Can Selection Explain the Presbyterians?” Science 297(5586) (2002): 1479. 15 Wilson, Darwin’s Cathedral, 172–73.

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reproduction and survival are the only hard facts that can be observed and of which we can say something with relative certainty.16 Second, it is important to focus on the appropriate level of analysis. Group selection can become visible only by focusing on the right adaptive unit.17 Third, Wilson thinks that evolutionary biology can offer a more sophisticated theory of psychology for the social sciences. In this regard, Wilson follows Cosmides and Tooby’s research program.18 Do these points offer useful insights? Starting from the last claim, I agree here with Justin Barrett who finds the relation of the cognitive science of religion and evolutionary psychology more “opportunistic than necessary.” ­Evolutionary psychology may sometimes contribute to the depth of cognitive explanations but it is not the most essential element.19 In the sphere of cultural evolution, this means that what matters are the cognitive properties of the mind—which were the same in the first century ce as they are now—that affect the transmission of cultural representations. It is of secondary importance how these properties have evolved. As regards the second point, it is easy to agree with Wilson’s demand to focus on the correct unit in order to see its adaptive functionality. However, from the perspective of early Christian studies, it must be noted that the idea of focusing on smaller adaptive units is not unknown in the study of early Christianity. Wilson also seems to have realized this after having read Elaine Pagels’ The Origin of Satan (1995).20 However, what strikes Wilson as “evolutionary” in Pagels’ book are observations and assumptions that are quite familiar to many scholars of early Christianity: different gospels and re-editions of gospels were produced for the needs of local communities. For Wilson, these are “adaptive responses to local pressures” that betray underlying evolutionary processes.21 16 17 18

19 20 21

Ibid., 68, 84, 172–77, 188. Ibid., 177–82, 188. Ibid., 84–85. Cf. Leda Cosmides and John Tooby, “Beyond Intuition and Instinct Blindness: Toward an Evolutionarily Rigorous Cognitive Science,” Cognition 50(1–3) (1994): 41–77; John Tooby and Leda Cosmides, “Evolutionizing the Cognitive Sciences: A Reply to Shapiro and E ­ pstein,” Mind & Language 13(2): 195; idem., “Evolutionary Psychology, Ecological Rationality, and the Unification of the Behavioral Sciences,” Behavioral and Brain Sciences 30 (01) (2007): 42–43. See Justin L. Barrett, “Cognitive Science of Religion: What Is It and Why Is It?” Religion Compass 1(6) (2007): 779. Elaine Pagels, The Origin of Satan (London: Penguin Books, 1995). See Wilson, Darwin’s Cathedral, 213, 215, 218. As a matter of fact, Stanley Stowers has recently challenged the largely accepted assumption about gospels as products of local communities. See, Stanley Stowers, “The Concept of ‘Community’ and the History of

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It is no surprise that Wilson, who derives his inspiration from classics of sociology like Durkheim, sees something familiar here. Questions about the social setting of smaller units of gospel traditions were introduced into biblical studies through the form-critical method at the beginning of the 20th century. Form criticism, for its part, was partly inspired by the rise of the social sciences. Redaction criticism transposed the questions about the social setting of oral traditions to the level of entire gospels. Thus, in some sense, questions connected to adaptationism have been on the agenda of biblical scholars for quite a long time. As regards the first point—making a distinction between ultimate and proximate explanations—it is clear that the social-scientific study of the Bible and related literature and culture would surely benefit from a more profound understanding of the character of explanations that are applied within the discipline. Another question is how far the distinction between ultimate and proximate explanations can take us. The terms used in this distinction belong to the standard vocabulary of evolutionary biologists. However, there is no generally accepted definition for their content. Therefore, the use of these terms has often created considerable confusion within evolutionary biology and in discussions concerning cultural evolution. Instead of ultimate and proximate explanations, one should rather refer to evolutionary and non-evolutionary explanations.22 Despite these observations, it is clear that Wilson’s book has its merits. As a matter of fact, Wilson’s insistence on mechanisms comes close to the socalled “social mechanism approach” that emphasizes the role of middle-range ­theorizing and the need to explicate the causal mechanisms that are effective

22

Early Christianity,” Method & Theory in the Study of Religion 23 (3–4) (2011): 238–56. For Mark, see also Oda Wischmeyer, “Forming Identity Through Literature,” in Mark and Matthew i. Comparative Readings: Understanding the Earliest Gospels in their First-Century Settings, ed. E.-M. Becker and A. Runesson, Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament, 271 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011). In contrast to Richard Bauckham’s less convincing “Gospels for all nations” paradigm—which also challenges the classic notion about gospels as products for local communities—Stowers calls forth more accurate and perceptive analysis of the scribal culture and the variety of social formations that contributed to the spread of Christianity. Stowers regards the idea about a local community that is unified in belief and practice as a later Christian myth of origins that is based on the uncritical adoption of the picture propagated by Paul and Eusebius. Stowers’ point is well taken and his article clearly shows the need to revise much of the discussion about how texts and authors relate to assumed communities. Cf. Richard Bauckham, ed., The Gospels For All Christians: Rethinking the Gospel Audiences (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998). Petri Ylikoski and Tomi Kokkonen, Evoluutio ja ihmisluonto (Helsinki: Gaudeamus, 2009), 329–38.

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in social processes. However, in contrast to Wilson, this approach does not take the microlevel causal processes as less important than the evolutionary ­“ultimate” processes.23 Wilson’s book also includes a very interesting section on altruism that is important for the present topic. Wilson argues that restricted altruism is an evolutionary adaptation that can be found “throughout the animal kingdom, at least in a rudimentary form.”24 However, although Wilson is, as a biologist, able to provide some interesting parallel examples from the life of guppies, the main thrust of the argument is derived from game theories developed by political scientists. Wilson bases his argument on the so-called “Tit-For-Tat-rule” (tft-rule) that was presented by Anatol Rapoport in a computer simulation tournament where the idea was to develop rules for altruistic and selfish behavior. Rapoport’s simple rule, according to which tft remains altruistic with altruistic partners but turns selfish toward selfish partners, won the game even when the tfts were destroyed in the selfish mode. Despite this, altruistic pairs take over the population in the long run. There are interesting variations of the simple tft rule, and it is clear that this sort of theorizing may help us understand, for instance, the prevalence of both forgiveness and retaliation in biblical tradition.25 Overall, although evolutionary biologists may still have to discuss the role of group selection in natural evolution at large, it seems clear to me that the idea of group selection in the area of evolution of the human species and cultural evolution is grounded well enough to provide a meaningful starting point for evolutionary accounts of culture and religion. Thus, I agree with Wilson about the significance of group selection in the research on the evolution of the human species and culture although I think that a more convincing and culturesensitive case can be made on the basis of coevolution of nature and culture

23

Peter Hedström, Dissecting the Social: On the Principles of Analytical Sociology (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005); Peter Hedström and Richard Swedberg, “Social Mechanisms: An Introductory Essay,” in Social Mechanisms: An Analytical Approach to Social Theory, ed. P. Hedström and R. Swedberg, Studies in Rationality and Social Change, vol 11 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 1–26. Peter Hedström and Lars Udehn. “Analytical Sociology and the Theories of Middle Range,” in The Oxford Handbook of Analytical Sociology, ed. P. Hedström and P. Bearman (Oxford, Oxford University Press, 2009), 25–47. 24 Wilson, Darwin’s Cathedral, 189–94, esp. 194. 25 R. Alexrod and W.D. Hamilton, “The Evolution of Cooperation,” Science 211 (1981): 1390–96. For an introduction to game theories in the study of religion, see William Sims B ­ ainbridge, God from the Machine: Artificial Intelligence Models of Religious Cognition (Lanham: ­Altamira Press, 2006).

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than by trying to show the significance of group selection in social sciences directly from biological evolution, as Wilson prefers to do. 2.3 Gerd Theissen’s Biblical Faith Gerd Theissen’s Biblical Faith: An Evolutionary Approach was published already in 1984 but it has remained relatively unknown even among scholars of early Christianity.26 Despite its main title, Biblical Faith, which does not give a first impression of a liberal, science-oriented approach, the book is an ambitious attempt to explain and interpret biblical history and faith in the framework of Darwinian evolution. Theissen’s book has four main parts. In Part One, Theissen outlines the theory of evolution to be applied in the book, discussing the relation of scientific thought to faith as well as the relation of biological evolution to cultural evolution. The following parts deal with the three main articles of faith: Part Two analyzes faith in the one and only God, Part Three faith in Jesus of Nazareth and Part Four faith in the Holy Spirit. 2.4 Contradictions Relativized Part One begins with stating three fundamental contradictions between science and faith: (1) Hypothetical scientific thought versus apodictic faith. While science creates hypotheses to be tested and confuted, faith claims the value of absolute truth for its statements. (2) Scientific thought is subject to falsification; faith goes against the facts. (3) Scientific thought delights in dissention; faith is based on consensus.27 In Theissen’s view, these contradictions are only apparent and they can be relativized in the light of evolutionary theory. First, hypothetical scientific thought and faith are not contradictory since both are ways of coping with an unknown reality. This point relies on the important epistemological premise of Theissen’s approach: evolutionary epistemology: Evolutionary epistemology regards the hypothesis of human knowledge as a continuation of that comprehensive process of adaptation of life to

26

27

The book develops further ideas that Theissen already presented in his Inaugural Lecture at the University of Heidelberg, October 29, 1980. Reprinted in Gerd Theissen, “Neutestamentliche Christologie und modernes Bewusstsein,” in Neutestamentliche Grenzgänge, ed. P. Lampe and H. Schwier, Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus / Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments 75 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010). Gerd Theissen, Biblical Faith: An Evolutionary Approach (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007 [1984]), 3–8.

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reality which governs all organic structures. Knowledge is the adaptation of cognitive structures to reality, the accommodation of thought to experience. Conversely: life forms knowledge.28 Second, science which is controlled with falsification, and faith which goes against the facts, are not contradictory in the last analysis because both are ways of coping with the pressure of selection. In Theissen’s view, they “both accept the pressure of selection from reality and despite its harshness see it as a productive force.” Science subjects its hypotheses to reality in order to better comply with it. It “affirms the falsification of its hypotheses.” Faith goes against the facts in the sense that it “hopes in suffering, in crisis, in collapse, even against appearances. It is unconditional motivation to live.”29 Theissen understands “going against the facts” in a restricted sense. It does not mean nonsensical opposition to the facts revealed by science but an attitude that looks beyond the harsh facts and is motivated to live even if all the facts speak against the chances of survival. As we will see later, the idea of struggling against the forces of natural selection becomes crucial in Theissen’s overall interpretation. Third, the apparent contradiction between the science that delights in dissent and faith that depends on consensus is, in the last analysis, a matter of speed of change. Science and faith are both open to mutations but both are also ­conservative—like nature itself. Natural evolution allows only an infinitesimal number of mutations, many of which do not survive, in order to sustain the adaptations that have already proved their functionality. Different areas of science progress at different speeds, and religion makes progress more slowly than science. Nevertheless, religion makes progress. In Theissen’s view, “No one can rule out the possibility that there will be new revelatory figures in the future.”30

28 Theissen, Biblical Faith, 19. Evolutionary epistemology forms the core of Theissen’s approach. One of the theses Theissen develops on the basis of this epistemology concerns the possibility of experiencing resonance: “Evolution has made possible partially successful structures of adaptation which are given with life and which enable us to have experiences of resonance—experiences of harmony between subject and reality—in which we detect in reality something that corresponds to us.” “Existential experience of resonance” is important in Theissen’s evolutionary thinking. It is experienced in a variety of areas of life: in nature, art, music, in interaction with other human beings. Theissen, Biblical Faith, 20–22. 29 Ibid., 26–30. 30 Ibid., 30–41, esp. 35.

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2.5 Biological and Cultural Evolution When discussing the relation of biological and cultural evolution, Theissen deals with the standard three main areas of evolutionary theory: variability, selection and preservation. Theissen’s understanding of the relationship between biological and cultural evolution is largely compatible with the theory of coevolution of nature and culture as it is presented by Richerson and Boyd.31 Possibly this is because both are drawing on D.T. Campbell’s ideas about the relation of cultural and biological evolution.32 In the present context, I will not go into the details of that discussion but will take up one point that is crucial for Theissen’s understanding of the function of religion in evolution and, consequently, for his interpretation of the development of biblical religion. In Theissen’s view, Culture begins where human beings reduce the pressure of selection by intelligent behaviour, i.e. it also makes human life possible where it would have no chance of survival without its deliberate intervention. Culture is diminution of selection through change and differentiation in behaviour. At the same time, it creates new forms of pressure of selection: “hard” selection is replaced by “soft” selection.33 Furthermore, The thesis of this book is that if culture generally is a process which reduces selection, religion is the heart of human culture. It is a rebellion against the principle of selection. It makes human beings open to a greater reality before which each individual has infinite value and is absolutely equal. Experiences with this reality are gathered together in exemplary form in the Bible.34 2.6 The Father and the Son and the Holy Spirit Theissen’s central idea about culture and religion being forces that work against and soften, though not totally invalidate, the pressures of hard natural selection become clear in his description the birth of biblical monotheism. It is a standard view that during the Babylonian exile (586 bce) and afterwards, 31 Richerson and Boyd, Not by Genes Alone. 32 Theissen, Biblical Faith, 9, 177 n. 7; Richerson and Boyd, Not by Genes Alone, 16–17. 33 Theissen, Biblical Faith, 13. 34 Ibid., 49. My emphasis.

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when people were allowed to return to their homeland, Israel moved from the idea of worshipping only one god, namely its own god Yahweh, to the idea of there existing only one god. The crucial evolutionary twist lies in the fact that while the natural conclusion after being defeated should have been that Yahweh was weaker than the gods of the Babylonians, faith claimed that this is not the case: Yahweh is the one and only God. The problem was with the nation that had not been faithful to his covenant and commands.35 In Jesus’ case, the twist is in his radical questioning of the “second principle of election, the power of selection.” Jesus’ proclamation and life—followed by the evolution of Christian faith—granted unconditional value to forms of life that would become extinct under the raw forces of natural selection: to the sick, the weak, the meek, strangers and slaves. This does not concern only natural selection but also the pressure of cultural selection: Jesus breaks the usual boundaries set up by family, other people, and the state.36 The force through which people can become incorporated into this ongoing struggle against the harshness of biological and cultural selection is the Spirit: The Spirit aims at an inner transformation of humanity. Those seized by it are incorporated into the history of the protest against selection from the beginnings of Israel to Jesus of Nazareth; indeed, this history becomes their own history, and its struggles become their struggles.37 Theissen sees in the Pauline juxtaposition of “flesh” and “Spirit” the conflict of two phases of evolution: biological evolution and cultural evolution. In this conflict, the Spirit is on the side of cultural evolution although the Spirit is also always ready to fight against the oppressive laws of culture. But a series of arguments suggests that the truth could be what liberal theologians love to deny, that we have a “natural” inclination to sin, in other words that we have pre-programmed tendencies of behaviour which are held in check by strong cultural control in the opposite direction and that when the cultural systems of restraints collapse they unleash a terrifying “proneness to degeneration among human beings.”38

35 36 37 38

Ibid., 51–81, esp. 67–72. Ibid., 114–15. Ibid., 140. Ibid., 146–47.

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2.7 Assessing Theissen’s Evolutionary Approach When compared with Wilson’s approach, it is clear that Theissen’s evolutionary exposition is much more sophisticated in terms of the knowledge of the sources and in the application of the social science approach to early Christianity. However, although interesting, theoretically well-grounded, and appealing as an overall interpretation, Theissen’s work is highly abstract and leaves open many concrete questions of how adaptation and selection happened on the grassroots level. How were different Christian communities able to gain selective advance by softening the hard natural selection and in competition with other contemporary cultural and religious forms of life? How are the large scale processes and quite abstract principles of faith that in Theissen’s view characterize early Christianity as a whole related to concrete documents and their contribution to the development of early Christianity? Wilson’s question about the level of analysis and about the units that were selected in practice, is crucial here. Theissen’s interpretation of Jesus’ message and role in challenging the natural selection process also raises the question about the so-called “free riders,” people who might take advantage of uncompromised altruism, causing net costs to Christian communities by using their resources without any return and thus making early Christians more susceptible to the hard forces of natural selection. As noted above, game theory suggests that altruism can be successful only in a restricted form because restricted altruism has better chances of survival than unconditional altruism. Theissen touches on this problem when he deals with ecclesiology and solidarity within Christian churches,39 but the discussion is not explicitly connected to evolutionary discussion about altruism and group selection. 3

Towards a Model for the Evolutionary Analysis of Early Christian Gospels

3.1 Open Networks and Identity Markers One of the previously neglected topics that Stark has brought into focus is the question about the type of networks through which Christianity was able to spread. In Stark’s view, it was essential for Christianity that it remained an open network which was able to reach out to new members and integrate them.40

39 40

Ibid., 158–63. Rodney Stark, The Rise of Christianity, 73–94, 95–128.

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I fully agree that without open networks Christianity would not have spread the way it did. However, I also think that W.D. Runciman has a point when he emphasizes that the success of Christianity in cultural evolution was based on the combination of unconditional benevolence towards outsiders (which Stark sees as a sign of the openness of Christian networks) and strong reciprocity within the community. Open networks are necessary for effective spreading of a movement but they are not enough to hold local communities together. A movement that spreads through open networks would soon fall apart unless it is able to form stable, more closely knit local communities. Runciman’s main point is that unconditional altruism needs to be balanced with reciprocity if the movement wishes to avoid being exploited by free riders. As was noted above, this is a question that Theissen’s analysis leaves open. Therefore, I think that an analysis of the evolution of religious movements also needs to pay attention to community control mechanisms through which the movement is able to defend itself against exploitation. Another important factor that supports the survival of religious movements is identity construction and maintenance. István Czachesz, for instance, has singled out symbolic identity markers as one of the factors that affected the spread of Christianity.41 However, Czachesz’s symbolic identity markers address the question of identity maintenance only on a very general level. ­Czachesz takes his cue from Peter Richerson and Robert Boyd who argue that early hunter-gatherers actually formed larger clans earlier than has been previously assumed (around 100,000 year ago, at the latest, instead of the beginning of agriculture ca. 11,500 ago) and this happened with the help of symbols which the clans used as their identity markers.42 I agree that this is an important factor and absolutely essential to take into account. However, it seems that symbolic identity markers as they are defined by Czachesz are more important on a “clan” level where they may provide the main means of identity recognition, while on the local level other 41

42

István Czachesz, “Theologische Innovation und Sozialstruktur im Urchristentum: Eine kognitive Analyse seiner Ausbreitungsdynamik,” Evangelische Theologie 71(4) (2011): ­259–72. Czachesz suggests a model for the analysis of the spread of religious movements that distinguishes three factors: (1) memorability of religious representations, (2) the structure of social networks and (3) symbolic identity markers. For a more detailed discussion of Czachesz’s model, see Petri Luomanen, “From Mark and Q to Matthew: An Experiment in Evolutionary Analysis,” in Mark and Matthew ii, ed. E.–M. Becker and A. Runesson. Wissenschaftlice Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 304 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013), 37–73. Richerson and Boyd, Not by Genes Alone, 211–16, 224–29.

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­social-­psychological factors also play their role.43 In the perspective of the social identity approach, these local factors can be analyzed with the help of such concepts as exemplars of group members, cultural and cognitive prototypes and outgroup stereotypes.44 They provide important means of identity construction and recognition in everyday life. 3.2 Towards a More Comprehensive Model Although the creation and editing of gospels can be seen—to use David Sloan Wilson’s characterization—as “adaptive responses to local pressures,” the future success of these texts in cultural evolution depends on their more general ability to become widespread by also appearing attractive and relevant to other groups.45 43

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Richerson and Boyd are not very clear on their own use of the term “symbolic marker” but they seem to use it in a slightly broader sense than Czachesz. In this context, they also refer to the research of Henry Tajfel, the founder of social identity theory. See Richerson and Boyd, Not by Genes Alone, 221–22. Thus, my elaboration of the analysis of symbolic markers with the concepts of the social identity approach does not contradict but supplements Richerson and Boyd’s (and Czachesz’s) analytical perspective. Exemplars refer to concrete examples of group members, either historical or present. Prototypes and prototypicality are usually defined within the social identity approach as an abstract, intuitively calculated picture of the ideal group members. In order to enhance the application of the social identity approach to historical material, I have suggested a distinction between cultural prototypes and cognitive prototypes. Cultural prototypes are culturally generated and transmitted pictures of ideal members while cognitive prototypes are stored only in the minds of individual group members. For a more detailed discussion, see Petri Luomanen “Cognitive Science in Biblical Studies: An Overview,” in Collegium Biblicum Årsskrift 2011: Kognitionsforskning og eksegese, ed. K. Jeppsen and K.B. Larsen (Copenhagen, Collegium Biblicum, selskab for danske eksegeter), 7–13. This distinction slightly modifies my earlier suggestion in Petri Luomanen, “The Sociology of Knowledge, the Social Identity Approach and the Cognitive Study of Religion,” in Explaining Christian Origins and Early Judaism: Contributions from Cognitive and Social Science, ed. P. Luomanen, Ilkka Pyysiäinen and Risto Uro. Biblical Interpretation Series 89 (Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2007), 210–24. Keeping in mind Stowers’ perceptive warnings not to picture authors as writing only for the needs of their local communities (see above n. 21) it is to be noted that I am not claiming that the features that support identity formation unmistakably reflect the concerns of the authors’ local community. The point is that, whatever the reason why the features are in the text, it is possible to assess their contribution to the formation and maintenance of social identities among the recipients of the gospel narratives. This approach coheres with the way in which Stowers sees Paul’s relation to his “communities”: rather than reflecting an existing reality, Paul may have acted like an entrepreneur who envisioned and called

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The following model seeks to list some central characteristics that are required of a text in order to become widespread in an emerging religious movement that is forming its distinctive social identity. It is to be noted that the model does not try to explain the success of religious texts in general. It is easy to find texts that do not meet the criteria of the following model, but which, nevertheless, have been successfully spreading in religious traditions. The focus of the model is on the texts that support the formation and maintenance of new social identities, “mutations” in the development of religious communities. On the basis of the above considerations and drawing on the discussions on social memory and cognitive approaches to ritual,46 I have divided the analytical perspectives to be applied into four categories: 1) 2) 3) 4)

Formal characteristics of the discourse: attractiveness (which causes the story to be retold) with closely related memorability, relevance (relevant mysteries),47 credence and historical perspective. Network discourse and community control: norms enhancing group solidarity, ability to deal with the free rider problem, open/closed networks and weak/strong links. Identity discourse: Social identity perspective (exemplars, cultural and cognitive prototypes, stereotypes), identity building function of social memories and symbolic identity markers. Ritual discourse: number of rituals, their symbolic function, their i­ dentitybuilding function, attractiveness (emotional arousal, immediacy of superhuman agents) and support for transmission of religious traditions.

The three listed discourses, supplemented with the formal analysis of the discourse as a whole, are partly overlapping. For instance, it is clear that identity is affected not only by the topics that are listed under identity discourse but

46

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into being certain types of social formations, more or less successfully. Cf. Stowers, “The Concept of ‘Community’,” 242. Luomanen, “Cognitive Science in Biblical Studies”; Petri Luomanen, “How Religions Remember: Memory Theories in Biblical Studies and the Cognitive Study of Religion,” in Mind, Morality and Magic: Cognitive Science Approaches in Biblical Studies, ed. I. Czachesz and Risto Uro (Durham: Acumen, 2013), 24–42. Dan Sperber, Explaining Culture: A Naturalistic Approach (Oxford: Blackwell, 1996), 70–74. Because Sperber’s concept of relevant mystery is more formal in character than his ideas about relevance in general, I am dealing with relevant mysteries in this formal category. Overall relevance is more closely related to the social and historical setting on the basis of which people find some representation more usable than others. Therefore, I deal with this socially constructed relevance in connection with the identity discourse.

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also through cultic activities, community control and historical perspective of the narrative. Furthermore, the themes listed under each discourse are only examples of the most central topics to be kept in mind. 4

Example: Comparing Mark, Matthew and Q

In another context I have conducted a more detailed comparison of Matthew’s and Mark’s gospels and the sayings gospel Q in the framework of the above model.48 Space does not allow the presentation of the detailed analysis here but the results can be summarized as follows. 4.1 Why Did Mark Survive But Q Did Not? As noted above, the comparison of Matthew, Mark and Q provides an interesting opportunity to test the model developed above because it is possible to regard Q as a document that was not selected as such in the cultural evolution of early Christianity. The comparison of Q with the Gospel of Matthew is also highly relevant for the discussion of the development of Christian morality because Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount—often regarded as the crystallization of Jesus’ teachings and Christian morality—was in its incipient form already in Q. Thus far, scholars have not been able to find satisfactory explanations for the fact that even though Matthew and Luke prepared new and more complete editions of both Q and Mark, only Mark has survived as a separate ­document. Often the result has been considered largely as one of the coincidences of history. The results of the comparison in the framework of the above model ­challenges this popular assumption by revealing clear correspondences among several socio-cognitive factors contributing to the potential survival of documents and the factual distribution of the Gospel of Mark, the Gospel of ­Matthew and Q during the first centuries ce. Of these three documents, ­Matthew was most popular, Mark almost fell into oblivion, and Q disappeared. 4.2 Applying the Model Judged on the basis of formal characteristics, Mark’s and Matthew’s narrative form, which, nonetheless, includes short episodes, has a selective advantage over Q’s wisdom discourse. Mark’s and Matthew’s episodes include more counterintuitive elements, which enhances memorability. Episodes with their more vivid imagery also make better use of memory resources by ­creating 48

Luomanen, “From Mark and Q to Matthew.”

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­representations that are coded by several cognitive systems. Q’s wisdom discourse is restricted more (but not solely) to semantic memory. Mark’s—and even more so Matthew’s—narrative also sketches a clearer template for a historical anchoring of social identity by linking Jesus’ history explicitly with Israel’s sacred past. Q also presupposes Israel’s past and interprets the present in the light of the Deuteronomistic scheme of God’s prophets calling people to repentance—and being rejected, but that is more implicit than explicit. Although Matthew’s narrative is more complete than Mark’s, which gives it some selective advantage, Mark also has its own unique character as a narrative of relevant mysteries: the so-called Messianic secret, the disciples’ incomprehension, and the abrupt ending all entice memory searches and call for explanations. In terms of network discourse, Matthew’s narrative is the most open of the three: the mission command at the end of the Gospel (Matt 28:16–20) reaches out programmatically and the Sermon on the Mount sets out the principles of unconditional benevolence—in a form that has showed its attractive force throughout centuries. Matthew has accentuated the benevolence that is already present in Q’s sermon. Q’s benevolence is not totally without community control that counteracts free riding but Q’s control mechanisms are modest in comparison with Matthew’s highly developed community rule that gives detailed rules for the expulsion of community members (Matthew 18). Matthew also emphasizes brotherly love more than Q, and that supports the formation of strong links within the community. There are also signs of openness and control in Mark’s narrative but they do not constitute such a central topic in Mark as they do in Matthew and Q. Mark’s narrative focuses on unfolding the mystery of the suffering Messiah, not on transmitting his teaching of unconditional benevolence or providing instructions on how to regulate life in the post-resurrection congregation. The narrative form of Mark and Matthew also show their selective advantage in the identity discourse. The story about Jesus and his followers offers many more means of identity construction than Jesus’ proclamation and teaching of ethical maxims in Q. The characters in the narratives of Mark and Matthew function as cultural examples and prototypes that serve identity formation. The narratives also make it possible to bind identity with history. Matthew’s narrative includes many signs of more developed stereotyping and typification of characters and their actions.49 The way in which Matthew has reedited Mark’s narrative shows that there was a clear intention to make the story about 49

See Petri Luomanen, “Matthew’s Corpus Mixtum in the Perspective of the Social Iden­ tity  Approach,” in Voces Clamantium in Deserto: Essays in Honor of Kari Syreeni, ed.,

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Jesus and his followers transparent to the situation of its later hearers/­readers. This kind of transparency is largely missing in Q. Confessing Jesus and the readiness to follow him into suffering appear as symbolic identity markers in all three documents. In Q, poverty and self-denial may also have functioned as identity markers. Matthew’s narrative, for its part, clearly emphasizes baptism as an identity marker. Thus, although all three include means of signaling identity, only Mark and Matthew provide a variety of means of identity construction, and Matthew even more than Mark. Ritual discourse is also more developed in Matthew than in Mark and Q. In addition to institutionalizing baptism at the end of the Gospel, Matthew has also tuned up the ability of rituals to signal identity to best serve openness towards outsiders and the consolidation of identity within the in-group. This is achieved by emphasizing good works as the number one outward signal of identity and restricting ritual behavior and its identity signaling function to private and in-group settings (Matt 6:1–18). Furthermore, to the extent that identity is signaled, it is not for self-enhancement but for the honor of the Heavenly Father (Matt 5:13–16). Matthew also explicitly connects the transmission of Jesus’ teachings to baptism which must have been an event that was coded deep in autobiographical memory, enhancing memory retrieval of (at least some) of the teachings. On the other hand, the words of the institution of the Eucharist—both in Mark and in Matthew—hark back to the foundational history of the new movement. Although the Eucharist, if celebrated in the context of ordinary meals, may not have caused much emotional arousal, the repetition of the words in exactly the same form kept the memory of the beginnings alive. Although the Q community may have had its own form of communal/Eucharistic meal, it significantly weakened Q’s selective appeal that the text did not include any references to it. All in all, this evolutionary analysis in terms of the above four discourses shows that of these three documents, Q was the most likely to disappear as an independent document and Matthew the most likely to be the most successful. It is important to note, however, that Matthew’s successful evolutionary profile would not have been possible without Q. It is the combination of Q’s unrestricted benevolence, the transparent potential of Mark’s narrative, and the highly developed communal control and institutionalization from ­Matthew’s special tradition that created the successful evolutionary profile of Matthew’s narrative.

S.–O. Back and M. Kankaanniemi. Studier i exegetik och judaistik utgivna av Teologiska fakulteten vid Åbo Akademi 11 (Åbo: Åbo Akademi, 2012), 199–215.

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The essential difference between Mark and Q is that, although Mark does not include quite as many elements as Matthew that support identity and transmission of tradition, Mark nevertheless scores decently in all discourses. These results partly confirm Harvey Whitehouse’s assumption according to which, in the long run, religions have to—if they are to maintain their distinctive character—solve the problem of how to transmit cognitively costly traditions.50 Notably the content of this costly tradition in Q closely approximates the counter-evolutionary message of Jesus, a “mutation” which, in Theissen’s evolutionary interpretation, challenges the hard forces of natural selection.51 Obviously, Q as a document does not belong to the category of “religion is easy and natural.”52 It rather sets high ethical standards and requires repentance. However, when combined with the transparent story of Jesus that Mark originally sketched, Q’s teachings received a more attractive frame that ensured the survival of its essential legacy for later generations. 5 Conclusion Thus far, the evolutionary analyses of the rise of Christianity have been either highly abstract (Theissen, the methodological part of Wilson’s analysis) or relied heavily on Rodney Stark’s account of the reasons why Christianity spread in the Roman Empire. In the present chapter, I have introduced a model that aims at a more detailed account of the mechanisms that affected the survival of early Christian gospels as foundational documents of an emerging religious movement. The model is essentially based on the assumptions that the spread of a religious movement requires or is supported by open networks and unrestricted benevolence. However, the long-term survival requires a repertoire of identity-­ building and supporting systems as well as norms that protect the ­community from free riders. Consequently, the more a text provides these elements the better chances of survival it has as the literature of an emerging religious movement. The comparison of Q, Mark, and Matthew reveals many differences in the four discourses examined (formal, network, identity, ritual), many of which seem to have contributed to the better survival of Mark and Matthew. 50

Cf. Harvey Whitehouse, Modes of Religiosity: A Cognitive Theory of Religious Transmission (Walnut Creek, ca: AltaMira, 2004), 49–59. 51 Cf. Theissen, Biblical Faith, 105–28. 52 Whitehouse, Modes of Religiosity, 76.

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One of these differences deserves special notice because empirical research also seems to confirm its significance for moral behavior: a text’s potential for identity building and maintenance. Kristen Monroe’s contribution in this volume argues interestingly that identity is more important than doctrine or norms as the source of altruistic behavior. Thus, if Rodney Stark is right that Christian benevolence contributed significantly to the success of Christianity, the central mechanism through which this behavior was enticed was perhaps not so much the doctrine of love for one’s neighbor (which itself is not a novelty in Christianity) as the fact that Christian communities had a variety of means to support new identities that showed benevolence towards outsiders. On the other hand, if the results of comparison—the development from Q to Mark and Matthew—is viewed in the framework of Theissen’s theory, it seems that Jesus’ unconditional protest against selection, his uncompromising universalism and solidarity with the weak, becomes partly compromised. Does this mean that, in order to survive, the Christian gospel tradition had, after all, to adapt to similar harsh principles of selection as those that govern biological evolution? Is that an inevitable direction of development in a world that is framed by the principles of coevolution of nature and culture? Or is that something that could and should be counteracted? References Abrams, Dominic, and Michael A. Hogg. “An Introduction to the Social Identity Theory.” Pages 1–9 in Social Identity Theory: Constructive and Critical Advances. ­Edited by Dominic Abrams and Michael A. Hogg. New York: Harvester Wheatsheaf, 1990. Axelrod, R., and W.D. Hamilton. “The Evolution of Cooperation.” Science 211 (1981): 1390–96. Bainbridge, William Sims. God from the Machine: Artificial Intelligence Models of Religious Cognition. Lanham: Altamira, 2006. Barrett, Justin L. “Cognitive Science of Religion: What Is It and Why Is It?” Religion Compass 1(6) (2007): 768–86. Bauckham, Richard, ed., The Gospels For All Christians: Rethinking the Gospel Audiences. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1998. Baur, Ferdinand Christian. “Die Christuspartei in der korinthischen Gemeinde, der Gegensatz des petrinischen und paulinschen Christentums in der ältesten Kirche, der Apostel Petrus in Rom.” Tübinger Zeitschrift für Theologie (1831) 61–206. Reprinted: Pages 1–146 in Ausgewählte Werke in Einzelausgaben, Vol. 1. Edited by Klaus Scholder. Stuttgart: F. Frommann, 1963.

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Boyer, Pascal. The Naturalness of Religious Ideas: A Cognitive Theory of Religion. Berkeley: University of California Press, 1994. Boyer, Pascal. Religion Explained: The Human Instincts that Fashion Gods, Spirits and Ancestors. London: Vintage, 2002. Boyer, Pascal. “Religion, Evolution, and Cognition.” Current Anthropology 45(3) (2004): 430–33. Cosmides, Leda, and John Tooby, “Beyond Intuition and Instinct Blindness: Toward an Evolutionarily Rigorous Cognitive Science,” Cognition 50 (1–3) (1994): 41–77. Czachesz, István. “Theologische Innovation und Sozialstruktur im Urchristentum: Eine kognitive Analyse seiner Ausbreitungsdynamik.” Evangelische Theologie 71(4) (2011): 259–72. Dawkins, Richard. The God Delusion. London: Bantam Press, 2006. Dennett, Daniel. Breaking the Spell: Religion as a Natural Phenomenon. London: Penguin Books, 2006. Geertz, Armin. “New Atheistic Approachers in the Cognitive Science of Religion: On Daniel Dennett, Breaking the Spell (2006) and Richard Dawkins, The God Delusion (2006).” Pages 242–63 in Contemporary Theories of Religion. Edited by Michael Strausberg. Oxon: Routledge, 2009. Hedström, Peter. Dissecting the Social: On the Principles of Analytical Sociology. ­Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Hedström, Peter, and Richard Swedberg. “Social Mechanisms: An Introductory Essay.” Pages 1–26 in Social Mechanisms: An Analytical Approach to Social Theory. Edited by Peter Hedström and Richard Swedberg. Studies in Rationality and Social Change, vol. 11. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005. Hedström Peter, and Lars Udehn. “Analytical Sociology and the Theories of Middle Range.” Pages 25–47 in The Oxford Handbook of Analytical Sociology. Edited by P. Hedström and P. Bearman. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Luomanen, Petri. “The Sociology of Knowledge, the Social Identity Approach and the Cognitive Study of Religion.” Pages 199–229 in Explaining Christian Origins and Early Judaism: Contributions from Cognitive and Social Science. Edited by Petri Luomanen, Ilkka Pyysiäinen, and Risto Uro. Biblical Interpretation Series 89. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2007. Luomanen, Petri. “Cognitive Science in Biblical Studies: An Overview.” Pages 7–13 in Collegium Biblicums Årsskrift 2011: Kognitionsforskning og eksegese. Edited by K. Jeppsen and K.B. Larsen. Copenhagen: Collegium Biblicum, selskab for danske eksegeter, 2011. Luomanen, Petri. “Matthew’s Corpus Mixtum in the Perspective of the Social Identity Approach.” Pages 199–215 in Voces Calamantium in Deserto: Essays in Honor of Kari Syreeni. Edited by S.-O. Back and M. Kankaanniemi. Studier i exegetik och judaistik utgivna av Teologiska fakulteten vid Åbo Akademi 11. Åbo: Åbo Akademi, 2012.

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Luomanen, Petri. “From Mark and Q to Matthew: An Experiment in Evolutionary Analysis.” Pages 27–73 in Mark and Matthew II. Edited by E.-M. Becker and A. Runesson. Wissenschaftlice Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 304. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2013. Luomanen, Petri. “How Religions Remember: Memory Theories in Biblical Studies and the Cognitive Study of Religion.” Pages 24–42 in Mind, Morality and Magic: Cognitive Science Approaches in Biblical Studies. Edited by I. Czachesz and R. Uro. Durham: Acumen, 2013. Luomanen, Petri. “Rodney Starks tatsächliche Sozialwissenschaft (Real Social Science) im Lichte des sozial-mechanischen Zugangs (social mechanism approach).” Pages 265–84 in Alte Texte in neuen Kontexten: Wo steht die sozialwissenschaftliche Biblelexegese? Edited by R.E. DeMaris and W. Stegemann. Stuttgart, Kohlhammer, 2015. Luomanen, Petri, Ilkka Pyysiäinen, and Risto Uro, eds. Explaining Christian Origins and Early Judaism: Contributions from Cognitive and Social Science. Biblical Interpretation Series 89. Leiden: E.J. Brill, 2007. Okasha, Samir. “Could Religion Be a Group-Level Adaptation of Homo Sapiens?” review of Darwin’s Cathedral: Evolution, Religion and the Nature of Society, by David Sloan Wilson. Studies in History and Philosophy of Biological and Biomedical Sciences 34(4) (2003): 699–705. Pagels, Elaine. The Origin of Satan. London: Penguin Books, 1995. Richerson, Peter J., and Robert Boyd. Not by Genes Alone: How Culture Transformed Human Evolution. Chicago: The University of Chicago Press, 2006. Runciman, W.G. “The Diffusion of Christianity in the Third Century AD as a Case-Study in the Theory of Cultural Selection.” European Journal of Sociology 45(1) (2004): 3–21. Ruse, Michael. “Can Selection Explain the Presbyterians?” Science 297(5586) (2002): 1479. Sperber, Dan. Explaining Culture: A Naturalistic Approach. Oxford: Blackwell, 1996. Stark, Rodney. The Rise of Christianity: A Sociologist Reconsiders History. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996. Stark, Rodney. The Victory of Reason: How Christianity Led to Freedom, Capitalism, and Western Success. New York: Random House, 2005. Stark, Rodney. Discovering God: The Origins of the Great Religions and the Evolution of Belief. New York: HarperCollins, 2007. Stark, Rodney, and William S. Bainbridge. A Theory of Religion. Toronto Studies in Religion 2. New York: P. Lang, 1987. Stowers, Stanley. “The Concept of ‘Community’ and the History of Early Christianity.” Method & Theory in the Study of Religion 23(3–4) (2011): 238–56. Theissen, Gerd. Biblical Faith: An Evolutionary Approach. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007 [1984].

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Theissen, Gerd. “Neutestamentliche Christologie und modernes Bewusstsein.” Pages 228–47 in Neutestamentliche Grenzgänge. Edited by P. Lampe and H. Schwier. Novum Testamentum et Orbis Antiquus/Studien zur Umwelt des Neuen Testaments 75. Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2010. Tooby, John, and Leda Cosmides. “Evolutionizing the Cognitive Sciences: A Reply to Shapiro and Epstein,” Mind & Language 13(2)(1998): 195–204. Tooby, John, and Leda Cosmides. “Evolutionary Psychology, Ecological Rationality, and the Unification of the Behavioral Sciences.” Behavioral and Brain Sciences 30 (01) (2007): 42–43. Whitehouse, Harvey. Modes of Religiosity: A Cognitive Theory of Religious Transmission. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira, 2004. Wilson, David Sloan. Darwin’s Cathedral: Evolution, Religion and the Nature of Society. Chicago and London: The University of Chicago Press, 2002. Wischmeyer, Oda. “Forming Identity Through Literature.” Pages 355–78 in Mark and Matthew I. Comparative Readings: Understanding the Earliest Gospels in their FirstCentury Settings. Edited by Eve-Marie Becker and Anders Runesson. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 271. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2011. Ylikoski, Petri, and Tomi Kokkonen. Evoluutio ja ihmisluonto. Helsinki: Gaudeamus, 2009.

The Sermon on the Mount: Christian or Universal Ethics? Kari Syreeni Since St. Augustine’s commentary De sermone domini in monte, the three chapters in Matthew 5–7 have been known as the Sermon on the Mount (sm). From the Middle Ages until the present day, many have regarded sm as a shorthand for the Christian way of life or “the key to Christianity.”1 Not just a Christian classic, it has even been praised as the finest statement of humanity’s highest moral aspirations.2 Non-religious humanists in turn may consider its ethic “not only imprudent but unjust” or bluntly “bad advice” and “a hodgepodge of bottled wisdom.”3 Leaving such value judgments aside, I will here address the problem of particularity and universalism in sm, with special emphasis on the Golden Rule and the teaching on neighbor and enemy love. But how has sm become such a classic piece of ethics? The reasons are many, but I mention here some aspects of the Sermon itself and its production that have contributed to its prominence. 1

The Sermon on the Mount as a Conspicuous Discourse

1.1 A Unified Speech: Fulfilling the Aristotelian Ideal The first thing to notice is that Matthew’s Sermon complies with Aristotelian ideals of artistic unity. It is a whole, which Aristotle defines as “that which has 1 Pekka Ervast, The Sermon on the Mount or the Key to Christianity (London: Theosophical Publishing House, 1933). There is unintentional irony in the book title, because the author—a Finnish theosophist—combines what he considers to be Jesus’ teaching with Jungian ideas and elements from Far Eastern religions. Jesus would speak of reincarnation (pp. 73–75); God is no being outside of ourselves; in praying “we address ourselves to our inner Father” (p. 120), and so on. 2 W.D. Davies, The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1964), 1, citing T.H. Robinson’s words in The Gospel of Matthew, Moffatt New Testament Commentaries (London, Hodder, 1928), 25: “These chapters have won universal recognition as the supreme statement of the ethical duties of man.” 3 These descriptions are found in the critical commentary on sm on the Iron Chariots website, http://wiki.ironchariots.org/index.php?title=Sermon_on_the_mount (12/ 17/2011). Not everything is rejected there as harmful; the beatitudes in Matt 5:5–7 “aren’t bad advice; they’re simply a naive way to develop a moral code.”

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi 10.1163/9789004343535_010

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a beginning, a middle, and an end.”4 The Sermon on the Mount is certainly a recognizable unit within Matthew’s Gospel, having a clear beginning and end as well as a unity of time and place: Jesus goes up on a mountainside, sits down, opens his mouth and begins to speak, delivers his speech, then finishes, and comes down from the mountainside. This remarkable unity may create the impression of a real sermon, with Matthew diligently recording what Jesus said, or with us hearing precisely what the disciples heard. But as Aristotle knew, such is the effect not of reality, but of the poietic art of imitating reality.5 Aristotle’s ideals also include the appreciation for proper measures—not too large, not too small—which concerns not only the artifact but even human cognition.6

4 Aristotle, Poetics, Part vii. Although Aristotle was here discussing the plot of tragedy, this definition obviously pertains to dramatic and textual units in general. Indeed, it might be argued that this three-part division is a corollary or a special case of the first of Aristotle’s ten basic categories, namely, to ōn, which may be translated as substance, entity or what-a-thing-is. This is so because in order to recognize any units at all, we must be able to tell where they begin and end. The chapters and verses in the Bible (dating from late middle ages and the early modern age), as well the division of the text into pericopes (in many modern Bible translations provided with thematic headings to show the subject matter of the pericope), all these divisions presuppose that the linguistic units are discernible entities with “heads and tails” marking the limits of textual “bodies.” That Aristotle’s categories are extremely interesting for cognitive studies is shown by Ian Hacking, “Aristotelian Categories and Cognitive Domains,” Synthese 126 (2001): 473–515. Hacking argues that most of Aristotle’s categories except for the first correspond to various cognitive domains, while the first Aristotelian category—the substance or whata-thing-is—generates a set of categories/cognitive domains. Hacking does not discuss entities above the substance level (such as superhuman agents, humans, animals, plants, non-living things) which play an important role in religious cognitive studies. Texts and parts of texts are non-living things which however often trigger category fusions (as when a text says something). 5 I use deliberatively the word poiesis to highlight the dynamic and artificial aspects of textual creation. The Aristotelian poiesis is not simply “poetry” but an intentional (or so experienced by the interpreter) making of an artifact to imitate some traits of concrete reality; thus poiesis and mimesis go hand in hand. 6 Aristotle’s (op. cit., see above) discussion of magnitude highlights the centrality of sensory perception: “Hence a very small animal organism cannot be beautiful; for the view of it is confused, the object being seen in an almost imperceptible moment of time. Nor, again, can one of vast size be beautiful; for as the eye cannot take it all in at once, the unity and sense of the whole is lost for the spectator …” At the end of the article, I will suggest that the cognitive value of Aristotle’s idea pertains to ethical issues as well.

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1.2 A Well-Structured Speech: A Tripartite Structure A comparison with Luke’s sermon on the plain, or the Q sermon7 underlying Luke’s and Matthew’s texts, shows readily the artistry of Matthew. The structure of the Q sermon is less clear than Matthew’s sm, which again shows a neat Aristotelian three-part outline. The “head” of the speech (5:3–16) addresses the hearers, who are promised God’s blessings and the kingdom of heaven, inasmuch as they belong in the group of people mentioned in the beatitudes. As disciples, they are also called to be the salt of the earth and the light of the world. After these initial “you” addresses, the authoritative “I” is introduced in 5:17–20: Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. For truly I tell you, until heaven and earth disappear, not the smallest letter, not the least stroke of a pen, will by any means disappear from the Law until everything is accomplished. Therefore anyone who sets aside one of the least of these commands and teaches others accordingly will be called least in the kingdom of heaven, but whoever practices and teaches these commands will be called great in the kingdom of heaven. For I tell you that unless your righteousness surpasses that of the Pharisees and the teachers of the law, you will certainly not enter the kingdom of heaven.8 MatT 5:17–20

The importance of the speaking “I” is evident in the antitheses (5:21–48), which contrast Jesus’ teaching with the old teaching: “You have heard that it was said to the people long ago … but I tell you …” It becomes clear that this “I” is the sole authority in sm. Therefore, the conclusion or “tail” of sm, beginning at 7:13, emphasizes the importance of doing what Jesus says (7:21–23), or rather, what Jesus just had said in his speech: “Therefore everyone who hears these words of mine and puts them into practice is like a wise man who built his house on the rock …” (7:24–27). Thus the overall structure of the Sermon is as follows: The introduction (5:3– 16) invites hearers to be disciples of Jesus by promising them God’s blessings and the kingdom of heaven and by explaining their vital importance for the

7 Q, an abbreviation of the German word Quelle, refers to the “source,” consisting mainly of Jesus’ speeches, which was used as a common source in Matthew’s and Luke’s gospels. In addition to Q, Matthew and Luke also used Mark’s gospel as their common source. 8 In this chapter, English translations are from the New International Version.

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world. The main body (5:17–7:12) spells out Jesus’ authoritative teaching, which is also described as the will of God, the fulfillment of the law and the prophets, a greater righteousness, and eventually—in 7:12—the Golden Rule. The end part of the Sermon (7:13–27) urges the importance of hearing and doing this teaching as the prerequisite for entering the kingdom of heaven.9 1.3 A Programmatic Speech: Jesus’ Authoritative Teaching A comparison of Matthew with Mark and Luke shows that Matthew accentuated the authority of Jesus mainly in terms of his teaching. Besides the central section of sm, the conclusion (7:28–29) also stresses Jesus as Teacher: When Jesus had finished saying these things, the crowds were amazed at his teaching, because he taught as one who had authority, and not as their teachers of the law. matT 7:28–29

It is hardly incidental that Mark’s Gospel—according to most exegetes Matthew’s source text—provides an almost word-for-word depiction to describe the audience’s reaction to Jesus’ first public speech: They went to Capernaum, and when the Sabbath came, Jesus went into the synagogue and began to teach. The people were amazed at his teaching, because he taught them as one who had authority, not as the teachers of the law. mark 1:21–22

Thus Mark, too, connects Jesus’ authority to his teaching. However, on the same occasion, Mark relates that Jesus healed a man possessed by an evil spirit, which triggered an even stronger response from the audience: “The people were all so amazed that they asked each other, ‘What is this? A new teaching― and with authority! He even gives orders to evil spirits and they obey him’” (vv. 23–27). Mark thus emphasizes the newness and the power of Jesus’ proclamation. Like Mark, Luke records that Jesus gave his first public speech in a synagogue, though not in Capernaum but in his home town Nazareth. Luke also informs his readers of the contents of the speech. Jesus reads from the book of Isaiah: “The Spirit of the Lord is on me, because he has anointed me to proclaim 9 For a fuller discussion of the structure of sm see Kari Syreeni, The Making of the Sermon on the Mount: A Procedural Analysis of Matthew’s Redactoral Activity. Part i: Methodology and Compositional Analysis, aasf Diss. 44 (Helsinki: Suomalainen tiedeakatemia, 1987), 168–221.

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good news to the poor. He has sent me to proclaim freedom for the prisoners and recovery of sight for the blind, to set the oppressed free, to proclaim the year of the Lord’s favor.” Jesus then proclaims: “Today this scripture is fulfilled in your hearing.” The hearers are amazed, as in Mark, but when Jesus refuses to perform miracles as he had done in Capernaum, the people became furious and tried to kill him (Luke 4:14–30). Thus Luke has employed the Markan synagogue scene to make a salvation-historical point: Jesus came and fulfilled Old Testament prophecies, but his own people rejected him.10 Matthew, then, retells the public reaction to Jesus’ first speech, stressing that the hearers were astonished by his teaching. Matthew does not say that Jesus came with a new teaching, although the antitheses of sm (5:21–48) contrast Jesus’ teaching with the old one. It seems a purposeful choice that Matthew does not let Jesus expound his program in a synagogue. The mountain setting does echo Jewish sacred traditions—especially the mountain where Moses received the Torah—but the open outdoor scene, which allows for a great multitude to hear Jesus’ words, might already suggest that Jesus’ program was not limited to the Jewish people. The final commission (28:18–20) spells out that Jesus’ exposition of God’s will was meant for all nations.11 1.4 A Comprehensive Speech: Not Just Moral Issues The term teaching (didachē), which the narrator uses in describing the effect of Jesus’ speech at Matt 7:28–29, is appropriate because it includes more than just moral instruction. True, Matthew has a tendency to ethicize his tradition, as seen in his editing of the beatitudes. He adds “in the spirit” in the first beatitude: “Blessed are the poor in spirit, for theirs is the kingdom of heaven.” (Matt 5:3). He also expands the series of unconventional beatitudes to the poor, the hungry, and the weeping into a catalogue of virtues. On the other hand, however, the added teaching on alms, prayer, and fasting (6:1–18) shows that there is no clear division between ethical and ritual instructions. Nor can the inner 10

11

The consequences of this rejection are spelled out in Luke’s second volume, the Acts, which ends with Paul’s affirmation that God’s salvation has been sent to the Gentiles— unlike the Jews, they will listen (Acts 28:28). I will not discuss here the customary isagogic issues concerning the social setting and the theological outlook of Matthew’s gospel. However, the final commission is one of the indications that Matthew’s community is more committed to the larger entity (“church”) of Christ-believers from different nations than to inner-Jewish affairs. Hence it is problematic to view Matthew’s group as a “reformist movement or sect” within Judaism; thus A.J. Saldarini, Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community, Chicago Studies in the History of Judaism (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994), 114. At the same time, I concur that the Jewish inheritance is a vital part of Matthew’s community identity.

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state of mind and outward bodily actions be separated because good or evil thoughts are seen in what one does: “By their fruit you will recognize them” (7:20). The teaching of sm embraces all aspects of life, including the most basic necessities (food and clothing, 7:25–34). A Representative Speech: sm as the “sum” of Jesus’ Teaching in Matthew In the final commission, Matthew portrays the resurrected Jesus again on a mountain, now summoning his disciples:

1.5

All authority in heaven and on earth has been given to me. Therefore go and make disciples of all nations, baptizing them in the name of the Father and of the Son and of the Holy Spirit, and teaching them to obey everything I have commanded you. And surely I am with you always, to the very end of the age. matT 28:18–20

The prima facie reference of everything I have commanded you is obviously to all of Jesus’ teaching in the Gospel, but there is reason to think that the words refer specifically to sm, which is labeled as teaching in 7:28–29 and contains many direct commands and prohibitions. A comparison with the early Christian document called Didache, where the ethical two-way teaching (Did 1–6; cf. Matt 7:13–14) appears to be (part of?) the pre-baptismal teaching to converts, suggests that even sm may have had a similar function. However that may be, sm somehow seems to sum up the whole of Jesus’ teaching in Matthew. In reality, of course, it does not contain all of Jesus’ instructions in Matthew. It only represents Jesus’ teaching—as well as its near synonyms in Matthew: the will of God, the “fulfilled” law and the prophets, the Golden Rule—according to a pars pro toto logic. Such a logic is often rhetorically effective, but its fuzzy nature admits of paradoxes and uncalled-for conclusions. 1.6 A Socially Formative Discourse: In-Group and Out-Groups in sm The social conspicuity of sm is evident in the fact that it describes (or prescribes) a definite in-group, namely, those who hear and act on Jesus’ words (7:24–27) and show perfect righteousness (6:48). Already in the beatitudes the hearers become aware that the invitation to discipleship is a call to join a particular group of people. While the original beatitudes in Q reflect an underdog group identity, with an expected reversal of fortunes, the Matthean beatitudes describe the ideals of a morally superior group. Their mission to be the salt of the earth and the light of the world indicates an elite group identity. While

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this is in some tension with the final commission’s vision of making all people disciples of Jesus, it is in line with the last beatitudes where enmity and persecution are envisioned. The elite group is thus called to be Jesus’ disciples in a world where several out-groups threaten its well-being and even existence. In the main body of the Sermon, the outsiders are described in more detail. According to 5:20, the righteousness required of Jesus’ followers must exceed that of the Jewish religious specialists, the Pharisees and the teachers of the law. The ensuing antitheses also contrast Jesus’ teaching to what the Jewish hearers have learned before. In 6:1–18, customary Jewish piety is reinterpreted polemically against the “hypocrites.” Since the choir ending at 7:28–29 also contrasts the new teaching to that of the Jewish scribes, it can be concluded that the principal out-group in sm is Jewish. Some Matthean scholars have suggested that Matthew’s community was a Jewish sect. I do not think that “sect” is the most adequate term, but some elements in Matthew’s Sermon may be called sectarian, especially the legitimation of Jesus’ teaching by appealing to Jewish traditions, shared values, and common practices. Wolfgang Trilling argued long ago (1959) that Matthew presents the community of Christ-believers as the true Israel.12 When presented in an exclusivist sense and in contrast with other groups, such a claim is typically sectarian. Matthew’s polemics against the Jewish leaders and teachers of the law reflects this inherited sectarian attitude. At the same time, it seems that Matthew’s community, at the time of the writing of the Gospel, can no longer be regarded as a Jewish sect.13 12

13

This is the main thrust in Wolfgang Trilling, Das wahre Israel: Studien zur Theologie des Matthäusevangeliums, Studien zum Alten und Neuen Testament 10, 3rd ed. (München, 1964). In his later article, “Matthäus, das kirchliche Evangelium: Überlieferungsgeschichte und Theologie,” in Studien zur Jesusüberlieferung (Stuttgarter Biblische Aufsatzbände 1 [Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1988]), 93–108, Trilling restates that according to Matthew “Die Kirche ist das wahre Israel” and that “Die Verkündigung des Matthäusevangeliums hat ihr Spezifikum in der Spannung zwischen der judenchristlichen Prägung seiner Tradition und seines Milieus und dem entschieden heidenchristlichuniversalen Horizont seiner Aussage” (p. 100). This is not just a Matthean specialty, however; much of early Christian literature shares this basic tension. In some respects the category of “cult movement” does more justice to the Matthean community identity. See Petri Luomanen, “The ‘Sociology of Sectarianism’ in Matthew: Modeling the Genesis of Early Jewish and Christian Communities,” in Fair Play: Diversity and Conflicts in Early Christianity, Essays in Honour of Heikki Räisänen, ed. I. Dunderberg, C. Tuckett, and K. Syreeni (Leiden: Brill, 2001), 107–30. However, Luomanen notes that some aspects of Matthew’s symbolic universe, especially the way in which it is legitimated, are typically sectarian (p. 140). A further complication, I would add, is that Matthew’s community awareness probably includes the idea of a larger Christ-believing community,

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A basically Jewish point of view also coheres with the pejorative references to pagans in 5:47, 6:7, and 6:32. From the second century onwards, the juxtaposition of Jews and Gentiles as out-groups was increasingly a sign of a new Christian identity, as the idea of Christians as a “third race” indicates. However, it seems that in Matthew’s time and historical context an ambivalent relationship to Judaism was still prevalent. In Matthew, many of Judaism’s basic values such as the Torah and customary forms of piety are in principle assumed and even heightened, as is the negative attitude towards pagans. At the same time, Jewish religious leaders and experts of the law are criticized and their righteousness is deemed inferior. In addition to pagans, who are unequivocally outsiders, and Jews, who are an ambivalent group, the Sermon seems to depict enemies within the assumed in-group: the false prophets and teachers. Again, we should not interpret sm in light of later church history, as if Matthew represented the established church combating “heretics.” The rhetoric against wolves in sheep’s clothing (7:15) and evildoers who perform miracles in Jesus’ name (7:21–23) shows no interest in dogmatic issues. The warning against teachers who would loosen the commandments of the law (5:19) may indicate a confrontation with a Pauline type of Gentile Christianity, but this is far from certain. In any case, the warnings alert the audience to the possibility that even those who seem to belong in the in-group may in fact be dangerous outsiders. The tendency to see traitors in one’s own group is another typical feature of sectarian identity. All in all, the hearer or reader of sm will recognize that sm concerns a special group which is distinct from (other) Jews and Gentiles. 2

sm as an Example of Particular Universalism

Legitimation and Mission: Fulfilling the Law, Making Disciples of All Nations The above discussion has shown that sm is no timeless moral code but reflects the concerns and ideals of a specific early Christian community. At the same time, some elements in sm point to universalism—that is, a particular kind of universalism. There is nothing inherently paradoxical in combining 2.1

the “church” (ekklesia), cf. Matt 16:16–18 and 28:18–20, which raises the question of the relationship between Matthew’s local community and this emerging new “parent” group. Although there are no clear hints of a sectarian attitude along this axis, the reference to false prophets in Matt 7:15 should not be neglected altogether.

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particularism and universalism, because all forms of universalism are historically and socially conditioned. Second Temple Judaism, too, had its universalist strands. The wisdom traditions in, e.g., Proverbs and the book of Sirach, were rather Hellenistic or “international,” though of course in a particularly Jewish way. Another example is the philosopher Philo of Alexandria, whose allegorical method was meant to prove the universal value of the Torah. In general, foreign (including syncretistic) elements as well as apologetic, legitimating, and missionary concerns tend to produce arguments that stress the universal nature of the claim. The wisdom tradition, an important factor in early Christian documents (including the Q gospel and Matthew), had already embraced elements of the common Hellenistic sapiential thought. In the case of Philo, apologetic was obviously the main factor. In early Christianity, apologetic concerns come to the fore most forcefully with Luke and the second-century apologists such as Justin Martyr. For Matthew, however, legitimation and mission were the chief concerns. This legitimation was sought from the Jewish tradition, while the mission was largely if not exclusively directed to non-Jews. In spite of the heavy criticism in the antitheses (5:21–48) of the traditional interpretation of the Torah, and in part of the Torah itself, Matthew was at pains to present Jesus’ new teaching as the fulfillment of the law and the prophets, as shown in the inclusio at the beginning and end of the central section: 5:17: Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. 7:12 So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets.14 The missionary concern, too, is reflected in this inclusion, in that the law and the prophets are epitomized as the Golden Rule—a well-known ethical maxim among Jews and Gentiles alike. 2.2 Monotheism: God the Father and Master of the Universe Monotheism, of course, is basic to the Judaism known to Matthew, and despite his appreciation of Jesus as the Son of God the Jewish credo was a vital part of his religious pre-understanding, just as it was for Jesus of Nazareth. The pagan world knew of many deities, but the idea of a pantheon with one supreme god

14

For the inclusio as a purposeful Matthean design, see Syreeni, The Making of the Sermon on the Mount, 173–78.

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was not alien to most people. The father metaphor for God was also a wellknown depiction of the deity. In any culture, the relation between father and son (or a child) was readily understandable. Thus the argument a minore in Matt 7:9–11 would have been clear for any hearer and reader: Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him! matT 7:9–11

The father imagery is also used in 5:43–48 to describe God as the creator and sustainer of the world. The universal life-sustaining function of God is unfolded further in 6:25–34: “Look at the birds of the air; they do not sow or reap or store away in barns, and yet your heavenly Father feeds them….” This teaching strikes one as being surprisingly experiential—as wisdom tradition at its best is—and realistic to the limits of pessimism, especially in the Matthean addition in v. 34b (“each day has enough trouble of its own”). Apart from the reference to King Solomon, this teaching is virtually universal. The fact that sm—and most of early Christianity—does not name the supreme God is noteworthy. It is the advantage of monotheism that the suprahuman agent needs no name because he (or she?) is one of a kind, unlike humans who need a name for expressing their identity. Of the monotheist world religions, Christianity makes the best of this advantage. The assimilatory potential of this basically nameless god was less evident for Matthew and his audience than it is for modern theologians, who are able to theorize about God without the inconvenience of speaking of Jahwe, Allah or some other god. Nevertheless, the seed of Christian universalism was sown already in the New Testament and early Christian usage of “God.”15 15

Jewish monotheism naturally paved the way for this development. Although the God of Israel had a name—in fact, several names—using his proper name was avoided. Eventually his name was unknowable; when Moses asked his name, the answer was “I am who I am” (Exod 3:14). Ilona Raskow interestingly interprets this enigmatic answer from a psychodynamic perspective. “God uses the ineffability of his name as a defense mechanism” in order to prevent humankind from possessing the (ultimately phallic) power of his name. See Ilona Rashkow, “’What’s in a Name? That Which We Call a Rose by Any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet’: God’s Name, Lacan, and the Ultimate Phallus,” in Psychology and the Bible: A New Way to Read the Scriptures, vol. 1, ed., J.H. Ellens and W.G. Rollins (Westport, ct: Praeger, 2004), 238. In Christian usage, I suggest, the tradition of not having a proper name for God also has to do with power, in that a nameless deity is helpful in subsuming and merging various conceptions of that deity.

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2.3 The Ethic of Perfection: Doing More than Others The third aspect pointing to universalism in Matthew’s Sermon is the demand of perfection (5:48). Clearly, “Matthew advocates an aristocratic ethic. He is not satisfied with the search for the good, his concern is with the ‘better,’ indeed the ‘perfect.’”16 Although this perfection is of a particular kind, the general idea of moral perfection is more or less universal. Although this ideal is expressed as obedience to the tiniest letter of the Jewish law, at the end of the Sermon it becomes obedience to Jesus’ words. This shift is understandable in light of Matthew’s fulfillment theology: “the law and the prophets” find their full realization in Jesus’ authoritative teaching. However, the fulfillment theology is based on tensive and assimilative cognitive procedures, as it posits that Jesus’ teaching both is and is not the old law. Matthew’s assimilations go even further. In 7:12, the Golden Rule summarizes “the law and the prophets” and thus by implication Jesus’ teaching. In Luke (and in the underlying Q sermon) the Golden Gule does not have such a generalizing function but only interprets the love of one’s enemy, and even that application is strained, because enemy love is presented programmatically as something more than a piece of conventional wisdom. The Sermon on the Mount is not alone in elevating the popular rule of reciprocal behavior into an all-embracing ethical maxim. For example, a rabbinic tradition has R. Hillel referring to the Golden Rule as the sum of the Torah: Once there was a gentile who came before Shammai and said to him: “Convert me on the condition that you teach me the whole Torah while I stand on one foot. Shammai pushed him aside with the measuring stick he was holding. The same fellow came before Hillel, and Hillel converted him, saying: That which is despicable to you, do not do to your fellow, this is the whole Torah, and the rest is commentary, go and learn it.” babylonian talmud, Shabbat 31a.

This witty story does not imply that Hillel thought the Golden Rule would be enough. The phrase “go and learn it,” typical of rabbinic lessons, involves here that the (fictitious) convert study the implications of this simple teaching. If he did so, he would find that the “commentary” is substantially longer and more specific—namely, the whole Torah. Similarly, the Golden Rule in the Sermon on the Mount is first and foremost the abbreviation of Jesus’ teaching 16

Gerd Theissen, The Religion of the Earliest Churches: Creating a Symbolic World (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003), 177.

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and interpretation of the law as it is presented in Matthew. However, since Matthew has made it serve as a shorthand for the law and the prophets, the generalizing effect is, as it were, a built-in feature of his text. Readers may understand that it is an important general rule of conduct even when they do not adopt the precise sense in which it is used in the Sermon on the Mount. In that case, Matthew would taste his own medicine: the reader, being alerted to the interpretive potential of the Golden Rule can apply it for his or her own purposes, just as Matthew did. 2.4 Cognitive Spurs: Mastering Tensions, Negotiating the Rules The above-mentioned assimilative force of sm adds to the cognitive effort that the reader must invest in interpreting the text. Strange as it may be, this is also why the inconsistencies may contribute to its universal applicability. As the philosopher Walter Kaufmann observed over half a century ago, inconsistencies in works of literature are surprisingly frequent. “The most obvious example is furnished by the four Gospels,” he remarked, noting that there are contradictions between the Gospels as well as within each Gospel. “Moreover,” he opined, the fascination of the Jesus of the Gospels is due in large measure to these inconsistencies, even though most readers are not conscious of them. It is these inconsistencies that have invited literally thousands of “Lives” of Jesus and almost as many diverse portraits of him.17 This holds true for the Jesus of the Sermon on the Mount too. Some intellectually oriented readers are offended by the inconsistency between 5:16 (“Let your light shine before men, that they may see your good deeds …”) and 6:1 (“Be careful not to do your acts of righteousness before men …”). Should one conceal one’s righteousness from others or not? The tension between the two statements need not be serious, because they may be interpreted as pertaining to different kinds of proper behavior (some actions cannot be concealed anyhow) and are motivated differently rather than contradictorily (in neither case is one encouraged to do good in order to get praise from other people). At the same time, the tension is intricate enough to trigger cognitive alertness: the moral exhortations are not self-explanatory but need to be interpreted, applied discriminately, and weighed against each other.

17

Walter Kaufmann, Critique of Religion and Philosophy, Anchor Books (Garden City: Doubleday and Co, 1961), 373.

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Such tensions are typical of wisdom literature, which compresses aspects of experienced reality into short maxims. The sapiential “rules” are not sanctioned laws, but in part generalized and at times mutually exclusive observations about life, in part normative directions concerning the good life and its opposite, as well as the benefits or retributions that go with them. The “rules” are only to a lesser extent restricted to a particular ethnic, social or ideological group, although they may be addressed to specific classes of people (the youth, women, etc.). At the same time, each sage naturally is indebted to his tradition and philosophical or religious group. An additional problem is the mixture of wisdom, prophetic, and other modes of argumentation. The final antithesis Matt 5:43–48 provides an example: You have heard that it was said, “Love your neighbor and hate your enemy.” But I tell you, love your enemies and pray for those who persecute you, that you may be children of your Father in heaven. He causes his sun to rise on the evil and the good, and sends rain on the righteous and the unrighteous. If you love those who love you, what reward will you get? Are not even the tax collectors doing that? And if you greet only your own people, what are you doing more than others? Do not even pagans do that? Be perfect, therefore, as your heavenly Father is perfect. matT 5:43–48

The antithesis argues for enemy love in four ways:18 1.

comparison with the mutuality practiced by toll collectors and pagans (vv. 46–47), rationale: differentiation from out-groups by superior conduct 2. prophetical promise (v. 45), rationale: Jesus’ authority 3. a wisdom foundation (v. 45), rationale: general wisdom based on monotheism 4. a direct call to imitate God (v. 48), rationale: God-likeness as moral norm The flexibility of the arguments shows that the “grammar” of enemy love is anything but simple. The attitude of mutuality is here deemed insufficient, although the Golden Rule might suggest that it is an adequate principle. The fatherhood of God is both an experienced reality and a goal to be pursued. There is a logic behind the different arguments to the effect that Jesus’ disciples (4) should imitate God, (3) who does good to friends and foes alike, (1) which is more than people in general are wont to do. Even so, the fatherhood motif 18

Adapted from Gerd Theissen and Annette Merz, The Historical Jesus: A Comprehensive Guide (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998), 391.

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is torn into two tensive ideas, one suggesting that God, being the creator and master of the universe, is the impartial father of all people, the other that God is only the father of the righteous ones. The former idea comes close to Stoic philosophy, where some striking parallels are found.19 The latter idea is suggested by Matthew 5:9 (blessed are the peacemakers) as well as 5:45. Moreover, there is an interesting reversal of societal expectations, which is typical of early Christian ethos in general. As Theissen notes, the distinctive feature of the Jesus tradition is that the generosity and the imitation of God, which were virtues usually required of kings and the powerful, now belong to the powerless and the humiliated.20 The society’s underdogs are the moral elite. The other side of the reversal of values, however, is that the powerful outsiders are doomed (cf. the Lucan woes in the Sermon on the Plain). 3

Particularism and Universalism in the Reception of sm

I now discuss some reception-based procedures that help explain why sm has survived its original historical setting and gained prominence as a classic ethical statement. The cognitive prerequisite for later developments is the objectivation of this piece of text. Objectivation includes the identification and naming of Matt 5–7, which make this speech unit an object of interpretation and, consequently, a subject of meaning. In fact, Matt 5–7 “became” the Sermon on the Mount only in the Constantine era.21 What is true of the production of the text applies in many respects to its reception. There, too, we find a mixture of particularism and universalism. All the new interpretations, applications, and ramifications belong in a particular historical and social setting, and from this vantage point make more or less pronounced claims to universal truth. 19

20 21

See John Piper, “Love your Enemies”: Jesus’ Love Command in the Synoptic Gospels and in The Early Christian Paraenesis. Society of Bibilical Literature Monograph Series 38 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), 20–27, for enemy love and non-retaliation in Seneca and others. Theissen in Theissen and Merz, The Historical Jesus, 392–93. John Chrysostom, in his ninety sermons on Matthew (ca 390 ce), recognized Matthew 5–7 as a well-designed speech unit, see Margaret M. Mitchell, “John Chrysostom,” in The Sermon on the Mount through the Centuries, ed. J.P. Greenman et al. (Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2007), 19–42. However, Augustine of Hippo was the first to name it and to choose it as the subject of a separate commentary (394 ce). Thus Augustine certainly contributed to the increasing “objectivity” of sm. Historically, of course, the popularity of Matthew’s Gospel in the early church was an important general factor in the development.

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The procedures that lead to new developments—or mutations—along the interpretative history of sm can be described schematically as follows. It must be noted, however, that all these procedures are overlapping and combine in various ways. (1) Elimination. The first procedure is to eliminate, suppress, or neglect the particular circumstances in the production of the text. This procedure began very early because Matthew’s gospel was soon circulated in areas where the problems of Matthew’s community were not well known. More important, the readers of Matthew in the subsequent centuries were much less bothered about the historical setting of Matthew than they were about “Jesus” and his significance in their own life-setting. They were not modern exegetes and redaction critics—not even the celebrated Antiochian scholars. Nor was their “Jesus” the historical Jesus of modern scholars, but a conglomeration of early Christian presentations of Jesus Christ, coupled with innovative readings of the Old Testament and other educational literature. Augustine’s commentary on sm, for example, interpreted its message through the book of Isaiah and in light of general Christian virtues.22 (2) Selection and epitomization. The second procedure, which is usually but not necessarily based on the elimination of the original historical setting, is to read and apply sm selectively. Due to the extensive coverage of the instructions, this procedure is natural enough. We cannot expect that even Christians should embrace every aspect of sm, since the New Testament and the Christian tradition are much richer than that—and in some respects containing elements that are hard to combine with Matthew’s emphases.23 However, if the selection is thought to be the “essence” of sm, it amounts to an arbitrary epitomization. An example of selection is the rigorous way in which Francis of Assisi found and applied the ideal of poverty (Matt 5:3) and of the reliance on God’s sustaining presence among all his creatures.24 (3) Combination and assimilation. Elements of sm may be combined in several ways within the Christian tradition. It is also possible to combine some Matthean and Christian elements with notions that come from other religious 22 23

24

See R.L. Wilken, “Augustine,” in The Sermon on the Mount through the Centuries, ed. J.P. Greenman et al. (Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2007), 43–58. Especially Paul’s letters present ethical perspectives alien to Matthew; see Roger Mohrlang, Matthew and Paul: A Comparison of Ethical Perspectives, Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series 48 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984). In the Catholic Church of his time, these themes involved a powerful critique of the religious elite, as visualized so finely towards the end of Franco Zeffirelli’s film Brother Sun, Sister Moon.

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traditions. In this case we may speak of syncretism, but then we must remember that the Christian tradition is a combination of Jewish, oriental and GrecoRoman ideas. A selective and syncretistic combination of ideas is exemplified by Mahatma Gandhi, the celebrated leader of the Indian freedom movement and known for his strategy of non-violent resistance. He began his career as a lawyer in South Africa, where he fought for his compatriots’—nb: not for the native black Africans’—equal democratic rights, being inspired in part by sm and Tolstoy’s ideas on the reception of it. However, the first impetus to Gandhi’s program of non-violent resistance may have been his own experiences of humiliation. In his perceptive analysis of Gandhi and sm, Heikki Räisänen interprets the influences that lie behind Gandhi’s program. Räisänen notes that both the Hindu ideal of ahimsa and Christian influences contributed to Gandhi’s non-violent resistance, but at its base there may have been his personal experiences, such as the traumatic train incident: “Here, in the almost instinctive reactions of a self-respecting middle-class Indian to his alarming experiences, the beginnings of non-violent resistance are to be found; neither the New Testament nor Tolstoy played a part. But after it had become clear that resistance there must be, the New Testament and Tolstoy helped Gandhi insist on the claim that this resistance had to be of a non-violent kind.”25 Räisänen remarks further that Gandhi’s program of non-violent resistance diverges from the nonresistance ideal of sm and that Gandhi was selective in his application of the program, having no objections to British warfare when this seemed profitable to the Indian cause.26 For all his aspirations to a universal and interfaith ethic, he was first and foremost a nationalist. According to many Jesus scholars, so was Jesus.27 (4) Antagonism and negative modeling. Yet another type of use is clearly antagonist, whereby however sm can still provide a partial model for the opposite idea, or at least for its expression. George Bernard Shaw’s sophistic quip, in his Maxims for Revolutionists, shows that the Golden Rule is vulnerable when applied indiscriminately: “Don’t do to others what you want others to do to 25

26 27

Heikki Räisänen, “Ideals and Problems of Universal Wisdom: Mahatma Gandhi and the Sermon on the Mount,” in Marcion, Muhammad and the Mahatma (scm Press: London, 1997), 175. Räisänen, “Ideals and Problems of Universal Wisdom,” 178–79. Thus, e.g., E.P. Sanders, Jesus and Judaism (London: scm Press, 1985), 61–119. Of course Sanders, together with most exegetes, would not describe Jesus precisely as a nationalist. Instead, he asserts, “Jesus is to be positively connected with the hope for Jewish restoration” (p. 118; original emphasis).

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you—their tastes may be different.” More serious was Friedrich Nietzsche’s counter thesis. Nietzsche was a fierce opponent of Judeo-Christian morality, which he thought was slave morality based on ressentiment, hostility towards the perceived cause of one’s frustration. For Nietzsche, Christianity was a form of decay. Of Jesus he thought somewhat more positively, but then again, Jesus was the only Christian in the proper sense.28 In Nietzsche’s early masterpiece Thus Spoke Zarathustra, a chapter entitled “On the Love of One’s Neighbour” takes issue with the biblical love command.29 That especially sm is the target is shown by the use of the antithetical formulation “But I say to you”: You crowd around the neighbour and have beautiful words for it. But I say to you: Your love of the neighbour is your bad love of yourselves. … Do I counsel love of the neighbour? Rather, I counsel flight from the nearest and love of the farthest! This is more than a word play that takes “neighbor” literally for the “nearest one.” “The farthest” points specifically to the idea of the Overhuman (Übermensch), which is the true meaning and goal of the human being. The human is to be overcome by this sovereign Overhuman. One wonders whether Nietzsche was aware that his eschatological-utopian Overhuman is another mirror image of early Christian ideas, namely, the expectation of the divinization of human beings.30 28

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Friedrich Nietzsche, The Antichrist, introduction by H.L. Mencken (Milton Keynes, uk: Filiquarian Publishing, 2010). The full quotation is as follows, p. 71: “The very word ‘Christianity’ is a misunderstanding—at bottom there was only one Christian, and he died on the cross.” Friedrich Nietzsche, Thus Spoke Zarathustra, Oxford World’s Classics Series, translated with an introduction and notes by Graham Parkes (Oxford-New York: Oxford University Press, 2008), 53–54. A classic statement is 1 John 4:2; cf. also John 10:34–35. Second Peter 1:4 explicitly speaks of becoming “partakers of the divine nature,” although this thought is not developed in the letter. In mainstream Christianity, the idea of divinization (theosis) is mainly understood in terms of imitating God (imitatio Dei) or as a “family resemblance” (becoming sons and children of God and brothers of Jesus). Both trains of thought are found in Matt 5:43–48. However, there were early on more radical strands of Christianity, such as represented by the “pneumatics” dealt with in Paul’s letters, the Johannine Christians (who understood themselves as being born of divine seed, 1 John 3:9), and then the various Gnostic movements. It is also worth considering that the belief—in mainstream Christianity as well as

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Evolution or Mutations? sm and the History of Human Culture

To sum up thus far, I have suggested that both sm in its historical setting and its reception show aspects of particularism and universalism, and that any universalist claim seems to arise from a particular point of view in a specific historical setting. Historically, all universalism is particularist. But might there be any “universalist universalism” in sm—something genuinely common to humankind? The best candidate for an ethical universal is, of course, the Golden Rule. It is known in all major world religions, in Greco-Roman as well as Asian philosophy, and has been articulated in various positive and negative ways through thousands of years. The problem is that the universal “truth” that one might squeeze out of its various historical articulations is very abstract. In sm particularly, the question is how representative the Golden Rule is for the whole ethos of the speech. As noted, the tenor of the speech is really against the Golden Rule inasmuch as the rule is understood as a sufficient standard of behavior or as a principle of mutuality and fairness. A more proper summary of the ethos of sm would be the command of enemy love or the principle of nonretaliation. These, too, are well-known ideals outside Christianity, although the rationales given for these ideals are variable. However, Matthew must have felt that the Golden Rule was not inappropriate to epitomize Jesus’ ethical teaching, including love of one’s enemy. Obviously the Golden Rule is flexible enough to cover a large field of applications and interpretations. The specific way in which it is applied in sm can then be seen as one of the many “mutations” of a common, perhaps even universal, cultural “gene.” The next issue, then, is whether we can we discern an evolutionary process in the form of developing applications of the Golden Rule. Grossly speaking, there is certainly a development from biologically based mutuality in kinship relations towards culturally conditioned and generalized patterns, from parental love to love of one’s country, and so on. Among psychologists, Lawrence Kohlberg has argued that the various understandings of the Golden Rule express the individual’s level of moral reasoning. In Kohlberg’s seven-stage taxonomy, philosophers such as Immanuel Kant and John Rawls exemplify the sixth stage, where the rule means “It’s right if it’s otherwise—in an eternal life or immortality is akin to the idea of theosis; what separates God/gods from humans (and animals) is precisely that the latter are mortal. The ambivalence inherent in the concept of theosis is evident in light of the Old Testament warnings against human hybris and the sinful attempt to be like God (Gen 3:5; 22; 11:1–9).

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still right when you put yourself in the other’s place.” The seventh level involves a religious or philosophical faith in a cosmic order, which goes beyond the principle of justice. From a developmental psychological angle, Erik H. Erikson has also discerned various degrees of maturity in relation to the Golden Rule, finding the most compelling understanding of its import expressed in the Upanishads: “He who sees all beings in his own self and his own self in all beings.”31 We need not go to such mystical heights or accept the idea of the basic sameness of all human beings to realize that the Golden Rule has a biological base and corresponding simple applications (“You scratch my back, I’ll scratch yours”), while more discriminate applications of the Golden Rule presuppose the development of certain mental skills, such as the ability to infer the thoughts and feelings of others and the ability to capture another’s point of view and compare it to one’s own, as well as the ability to negotiate and integrate preferences from more than one perspective into a common one.32 More debatable is Gerd Theissen’s assertion that Jesus’ call for enemy love signals a shift from biological to cultural evolution: In Christianity the weak are not only protected but given priority: in the kingdom of God the poor, sick, hungry, and children will come into their own…Jesus’ ethic may be too radical for us, but it only makes a break with previous biological evolution. It places a question against family solidarity founded on biology—love for those genetically related—and calls instead for love for enemies, love for those not genetically (or culturally) related—the very opposite of conduct governed by biology.33 The question, however, is whether Jesus’ ethic—or Matthew’s, to which we have more direct access—is really “an antiselection protest”34 or if it is rather 31 32

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See Jeffrey Wattles, The Golden Rule (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996), 108–14. See Q.C. Terry, Golden Rules and Silver Rules of Humanity: Universal Wisdom of Civilization from before Confucius and Buddha to after Socrates and Jesus (Berkeley, sf: AuthorHouse, 2008), 31, with reference to J. Kagan’s and others’ developmental models. Theissen in Gerd Theissen and Dagmar Winter, The Quest for the Plausible Jesus: The Question of Criteria (Louisville-London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2002), 254. Theissen explicitly rejects Nietzsche’s pro-selection philosophy; see Nietzsche, The Antichrist, Ch. 7 (p. 31): “Pity thwarts the whole law of evolution, which is the law of natural selection. It preserves whatever is ripe for destruction; it fights on the side of those disinherited and condemned by life; by maintaining life in so many of the botched of all kinds, it gives life itself a gloomy and dubious aspect.” Theissen has developed his evolutionary approach in Biblical Faith: An Evolutionary Approach (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007 [1984]). Theissen in Theissen and Winter, The Quest for the Plausible Jesus, 255.

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an ethic based on another kind of selection. For surely sm does not abolish all selection, because it is, in Matthew’s understanding, the ethic of God’s chosen people, the elected ones. And is this new principle of election necessarily superior to, let alone a replacement for the biological and cultural principle of taking care of the nearest ones—the family, the neighbors, friends and colleagues, one’s country? Even sm takes such a natural or socially conventional love for granted when referring to God’s care for his children (7:7–11). Even if perfect love would save all humanity, modern Western as well as ancient Far Eastern sensitivities would still deem it an imperfect, anthropocentric love. If we think still further and consider that sm calls for human imitation of God’s universal sustenance, we cannot avoid its darker side. For how does the heavenly Father of Matthew’s sermon feed the birds of the air if not by letting them kill worms of the earth? Since we humans are worthier than plants and animals, Jesus admonishes us to pray God for our daily bread—which in happy cases might include fish or even meat. Is divine love then necessarily anthropocentric? Perhaps not, but then we must modify the concept of love drastically. What if the human race as we know it is not the end of evolution? If all of humanity, with its cultural evolution, were to be extinguished and replaced by some higher life form, would the Golden Rule still apply? Nietzsche, by modifying the concept of neighbor love into an expectation of the Overhuman, affirmed that—but then he applied the Golden Rule harshly to mean the humans’ assent to be treated as they have treated and enjoyed lower life forms. This I think is rationally feasible, but if I had to choose, I would be tempted to take sides with Theissen’s “antiselectionist protest.” Note, however, that this protest is really for a selection, namely, the selection of humanity. It makes human beings the measure of things. Whether this is a Christian program I cannot tell, but it is fairly Aristotelian. We humans perceive and appreciate things that have the proper size and extension from our point of view. So, too, with the Golden Rule. It is a rule of fair play, and, extended to enemy love, it is mercy and forgiveness. Beyond that point, it is barely manageable because then it will not be a human rule but an extraordinary being’s principle—God’s or the Devil’s? References Davies, W.D. The Setting of the Sermon on the Mount. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1964. Ervast, Pekka. The Sermon on the Mount or the Key to Christianity. London: Theosophical Publishing House, 1933.

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Hacking, Ian. “Aristotelian Categories and Cognitive Domains.” Synthese 126 (2001): 473–515 Kaufmann, Walter. Critique of Religion and Philosophy. Anchor Books, Garden City: Doubleday & Co, 1961. Luomanen, Petri. “The ‘Sociology of Sectarianism’ in Matthew: Modeling the Genesis of Early Jewish and Christian Communities.” Pages 107–30 in Fair Play: Diversity and Conflicts in Early Christianity, Essays in Honour of Heikki Räisänen. Edited by I. Dunderberg, C. Tuckett, and K. Syreeni. Leiden: Brill, 2001. Mitchell, Margaret M. “John Chrysostom.” Pages 19–42 in The Sermon on the Mount Through the Centuries. Edited by J.P. Greenman, T. Larsen, and R. Spencer Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2007. Mohrlang, Roger. Matthew and Paul: A Comparison of Ethical Perspectives. Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series 48. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1984. Nietzsche, Friedrich. Thus Spoke Zarathustra. Oxford World’s Classics Series. Translated with an introduction and notes by Graham Parkes. Oxford-New York: Oxford University Press, 2008. Nietzsche, Friedrich. The Antichrist. Introduction by H.L. Mencken. Milton Keynes, UK: Filiquarian Publishing, 2010. Piper, John. “Love Your Enemies”: Jesus’ Love Command in the Synoptic Gospels and in the Early Christian Paraenesis. Society of Biblical Literature Monograph Series 38. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979. Rashkow, Ilona. “‘What’s in a Name? That Which We Call a Rose by Any Other Name Would Smell as Sweet’: God’s Name, Lacan, and the Ultimate Phallus.” Pages 237–65 in Psychology and the Bible: A New Way to Read the Scriptures (vol. 1). WestportConnecticut-London: Praeger, 2004. Räisänen, Heikki. “Ideals and Problems of Universal Wisdom: Mahatma Gandhi and the Sermon on the Mount.” Pages 170–88 in Marcion, Muhammad and the Mahatma. SCM Press: London, 1997. Robinson, T.H. The Gospel of Matthew. Moffatt New Testament Commentaries. London, Hodder, 1928. Saldarini, A.J. Matthew’s Christian-Jewish Community. Chicago Studies in the History of Judaism. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994. Sanders, E.P. Jesus and Judaism. London: SCM Press, 1985. Syreeni, Kari. The Making of the Sermon on the Mount: A Procedural Analysis of Matthew’s Redactoral Activity. Part I: Methodology and Compositional Analysis. AASF Diss. 44. Helsinki: Suomalainen tiedeakatemia, 1987. Terry, Q.C. Golden Rules and Silver Rules of Humanity: Universal Wisdom of Civilization from Before Confucius and Buddha to After Socrates and Jesus. Berkeley, SF: Author­ House, 2008.

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Theissen, Gerd. Biblical Faith: An Evolutionary Approach. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007 [1984]. Theissen, Gerd. The Religion of the Earliest Churches: Creating a Symbolic World. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2003. Theissen, Gerd, and Annette Merz. The Historical Jesus: A Comprehensive Guide. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1998. Theissen, Gerd, and Dagmar Winter. The Quest for the Plausible Jesus: The Question of Criteria. Louisville-London: Westminster John Knox Press, 2002. Trilling, Wolfgang. Das wahre Israel: Studien zur Theologie des Matthäusevangeliums. Studien zum Alten und Neuen Testament 10, 3rd ed. München, 1964. Trilling, Wolfgang. “Matthäus, das kirchliche Evangelium: Überlieferungsgeschichte und Theologie.” Pages 93–108 in Studien zur Jesusüberlieferung. Stuttgarter Biblische Aufsatzbände 1, Stuttgart: Verlag Katholisches Bibelwerk, 1988. Wattles, Jeffrey. The Golden Rule. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1996. Wilken, R.L. “Augustine.” Pages 43–58 in The Sermon on the Mount Through the Centuries. Edited by J.P. Greenman, T. Larsen, and R. Spencer. Grand Rapids: Brazos Press, 2007.

Foundations of Early Christian Morality in the Light of Modern Argumentation Analysis Lauri Thurén To a great extent, moral exhortation in the New Testament reflects contemporary Jewish and Greek values. I suggest, however, that the way these instructions are motivated is exceptional. Instead of the carrot-and-stick method, the Christians’ new status as such is thought to make a difference to their behavior. This idea reflects Prof. Monroe’s thesis in this book, as she argues that self-image is the most important factor in motivating good behavior. When scrutinizing this hypothesis in the New Testament, it is essential to adhere to these ancient documents. It is useful to focus on the approach therein to moral exhortation. The task is difficult, as New Testament texts are means of persuasion, not descriptions thereof. This obstacle can be circumvented via the tools of modern rhetorical criticism and argumentation analysis. In this chapter, I shall suggest some principles and hypotheses for a study of ethical teaching in the New Testament. Some results of an analysis based on these guidelines will be presented as well. 1

Suggestions for Studying New Testament Ethics

First, any study of early Christian ethics must derive from the ancient documents themselves. Public and even academic discussion of early Christian ethics tends to be based on axiomatic views of the New Testament. References to occasional expressions in these writings only obscure the discussion. Thus, a strict focus on the texts is advisable. Second, a scrutiny of various New Testament documents soon reveals several differences between ethical concepts, but also one prominent, original feature: the motivation of the commandments. Thus, it is particularly interesting to ask how the recipients are expected to become willing to modify their behavior in the hoped-for fashion. Third, a dependable method is needed. The study of the ethical commandments and the expressions motivating them requires concentration on their particular functions. Single statements must be seen in context, and we must consider the effect they are designed to provoke among the recipients. This persuasive dimension of the text can be viewed from a rhetorical perspective. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi 10.1163/9789004343535_011

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For such a reading, we need practical, controllable methods. It does not suffice to call an expression in the text “mere rhetoric,” or to label it with a Greek or a Latin name. One of the most promising branches of rhetorical analysis is based on modern argumentation analysis. Fourth, when studying ethics in the New Testament, the epistles constitute the most valuable source. In the gospels, several sections advocating a certain mode of behavior actually have another purpose. Thus, for example, the commandments in the Sermon on the Mount, to gouge out an eye or to cut off a hand (Matt 5:29–30), were rarely considered feasible. In what follows, I shall first unfold these four principles, and then present some general results of a corresponding scrutiny. 1.1 Focusing on the Text Popular discussion demonstrates poor knowledge of the New Testament when citing it as a basis for ethical thinking. On the one hand, it is a commonplace to claim that the Bible is outdated as a foundation of Christian ethics since it contains unacceptable commandments of the Mosaic Law.1 However, the chief theological thinker in the New Testament, the Apostle Paul, never postulates the universal validity of the Law, not even as regards ethical guidance—­ although it incorporates several principles that he accepts.2 On the contrary, he explicitly rejects the whole Law (Gal 2:19, 3:24–25; Rom 7:1–6, 10:4). For him, the Law serves only occasionally as a subsidiary argument in support of his own exhortation (1 Cor 9:8, 14:34).3 Thus, problems with the Law by no means disqualify Paul’s own ethics. 1.2 Focusing on the Motivation Another sign of loss of contact with New Testament documents consists in the attempt by modern Churches to legitimate their existence by representing genuine Christian “values” in the society. This occurs as if Christianity provided an exceptional system of moral codes. However, in the canonical d­ ocuments

1 For example, references to lapidation or to dietary regulations. 2 Despite a common belief, Paul nowhere divides the Law into an acceptable moral section and a rejected ritual section, or rejects only its social function. Such distinctions cannot be documented in his texts. See further Lauri Thurén, Derhetorizing Paul: A Dynamic Perspective on Pauline Theology and the Law. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 124 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000), 54. 3 The controversial question of Paul’s positive and negative statements about the Law cannot be treated here in detail. I refer the reader to Thurén, Derhetorizing Paul, 53–178.

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it is challenging to demonstrate any ethical innovations, save perhaps the emphasis in the Gospel texts on loving one’s enemy.4 The most admired “Christian” ethical concepts, such as taking care of outsiders or the weak, or the somewhat more controversial yet characteristic idea of obedience to the civil authorities, belong to standard Early Jewish concepts inherited from the “Old” Testament.5 As a rule, moral exhortations in the New Testament reflect contemporary Jewish and Greek values.6 Indeed, the New Testament documents reject the idea of specific Christian Ethics. This is because the Christian way of life ought to be accepted, even admired, by the Gentiles as well. Thus, it should to a high degree correspond to their ideals. For this phenomenon, Paul offers a theological and First Peter7 a more practical explanation. According to Paul, God imparted the requirement of his Law into the hearts of the Gentiles (Rom 2:15). Although there are in practice dissimilarities between Greek, Roman, and Christian ethics, the overall picture remains the same. Such conformity is not seen as a weakness of Christianity, but as a proof of God’s activity. For First Peter, the non-Christians’ assessment of the recipients’ behavior is the criterion (1 Pet 2:12–15, 3:1–2.16). The recommended way of life works only if the outsiders are impressed thereby. Thus, the recipients’ behavior must meet the highest standards—if not the practices—of the outsiders. To sum up, there are neither historical nor theological grounds for seeking specific Christian commandments or ideals of behavior in the New ­Testament. Only the idea of loving one’s enemy is rare outside the Gospels. The New 4 John Piper, “Love Your Enemies”: Jesus’ Love Command in the Synoptic Gospels and in the Early Christian Paraenesis. Society of New Testament Studies Monograph Series 38 (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979), 101–02; Leo Perdue and John G. Gammie, eds., Paraenesis: Act and Form. Semeia 50 (1990). At least in Matt 5:47, the idea is presented as differing from the values of the Gentiles. Although similar references can be found, the idea of loving one’s enemy matches the criterion of dissimilarity, as it was popular neither among Early Jewish thinkers nor in early Christianity. 5 Lauri Thurén, “Jeremiah 27 and Civil Obedience in 1 Peter,” in Zwischen den Reichen: Neues Testament und Römische Herrschaft, ed. M. Labahn and J. Zangenberg (Tübingen: Franke, 2002), 77–92. 6 This is not to say that all contemporary values were accepted. 7 By “Peter” I refer to the author of, or person behind, First Peter. Contrary to most scholars, I assess the epistle as rather early, as it discusses the problem of how Christians could die (1 Pet 4:6); see further Lauri Thurén, Argument and Theology in 1 Peter: The Origins of Christian Paraenesis. Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement Series 114 (Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995), 167–68. This could hardly have been an acute problem toward the end of the first century. As an early document, it may have some contact with the apostle himself.

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­Testament may contain various eclectic ethical models, or at least isolated exhortations, which are presented as consistent with the subsequent ideological proclamation, but the Early Church was hardly especially innovative regarding moral standards. Notwithstanding, this does not mean that early Christian thinkers such as Jesus,8 Paul, or First Peter had nothing to offer when discussing morality. It is my hypothesis that the motivation, not the exhortation, is the core of early Christian ethics. In terms of rhetoric, the documents are not deliberative, viz., provoking a decision by the addressees, but epideictic: their goal is to intensify their existing values.9 This is done by creating motivation for a life according to the ideals accepted per se. If the early Christian motivation for good deeds differs in essence from other contemporary Greek and Roman philosophical or religious patterns, this may be relevant even to current discussion of the impact of religion on moral questions. 1.3 Analyzing the Persuasion How then were early Christian commandments10 motivated? Unfortunately, even regarding this question, axiomatic slogans prevail. The patterns of motivating the commandments in specific documents are seldom studied. To be sure, the New Testament is so complex a combination of writings that examples of various types of motivating statements can easily be found. However, if the goal is to arrive at an overall survey, we need a comprehensive study. Instead of single statements, a broad picture of the motivation in a document must be discerned. Such a picture must be based on a detailed analysis where every motivating statement is identified and examined—not just those supporting the analyst’s own hypothesis. Second, the author’s general message must be outlined. Thereafter, a comparison between the author’s other documents and those of other nt writers may yield a holistic view of the motivation in the New ­Testament. 8

9 10

By “Jesus” I refer to the literary character displayed in the New Testament writings. While the “historical Jesus” remains a highly hypothetical reconstruction, his textual counterpart is accessible to us. Although the character of Jesus varies in different nt documents, some general assessments can be made. George Kennedy, New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism (Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1984), 19. The ethical commandments are not to be equated with paraenesis, which is a wider concept. For a definition and further discussion, see James Starr, “Was Paraenesis for Beginners?” in Early Christian Paraenesis in Context, ed. J. Starr and T. Engberg-Pedersen (Berlin: de Gruyter, 2004), 73–111.

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Such a view necessarily remains at a high level of abstraction, but some generally valid trends can perhaps be perceived. When searching for particular motivating expressions or sections, it is essential to realize that the New Testament documents were not designed to inform us about the ethics or theology of the author, but to convince their readers. Thus, a method is required that enables the study of the persuasive elements and their dissemination. Such approaches are provided by rhetorical criticism, particularly modern argumentation analysis. This approach is not merely another interesting “new” perspective on the text, but essential for a diligent reading of its contents. It is often claimed that in early Christian ethics, the carrot-and-stick method prevailed: Disobedience leads to eternal punishment, while obedience is rewarded with a place in Heaven.11 This characterization is however difficult to combine with the actual motivating expressions in the texts, although a modicum of support can be discerned. For a start, an attempt can be made to identify isolated statements designed to generate motivation for obeying the author’s ethical commandments or recommendations. To this end, references to “teleological” or “deontological” ethics are too vague.12 Instead, a semantic cum pragmatic analysis of markers signifying a grounds-conclusion- or means-purpose relation to the exhortations provides a more accurate basis.13 Moreover, the examination of single motivating statements will not suffice. Longer sections of a text too may be designed to generate motivation on a general level. After identifying the motivating expressions, statements, and longer ­sections, their contents and mode of persuasion must be analyzed and reciprocally compared. Only thereby can a general vision of the specific author’s approach to motivation be acquired. To be sure, it is possible that an author lacks any coherent view in this regard—this option too must be tested. Finally, a comparison between several key documents in the New Testament may yield

11 12

13

See, e.g., Herbert Preisker, Das Ethos des Urchristentums, 2nd ed. (Gütersloh: Mohn, 1949). Such an approach is provided by, e.g., Ruben Zimmermann, “‘The Implicit Ethics’ of the New Testament Writings: A Draft on New Methodology for Analyzing New Testament Ethics,” Neotestamentica 43 (2009): 410–13; see also Ruben Zimmermann, “Ethics in the New Testament and Language: Basic Explorations and Eph 5:21–33 as Test Case,” in Moral Language in the New Testament: The Interrelatedness of Language and Ethics in Early Christian Writings, Vol 2, ed. R. Zimmermann and J.G. van der Watt (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010), 219–50. The method is based on John Beekman and John Callow, Translating the Word of God (Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1974). For a thorough discussion of the principles and an attempt at a practical analysis, see Thurén, Argument and Theology in 1 Peter, 60–85.

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a holistic view or at least some general trends indicating how these writings were designed to persuade their recipients to change their behavior in the desired fashion. As the New Testament documents were not written in order to display any system of ethics but to convince the recipients to modify their values and behavior,14 some of the motivating expressions are only discerned with difficulty. Several concepts may be implicit, “between the lines.” Their explication without a controllable approach remains arbitrary. At this point we must consult experts in argumentation analysis. This general field of research has developed since the late 1950s, originally mostly for the needs of judicial and political analysis.15 It was realized that actual human communication seldom if ever follows the rules of classical formal logic. Human persuasion is not equal to demonstration. Instead, in real argumentation and persuasion a certain amount of rhetoric is used. Argumentation analysis is currently studied by a large number of scholars in several different fields. A variety of methods is applied.16 Their usefulness depends on the goal of the research: a critical assessment of the validity of the text imposes different requirements as compared with a descriptive analysis aimed at revealing implicit ideas. Recently some of the approaches have been applied to New Testament documents. One of the obstacles besetting biblical scholars has to do with the preoccupation with ancient argumentation analysis, as if ancient texts were best analyzed with ancient tools.17 But just as we use modern grammars when studying ancient Greek, so modern approaches to argumentation are also better suited to scholarly needs. While there are many sophisticated models for analyzing argumentation, the choice between them must be based on the requirements of the task at hand. One of the most fruitful approaches for studying motivation in written documents is Stephen Toulmin’s model.18 It is widely used for analyzing 14 15

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I have discussed in detail the dynamic, persuasive nature of the New Testament documents in Thurén, Derhetorizing Paul, 23–35. For introductions to argumentation analysis, see F.H. van Eemeren et al., Fundamentals of Argumentation Theory: A Handbook of Historical Backgrounds and Contemporary Developments (Mahwah: Erlbaum, 1996); and Lauri Thurén, “Is There Biblical Argumentation?” in Rhetorical Argumentation in Biblical Texts, ed. A. Eriksson, T.H. Olbricht, and Walter Überlacker (Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2002), 78–80. See van Eemeren et al., Fundamentals of Argumentation Theory. For a discussion of the usefulness of Aristotle’s syllogisms, see Thurén, “Is There Biblical Argumentation?” 78–92. Stephen E. Toulmin, The Uses of Argument (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1958); Stephen Toulmin, Richard Rieke, and Allan Janik, An Introduction to Reasoning, 2nd ed. (New York: McMillan, 1984).

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different types of argumentation, but has seldom been applied to the New ­Testament. Its chief advantage is its ability to unfold implicit concepts in a controllable way. When the main functional characteristics of a statement are known from the outset, its explication requires little imagination. Using Toulmin’s model is like playing a recorder: It seems simple, and everybody can produce a sound. However, playing correctly requires long training—and every listener can hear the difference between the professional and the amateur. In a nutshell, the model works on the following principles:19 First there is a Claim (C), something proposed but not necessarily accepted by the audience. Grounds for the Claim are called Data (D), consisting of variables which the audience is assumed to accept, and which pertain to the specific case under discussion. Then a Warrant (W) is needed, viz., a general rule that combines the D with the C. Moreover, the W is supported by a Backing (B), consisting of general information accepted by the audience. An additional Qualifier (Q) may define the reliability of the argumentation, and a Rebuttal (R) dictates the circumstances under which the argumentation is invalid. The scheme is openended, which means that all the parts and their relation to each other can be questioned and correspondingly supported by an additional W, B, etc. Toulmin presents the following (outdated) example:20 B: The proportion of Roman Catholic Swedes is less than 2%21 ▼ W: A Swede is not a Roman Catholic ▼ D: Petersen is a Swede

►  C: Petersen is not a Roman Catholic

This scheme can be completed with a Q “Almost certainly” and an R “Unless Petersen belongs to a small minority.” In practice, one or several parts usually remain implicit (presented here in italics), but knowing the essential characteristics enables the explication. 19

For a simple introduction (in Swedish), see Thurén, “Hur motiveras goda gärningar i 1 Pet 1:17–19? En argumentationsanalys,” in Jesus och de första kristna: Inledning till Nya testamentet, ed. D. Mitternacht and A. Runesson (Stockholm: Verbum, 2006), 434–38. 20 Toulmin, The Uses of Argument, 25. 21 My italics, indicating that the expression is implied, not explicit.

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The most common problem in the analysis tends to be related to observing the case-specific and general nature of the parts of the scheme. Moreover, the model is open-ended: any factor can be questioned and new information required. Thereby the model also reveals the ambiguity and problems inherent in an actual argumentation.22 The approach briefly described above involves a meticulous task. For quick results and radical theses, general statements about New Testament morality provide an enticing short cut. However, I am convinced that careful analysis of the documents will give us more reliable results. Below, a brief analysis of 1 Peter 1:17 displays how Toulmin’s model explains the argumentation in the text. 2

Motivating the Ethical Commandments in the New Testament Epistles

At first glance, the New Testament documents offer a wide variety of means of motivating the ethical commandments. A closer scrutiny, however, reveals some features which may be cautiously generalized. 2.1 First Peter First Peter is a particularly interesting document, inasmuch as it represents a more common form of early Christian thinking than Paul’s personal theology.23 Unlike the Pauline epistles, exhortations and their various motivations occur throughout the document. On the one hand, it is often argued that the commandments in 1 Peter are “Christological” in nature.24 This would indeed be an original Christian con-

22 23

24

The capacity of the model to deal with a complex and ambiguous sentence is demonstrated in Thurén, “Hur motiveras goda gärningar,” 436–37. Scholars unfamiliar with Petrine research often label the epistle as Deuteropauline. However, most specialists emphasize its general nature; see Willem van Unnik, “The Teaching of Good Works in 1 Peter,” New Testament Studies 1 (1954/1955): 198–202, esp. p. 92; Eduard Lohse, “Paränese und Kerygma im I. Petrusbrief,” Zeitschrift für die neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 45 (1954): 68–89, esp. p. 85; John H. Elliott, “The Rehabilitation of an Exegetical Step-Child: 1 Peter in Recent Research,” Journal of Biblical Literature 95 (1976): 243–54, esp. p. 243; John Piper, “Hope as the Motivation of Love. 1 Peter 3.9–12,” New Testament Studies 26 (1980): 212–30, esp. p. 218; Thurén, Argument and Theology in 1 Peter, 226–27. Lohse, “Paränese und Kerygma im I. Petrusbrief,” 86; Wolfgang Schrage, Ethik des Neuen Testaments, Grundgrisse zum Neuen Testament 4 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982), 256.

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cept. However, it remains unclear what this actually means, viz., how Christ is thought to motivate good works. On the other hand, the idea of retaliation and punishment has been claimed to be the central incentive in all New Testament ethics, and so also in 1 Peter.25 Some decades ago, I performed an analysis of the entire document along the guidelines presented above.26 First, the general rhetorical strategy of the text was examined. Then, the semantic markers signifying motivating expressions, and thereby the motivating expressions themselves were identified.27 This proved to be a challenge, as in several cases the Greek text does not indicate whether an expression seeks to exhort or motivate the hearers.28 The delineation of motivating statements was followed by a careful scrutiny of the argumentation, based on a bespoke version of Toulmin’s system.29 Finally, the motivating expressions were grouped according to their contents and influence on the putative recipients. This resulted in a definition of how ethical exhortation was delineated. An example: Argumentation in 1 Peter 1:17—fear or awe as a source of motivation? And if you call on him as Father who judges impartially according to each one’s deeds, conduct yourselves with fear [phobos] throughout the time of your exile. (English Standard Version) First, the exhortation is modified to a claim: “You must be afraid of God.” This is motivated with further information about God: He is an impartial judge. An implicit, but clearly anticipated rule (W) can then be added, which in turn is supported by general knowledge about judges.

25 Preisker, Das Ethos des Urchristentums, 197. 26 Thurén, Argument and Theology in 1 Peter. 27 Thurén, Argument and Theology in 1 Peter, 65–85. 28 As a spin-off from this study, I wrote a monograph on the possible rhetorical function of this recurrent ambiguity (Lauri Thurén, The Rhetorical Strategy of 1 Peter with Special Regard to Ambiguous Expressions [Åbo: Åbo Academy Press, 1990]). I suggested, that the ambiguity is deliberate and due to the complex and varied situations of the different recipients of the epistle. The theory was later criticized for failure to comply with recommendations of lucidity by ancient rhetoricians, as if rhetorical criticism was a historical endeavor and the New Testament authors trained rhetoricians. 29 Thurén, Argument and Theology in 1 Peter, 47–57.

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   B: General knowledge about a judge ▼ W: One must be afraid of an impartial judge ▼



D: God is an impartial judge   ►  C: You must be afraid of God

But something is missing. The author presents additional information: You refer to God as father. How is this expected to affect the argumentation? One possibility is that it is a Rebuttal (R), which is connected to the reasoning with an implicit warrant: A father is challengeable as a judge. ii      B: General knowledge about a judge ▼ W: One must be afraid of an impartial judge ▼ D: God is an impartial judge  ►   C: You must be afraid of God      ▲ ◄ w: A father is challengeable as a Judge

 R: Unless you appeal to him as a father

If phobos is understood in a more positive sense (awe, reverence), the above reasoning can may be formulated as follows: iii     W: Escape from grave danger ought to arouse awe ▼ D: You may appeal to the judge  ►    C: You should live in as your father (who does not judge you)     a judge’s sight

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However, the fact that the addressees invoke God as father, may also point in another direction. It may emphasize that their close relationship to the judge enables perfection of their faults. After all, he judges everybody impartially. iv W: Living in the sight of a judge increases the danger of being condemned ▼ D: You invoke God as father    ►    C:  You must be afraid of being condemned D1: God is an impartial judge No final choice can be made between the positive and the negative alternatives. Thereby the argumentation analysis displays a feature typical of the epistle: the author sends to his addressees a double message. This may be due to his peculiar rhetorical strategy.30 However, one thing is clear: The actual data to which the author refers in order to create motivation to live “in fear” (en phobō) do not concern what God does or may do to them, but what the addressees themselves are doing (ei … epikaleisthe). Analyzing the whole text with Toulmin’s model indicates that the main motivating force for 1 Peter is neither stick nor carrot. To be sure, both elements are present in the document, but play only a minor role.31 Behind the individual statements, a general structure, or at least major elements thereof, can be identified. The strongest argument for good behavior is the recipients’ current status as Christians.32 The rarity and value of their status is emphasized by several means. In its simplest form they are called God’s children, which ought to provoke similarity to God (1 Pet 1:15–16). Seen in greater detail, the addressees are assigned several honorary titles of Israel as well as the certainty of immortality and eventual salvation: a chosen race, a royal priesthood, a holy nation, a people for God’s own possession, the people of God (1 Pet 2:9–10). God’s positive attitude toward them and his foreknowledge and protection (1:2, 3, 5, 15–17), baptism as a sign of the new status, and Christ’s role in the change (1:18–21; 2:4–8, 21–24; 3:18–19, 21–22) are all well attested. The value of this new status is further enhanced by referring to the admiration thereof by the Old 30 31

32

See further Thurén, The Rhetorical Strategy of 1 Peter. Hope and final salvation are often mentioned (see Thurén, Argument and Theology in 1 Peter, 202–04) as well as the judgment (see Thurén, Argument and Theology in 1 Peter, 206). However, the addressees are never threatened explicitly with punishment. See Thurén, Argument and Theology in 1 Peter, 200–02.

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Testament prophets and angels (1 Pet 1:10–12), as well as to the recipients own wretched past (1 Pet 1:14, 18, 23–24; 2:10) and the Gentiles’ current situation (1 Pet 3:12, 19–20; 4:3–5, 17). The Christians’ status is expected to motivate the addressees in two ways. First, it ought to provoke joy (1 Pet 1:6) and therefore gratitude toward God.33 This gratitude then is thought to be transformed into behavior according to God’s will. Second, the potential loss of the already achieved status is hinted at. In order to preserve the promised “inheritance” of the Father, proper conduct is required. This line of persuasion is however somewhat weak. References to the addressees’ new status occur mostly in the first half of the epistle (1:1–2:10) thereby provoking the will to obey the commandments. The forthcoming motivation builds upon this state of mind. It shows how God’s or Christ’s plan can be fulfilled by obedience to the instruction given by the author. In other words, the author informs the recipients how to implement their willingness to thank God. God is best glorified by arousing admiration among others. Thereby they can be “won” over as well (1 Pet 2:9, 12–15).34 This principle is demonstrated by familiar examples—the author compares the status of slaves and women to that of all Christians’ in the society (1 Pet 2:18–3:6). Moreover, on several occasions the author cites common sense, especially in connection with purely theological claims.35 In short, ethical instruction in 1 Peter is strengthened by referring to something which the recipients have already achieved: their new status as Christians. The author may threaten the loss of this status or of future glory, but only as a subsidiary argument. His prime purpose is to arouse esteem of the new status and gratitude toward its donor, God. Then the author shows how this gratitude is transformed into action. There is doubt as to whether such motivation of obedience is per se an early Christian innovation. To some extent it corresponds to general early Jewish thinking: joy derived from the status of being God’s people and gratitude to him were characteristic features. But Deut 4:32–40, for example, combines this theme with the idea of prosperity in the promised land. Thus, a carrot can be discerned as well. Yet the question of early Jewish ethical motivation requires a more thorough study. In any case, references to Jesus of Nazareth as the role model and to his role as the Christ are genuine Christian elements. Such means of creating motivation are far from the traditional ideas of carrot and stick. The motivation is based mostly on joy and gratitude, not fear or greed. 33 Thurén, Argument and Theology in 1 Peter, 119–21, 129–31. 34 Thurén, Argument and Theology in 1 Peter, 208–09. 35 Thurén, Argument and Theology in 1 Peter, 220–21.

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2.2 Paul Compared to First Peter, it is more challenging to characterize Paul’s way of persuading his hearers to obey his exhortations. This is not merely because no comprehensive survey exists of motivating elements in his texts so that only general and therefore somewhat unwarranted claims about his techniques and the underlying ideology can be presented.36 The crux is that Paul’s view of what makes the Christians modify their behavior in the desired direction appears to be obscure indeed. Nevertheless, as a part of the Nordic Paraenesis project, I attempted to delineate various characteristics of Paul’s motivating approach as well.37 This study is based on Romans, which perhaps represents his general thinking better than, e.g., the more specific Galatians.38 In Romans and in other Pauline documents too, it is striking that individual exhortations are seldom directly supported by a motivating statement. In other words, the commandments are only occasionally linked to motivating expressions by clear semantic signals. However, as the exhortations mainly occur late in each letter, it is often assumed that earlier chapters—at least 5–11—lay their foundation. Indeed, Rom 12:1–15:13 is introduced with “therefore” (oun), signifying that conclusions therein are drawn from the previous chapters.39 Although the whole previous text may be relevant, it must be remembered that Romans was written for presentation orally. Hence, it is most natural that the audience will have in mind what they have just heard. To be sure, Rom 12:1–15:13 contains some motivating statements. Thus, the addressees should not retaliate, for (gar) God will exact retribution (12:19–20). Moreover, the compact section 13:1–6 is full of simple motivating sentences introduced with “for/because” (gar), but they refer to common sense rather than theology: “Rulers are not a terror to good, but bad.” Romans 13:11–12 contains an eschatological motivation: The end is near, thus the addressees should wake from sleep. The detailed significance of this breviloquium remains unclear. In the next chapter, some brief and obscure motivating expressions are found as well. However, Paul does not explain how such sayings as “For the kingdom 36 37

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The forthcoming dissertation by Antti Mustakallio, Motivation of Paraenesis in Paul’s Letter to the Romans, will constitute an important contribution to this issue. Lauri Thurén, “Motivation as the Core of Paraenesis: Remarks on Peter and Paul as Persuaders,” in Early Christian Paraenesis in Context, ed. J. Starr and T. Engberg-Pedersen (Berlin-New York: de Gruyter, 2004), 361–71. I assess Romans too to be strongly bound to its actual situation, and not a balanced presentation of his theology, but as Paul is less familiar with the recipients, some degree of general representativeness can be presumed. See, e.g., James D.G. Dunn, Romans 9–16, Word Biblical Commentary 38B (Dallas: Word, 1988), 708.

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of God is not food and drink but righteousness and peace and joy in the Holy Spirit” (Rom 14:15) are expected to create motivation, although it is linked to an exhortation with “for” (gar), a signal for a grounds-conclusion relation. The majority of these brief references are based on common sense. E ­ xplicit theological statements, so typical of First Peter, are few. Nor can we use the individual expressions to reconstruct any general rhetorical technique or psychological factor that would ensure obedience to the commandments. It seems that in this “paraenetical” section, Paul takes the recipients’ willingness to obey him for granted, and only adds some afterthoughts appealing to their reason. As these occasional motivating expressions hardly reveal Paul’s actual strategy for persuading his recipients to modify their values and behavior, the convention whereby the real motivation is created in the earlier chapters must be followed.40 To what then, does Paul refer with “therefore” (oun) in Rom 12:1? “I appeal to you therefore, brothers, by the mercies of God, to present your bodies as a living sacrifice, holy and acceptable to God, which is your spiritual worship.” How is his preceding discourse on the new life without the law (chapters 5–8) and the fate of Israel (chapters 9–11) expected to persuade the addressees to follow his exhortation? Only tentative suggestions can be presented here. In the first part of Romans, Paul generally praises the Gospel as a saving ­power. Divine wrath will descend on both the Gentiles (1:18–32) and the Jews (2:1–3:8) since all lack the righteousness required by God (3:9–20). But the ­Gospel will save them, as it proclaims righteousness by faith (3:21–5:11). Then follows a comparison between Adam and Christ (5:12–8:39): the former aroused wrath, the latter righteousness. This will be proclaimed first to the Jews, then to the Gentiles, and finally to the Jews again (chs. 9–11). This presentation deals with the relationship between Jews (or Jewish Christians) and Gentiles (or Gentile Christians), perhaps in order to resolve their internal problems or even corresponding difficulties throughout the Church. But how does this presentation motivate the commandments in chapter. 12 onwards? At least Paul emphasizes the virtue of the addressees’ new life in the Spirit. But instead of only seeking to arouse general appreciation like 1 Peter, Paul introduces a new concept. He argues that his recipients died to sin at baptism. Thus they no longer commit sin (Rom 6:5–11, 14:22). They simply lead a holy life and produce the fruits of the Spirit (Rom 8:4–14; Gal 5:22). This bold idea, however, seems to involve an inherent tension: If correct, neither motivation 40 Dunn, Romans 9–16, lxii; Wilhelm Wuellner, “Paul’s Rhetoric of Argumentation in Romans: An Alternative to the Donfried-Karris Debate over Romans,” in The Romans Debate, ed. K.P. Donfried, 2nd ed. (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1991), 143–44.

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nor exhortation is needed, save perhaps some guidance on how to be holy in practice. However, Paul uses the addressees’ death, viz., inability to commit sin, in order to motivate them to avoid sin (Rom 6:2, 12–13). If taken as a static description, Paul’s view of his addressees in Romans 6 would be controversial indeed. However, two points must be emphasized. First, the whole purpose of a paraenesis is not to introduce new exhortations or rules, but to revitalize and emphasize values already accepted by the audience.41 Second, when referring to the addressees’ life, Paul’s aim is not description but persuasion. In the text, he does not simply inform his recipients about his theology concerning what they are or are not. It is clear that complete freedom from sin is not achieved, inasmuch as the exhortation is required at all. Since the addressees’ “dead” bodies are still active, their works must be dead, viz., works of death (Rom 8:13). Correspondingly, the addressees stand in need of commandments, although they actually should not. The classical ­“indicative-imperative” reasoning does not quite fit the text, as it still reflects a dogmatic view of Paul’s message. Instead it is interesting to ask what his persuasive aim is when describing the recipients both as living according to God’s will and as not doing so, viz., in need of his exhortation. First Peter, too, refers to the addressees’ death to sin, but only as the desired result of the redemption (1 Pet 2:24: “… that we might die to sin and live to righteousness”). Yet too optimistic a description of the addressees, corresponding to that in Paul, is employed for the sake of insinuatio or “persuasive description”:42 the author presents them as steadfast, eminent Christians in order to coax them into being so. Later on it turns out that the description does not represent the author’s actual thinking: in 1 Pet 4:12–13 the same recipients are urged to be steadfast, manifest Christians.43 When Paul describes his recipients as sinless in order to urge them to do good, this appears to be more than persuasive tactics or paraenetical tradition. On some level, he argues that they really are free of sin and its punishment. On the other hand, they will still meet death, which is “the allowance of sin” (Rom 6:23, opsōnia). This illogical situation is—in my reading—treated in Rom 7:14–25 and its compact version, 1 Cor 15:50–57. In these sections, Paul argues that sin and death nevertheless have a hold on the Christians, who will not be completely free thereof until the last day.44 The persistent grip of sin, law, and 41 42 43 44

For a thorough discussion, see Starr, “Was Paraenesis for Beginners,” 73–111. See Thurén, The Rhetorical Strategy of 1 Peter, 132–34; Argument and Theology in 1 Peter, 91. Early critical scholarship was perplexed by this discrepancy, as if the text consisted of two different documents; see Thurén, The Rhetorical Strategy of 1 Peter, 89 n. 2. For discussion and further arguments, see Thurén, Derhetorizing Paul, 114–26. The function of these sections is currently blurred by a “rhetorical” misreading of egō in Romans

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death needs to be counteracted now by the paraenesis and finally by the new creation. But as long as the addressees have flesh, they will die. This is a consequence of sin, from which they are already liberated in baptism. The peculiarity of this train of thought hardly went unnoticed by Paul or his addressees. For our current purpose it suffices to say that, in Paul, the motivation for obeying the exhortation derives from the addressees’ new life in the Spirit. In principle they bear its fruits automatically. However, in practice the addressees’ remaining flesh creates a need for Pauline exhortation. How this view effects motivation remains obscure, although various similarities to First Peter’s idea of boosting the value of the new status can be seen. Whereas the latter emphasized the recipients’ new preeminence by referring to envious prophets and angels, together with the recipients’ own former life, Paul contrasts their new status with that of Israel, discussed in Romans 9–11. Since God has seen fit to choose the addressees to belong to his people, they must act accordingly. In both documents, baptism is mentioned in order to motivate the addressees. Whereas Paul cites their death in baptism, which makes it impossible to commit sin, First Peter is more practical: it refers to the baptismal liturgy when urging the recipients to put away their bad habits just as they did at their baptism (1 Pet 2:1–5).45 Although the more Jewish and traditional 1 Peter and the more original and personal Romans differ in their ways of enjoining obedience of the commandments, both refer to the addressees’ status as Christians as the central factor. 3

Concluding Remarks

This survey of two central early Christian documents, the more general First Peter and the more specific Romans, points toward some conclusions, which can be cautiously generalized. However, more wide-ranging, yet meticulous analyses of both Romans and texts representing other branches of early Christianity are required before a higher level of representativeness can be achieved. First Peter and Romans refer to the addressees’ novel status as God’s chosen people as a major factor that should prompt them to adopt the recommended behavior. According to both texts this status involves the addressees’ certain

45

7 as if Paul excluded himself from the semantic field of the word. However, there was no ancient convention enabling Paul to assume that his recipients shared this interpretation. Unfortunately, this question has proven to be a sore point in exegetical discussion; see Thurén, “Motivation as the Core of Paraenesis,” 368 n. 44. Edward G. Selwyn, The First Epistle of St Peter, 2nd. ed. (London: McMillan, 1947), 369–75; 389–400.

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final salvation (Rom 8:28–31; 1 Pet 1:4–9) as well as their death to sin (Rom 6:3–4; 1 Pet 2:24). Notwithstanding, conditional promises of future benefits of the status as well as the possibility of forfeiting them occur in both documents. However, these ideas resembling the classic carrot-and-stick technique are not dominant. Instead, the new status is expected to create motivation in a more interesting manner. In First Peter, the author emphasizes the value of the status in various respects. This he does in order to enhance the addressees’ appreciation of their status, which in turn should result in joy and gratitude toward Christ and/or God, who bestowed these blessings. The exhortation to become as holy as God or to act according to the example of Christ then guides them in the expression of this joy. A central factor is the influence of their behavior on the outsiders: they should begin to praise God as well. Thus, in a sense, the non-Christian fellow citizens—and the civil authorities—serve as judges of the Christians’ behavior. This chain of thought follows the Jewish principle of being a light among the nations.46 Paul’s thinking seems to be a more obscure version of this reasoning. He too builds his exhortation on the recipients’ new status, but defines it as a life “in the Spirit” or “in Christ.” Joy or gratitude is not stressed. Instead, the addressees automatically do good—or at least when urged to do so, because they are good. Yet this reflects the general ancient paraenetical tradition in which existing values are emphasized. Moreover, it is in accord with modern studies which argue that self-image determines behavior to a high degree.47 At this point it must be clear that for Paul and First Peter, the addressees’ faith in Christ and their proper behavior at bottom belong together. Regarding both Romans and 1 Peter, it is difficult, if not impossible, to separate these two goals. A more interesting question reads: To what degree does the morality presented in 1 Peter and Romans and the mode of its motivation possess any specifically Christian characteristics? My answer is none and some. Despite showing some inherited Jewish values and Jesus’ emphasis on loving one’s enemy, the content of the recommended life are for the most part nothing original. This is only natural, as the results, viz., the Christians’ actual behavior, will be judged not only by God but by their non-Christian fellow citizens within the family (1 Pet 3:1) and by the civil authorities as well (1 Pet 2:13–17). This, in turn, offers us an opportunity for empirical assessment of the recommended morality. 46 47

See Scot McKnight, A Light among the Gentiles: Jewish Missionary Activity in the Second Temple Period (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991). See Kristen Monroe’s article in this book.

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It would be anachronistic to evaluate the quality of early Christian ethics, as represented in the New Testament, on the basis of a modern religious community. Although many groups claim to be “Biblical,” hardly any of them represent the models found in the New Testament. However, the rapid expansion of Christianity in the first centuries may serve as evidence of the effect of their way of life—insofar as one does not believe that only the superiority of Christian theology attracted so many adherents. To be sure, there are numerous explanations for this expansion. However, the missionary strategy explicit in the ancient Christian documents should not be overlooked. First Peter emphasizes the strategic function of proper conduct: the recipients’ behavior is important as it may attract interest so that new members are “won over” even “without words,” 1 Pet 3:1.48 If, as it seems, this strategy worked well, it could hardly be based on any new moral code, but on a new willingness to lead a life which was observed by the non-believing members of the family and the community. Hence, a particular feature should be found in the motivation of the paraenesis. Indeed, both First Peter and Paul refer to their addressees’ new status as Christians as crucial. More specifically, central topics, such as a holy life because their father, the God of Israel, is holy, or good conduct based on their new status as members of God’s chosen people, are characteristic of both the early Christian documents studied here—and these features were hardly common Greek or Roman thoughts. Furthermore, the example of Christ’s unjust suffering emphasized in 1 Peter is a unique Christian topos. Even if the audience’s self-knowledge may be a central source for motivation in any effective moral exhortation, the typical Christian emphasis thereof, visible in both Romans and 1 Peter, is something outstanding. Bibliography Beekman, John, and John Callow. Translating the Word of God. Grand Rapids: Zondervan, 1974. Dunn, James D.G. Romans 9–16. Word Biblical Commentary 38B. Dallas: Word, 1988. Eemeren, F.H. van, Rob Grootendorst, Ralph H. Johnson, Christian Plantin, and Charles A. Willard. Fundamentals of Argumentation Theory: A Handbook of Historical Backgrounds and Contemporary Developments. Mahwah: Erlbaum, 1996. Elliott, John H. “The Rehabilitation of an Exegetical Step-Child: 1 Peter in Recent Research.” Journal of Biblical Literature 95 (1976): 243–54. 48

In 1 Peter 3:1, only women are addressed, but they serve as an example for the whole community (Thurén, The Rhetorical Strategy of 1 Peter, 120).

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Kennedy, George. New Testament Interpretation through Rhetorical Criticism. Chapel Hill: University of North Carolina Press, 1984. Lohse, Eduard. “Paränese und Kerygma im I. Petrusbrief.” Zeitschrift für Neutestamentliche Wissenschaft 45 (1954): 68–89. McKnight, Scot. A Light among the Gentiles: Jewish Missionary Activity in the Second Temple Period. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1991. Mustakallio, Antti. Motivation of Paraenesis in Paul’s Letter to the Romans (diss., forthcoming). Perdue, Leo, and John G. Gammie, eds. Paraenesis: Act and Form. Semeia 50, 1990. Piper, John. “Love Your Enemies”: Jesus’ Love Command in the Synoptic Gospels and in the Early Christian Paraenesis. Society for New Testament Studies Monograph Series 38. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1979. Piper, John. “Hope as the Motivation of Love. 1 Peter 3.9–12.” New Testament Studies 26 (1980): 212–30. Preisker, Herbert. Das Ethos des Urchristentums. 2nd ed. Gütersloh: Mohn, 1949. Schrage, Wolfgang. Ethik des Neuen Testaments. Grundgrisse zum Neuen Testament 4. ­Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1982. Selwyn, Edward, G. The First Epistle of St Peter. 2nd. ed. London: McMillan, 1947. Starr, James. “Was Paraenesis for Beginners?” Pages 73–111 in Early Christian Paraenesis in Context. Edited by J. Starr and T. Engberg-Pedersen. Berlin-New York: de Gruyter, 2004. Thurén, Lauri. The Rhetorical Strategy of 1 Peter with Special Regard to Ambiguous Expressions. Åbo: Åbo Academy Press, 1990. Thurén, Lauri. Argument and Theology in 1 Peter: The Origins of Christian Paraenesis. Journal for the Study of the New Testament Supplement Series 114. Sheffield: Sheffield Academic Press, 1995. Thurén, Lauri. Derhetorizing Paul: A Dynamic Perspective on Pauline Theology and the Law. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 124. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2000. Thurén, Lauri. “Jeremiah 27 and Civil Obedience in 1 Peter.” Pages 77–92 in Zwischen den Reichen: Neues Testament und Römische Herrschaft. Edited by M. Labahn and J. Zangenberg. Tübingen: Francke, 2002a. Thurén, Lauri. “Is There Biblical Argumentation?” Pages 77–92 in Rhetorical Argumentation in Biblical Texts. Edited by A. Eriksson, T.H. Olbricht, and W. Übelacker. Harrisburg: Trinity Press International, 2002b. Thurén, Lauri. “Motivation as the Core of Paraenesis: Remarks on Peter and Paul as Persuaders.” Pages 353–71 in Early Christian Paraenesis in Context. Edited by J. Starr and T. Engberg-Pedersen. Berlin-New York: de Gruyter, 2004. Thurén, Lauri. “Hur motiveras goda gärningar i 1 Pet 1:17–19? En argumentationsanalys.” Pages 434–8 in Jesus och de första kristna: Inledning till Nya testamentet. Edited by D. Mitternacht and A. Runesson. Stockholm: Verbum, 2006.

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Toulmin, Stephen E. The Uses of Argument. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1958. Toulmin, Stephen, Richard Rieke, and Allan Janik. An Introduction to Reasoning. 2nd ed. New York: McMillan, 1984. Unnik, Willem C. “The Teaching of Good Works in 1 Peter.” New Testament Studies 1 (1954/1955): 198–202. Wuellner, Wilhelm. “Paul’s Rhetoric of Argumentation in Romans: An Alternative to the Donfried-Karris Debate over Romans.” Pages 128–46 in The Romans Debate. Edi­ ted by K.P. Donfried. 2nd ed. Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1991. Zimmermann, Ruben. “‘The Implicit Ethics’ of the New Testament Writings: A Draft on New Methodology for Analyzing New Testament Ethics.” Neotestamentica 43 (2009): 399–423. Zimmermann, Ruben. “Ethics in the New Testament and Language: Basic Explorations and Eph 5:21–33 as Test Case.” Pages 219–50 in “Moral Language in the New Testament: The Interrelatedness of Language and Ethics in Early Christian Writings.” Vol 2. Edited by R. Zimmermann and J.G. van der Watt. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 2010.

Are Christians Better People? On the Contrast between “Us” and “Them” in Early Christian Rhetoric Heikki Räisänen Does religion foster moral, pro-social, altruistic behaviour? Is there a necessary connection between morality and religion, so that in the absence of the latter even the former is missing or is defective? It is, of course, problematic to search for answers to such questions in ancient sources. No matter how you define religion, it will be hard to find in antiquity persons with no religious connection at all, at least in any significant numbers. Groups then branded as atheist— Epicureans, Jews, or Christians—would obviously not qualify as such today. We cannot juxtapose religious and non-religious ancient persons in order to assess their convictions, let alone their behaviour. What we may be able to do is to assess the contribution of particular religions, or rather the contribution of practitioners of particular religious traditions, to altruism. I shall consider some Christian texts from the first century ce from this point of view. Methodological problems are not lacking. The texts give us glimpses of the views of leading representatives of the religion, not of those of grassroots adherents. Moreover, in general we only have access to discourses on morality. It would be hard to verify general statements concerning actual altruism (or egoism) in real life, even though some steps in this direction might be possible. With these limitations in mind I offer some tentative observations on early Christian discourse that may have a bearing on our topic.1 1

The Contrast between Us and Them

Is there a necessary connection between morality and religion? In other words, is religion the source or the most important source, of pro-social behaviour? Intriguingly, some prominent Christian texts claim precisely the opposite: religion can destroy morality. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans makes the point with crushing harshness. Drawing on Hellenistic Jewish traditions,2 the apostle 1 Cf. Heikki Räisänen, The Rise of Christian Beliefs: The Thought World of Early Christians (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2010), 144–49, 284–85, 288–89. 2 An especially close parallel is Wis 14:22–31, so much so that Paul’s dependence on this document has often been suggested. As in Paul, the invention of idols is seen as the root of

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presents an utterly dark picture of the “idolaters” and their errors. Suppressing the truth by their wickedness (Rom 1:18) they have “exchanged the glory of the immortal God for images resembling a mortal human being or birds or fourfooted animals or reptiles” (v. 23). The author makes no attempt to understand cults in which images are used as foci for veneration, let alone to empathize with their adherents.3 On the contrary, he declares that they—in practice the vast majority of his fellow humans—are victims of “degrading passions,” evidenced by unnatural intercourse between women and “shameless acts” committed by men with men (vv. 26–27). These people are “filled with every kind of wickedness” (v. 29). “Evil, greed and depravity” introduce a list of some twenty vices (vv. 29–31): they are full of envy, murder, strife, deceit and malice. They are gossips, slanderers, God-haters, insolent, arrogant and boastful; they invent ways of doing evil; they disobey their parents; they have no understanding, no fidelity, no love, no mercy. Rom 1:29–31

According to this text, then, religion does not foster morality. On the contrary, morality is destroyed by religion. Not by all religion, of course—but by religious traditions other than the author’s own. I shall return to Romans 1 later; here I note that the rhetoric of this chapter is not an isolated case. Paul and other early Christian authors often contrast the morality of Christ-believers with other people’s lack of it. I take it that the passage Romans 7:7–25 also belongs here: the story of an “I” who finds himself in a sad plight—a corrupt “fleshly” person “sold under sin” (verse 14). The interpretation of this passage has been controversial since patristic times. Yet, especially in the light of the adjacent chapters 6 and 8,4 i­mmorality (14:12), concretized in a long list of vices. See especially verses 24–26: “they no longer keep either their lives or their marriages pure, but they either treacherously kill one another, or grieve one another by adultery, and all is a raging riot of blood and murder, theft and deceit, corruption, faithlessness, tumult, perjury, confusion over what is good, forgetfulness of favours, defiling of souls, sexual perversion, disorder in marriages, adultery, and debauchery.” On the “cultural antagonism” of the book of Wisdom see John M.G. Barclay, Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora from Alexander to Trajan (323 bce–117 ce) (Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996), 181–91. 3 “Paul clearly assumes that the only appropriate attitude for the creature towards the Creator is one of worship and gratitude” (James D.G. Dunn, Romans 1–8, Word Biblical Commentary 38A [Dallas: Word, 1988], 91)—as if those who used images did not practise worship. 4 In Rom 6, the slavery under sin clearly belongs to the past of the Christ-believers: “you were slaves of sin” (v. 20), but now “you have been freed from sin and enslaved to God” (v. 22).

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it is plausible to take it as a depiction of the situation of a person placed outside the sphere of salvation in Christ. The “I” is definitely not a Christian and was seldom regarded as one until Augustine brought about something like a volte-face in the interpretation of the passage.5 By using the rhetorical “I,” Paul probably includes himself among those who, before encountering Christ, lived under the power of sin—which does not mean that he would have felt sin as a heavy burden upon his neck. Paul contemplates the plight of non-Christians from the vista of his life in Christ. Sin is, in Romans 7, a “law” (an order, a state of things) that lurks in the person’s members: in one’s “body of death” (v. 24). In principle, one’s “inmost self” or “inward man” takes delight in the law of God (vv. 22–23). Yet the indwelling sin prevents one from doing what one would like to do so that one is under the compulsion to do what is bad: “I do not understand my own actions. For I do not what I want, but I do the very thing I hate” (v. 15; cf. v. 19). Paul is taking up the notion, well known in Greco-Roman tradition, of a moral conflict within humans: one often (but not always!) does what is wrong, even though one knows what is right. He then radicalizes this everyday observation to the extreme so that a completely wretched picture of the non-Christian “I” ensues. In the next section (Rom 8:5–11), the picture of the non-Christian is even darker. There is nothing left to correspond to his “delight in the law of God” as far as his “inward man” is concerned (so 7:22); no “mind” with positive intentions is singled out as an antipode to the “flesh,” as in chapter 7. This time the focus is on mainstream Jews who rely on the Torah, the God-given foundation of their religious practice. (At this stage, the Christ-believers had not yet left Judaism, so the contrast is actually one between rival versions of the same religious tradition.) An absolutely black-and-white contrast is set forth between those who are “in Christ” and walk according to the Spirit and those who do not. The latter set their minds on “the flesh”—a way of thinking that is hostile to God and does not and cannot submit to God’s law: Romans 7:5 likewise states in the past tense that “while we were living in the flesh, our sinful passions…were at work in our members to bear fruit for death,” whereas we are now “dead to that which held us captive” (v. 6). Chapter 8 for its part makes a sharp distinction between “us, who walk not according to the flesh but according to the Spirit,” and “those who live according to the flesh” (vv. 4–8). 5 See the summary of the discussion in Robert Jewett, Romans: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 441–45. The “I” is still taken as a Christian, for example, by Timo Laato, Paul and Judaism: An Anthropological Approach, translated by T. McElwain, South Florida Studies in the History of Judaism 115 (Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995), 109–45; cf., Dunn, Romans 1–8, 411–12.

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Those who live according to the flesh have their minds set on what the flesh desires; but those who live in accordance with the Spirit have their minds set on what the Spirit desires. The mind governed by the flesh is death, but the mind governed by the Spirit is life and peace. The mind governed by the flesh is hostile to God; it does not submit to God’s law, nor can it do so. Those who are in the realm of the flesh cannot please God. You, however, are not in the realm of the flesh but are in the realm of the Spirit, if indeed the Spirit of God lives in you. Rom 7:5–9

If it is the case that “how one views other human beings” is one of the elements which “play a crucial role in motivating altruism” (cf. Introduction, p. 1), then the view of other humans found in such passages in Romans is hardly a very promising starting point. Paul here crystallizes in somewhat abstract terms a contrast that he had earlier, in his Letter to the Galatians, vividly described as a contrast between the “works of the flesh” and the “fruit of the Spirit.” The works of the flesh include “fornication, impurity, licentiousness, idolatry and sorcery; enmities, strife, jealousy, anger, quarrels, dissensions, factions, envy; drunkenness, carousing, and the like”; those who live like this will not inherit the kingdom of God (Gal 5:19–21). The fruit of the Spirit, by contrast, is an accumulation of altruistic qualities: “love, joy, peace, patience, kindness, generosity, faithfulness, gentleness and self-control”; for “those who belong to Christ Jesus have crucified the flesh with its passions and desires” (Gal 5:22–24). To take up phrases from the Introduction, Paul claims indeed that life in Christ does take forms that are “qualitatively unique in their surroundings,” so that the language of being “in Christ” does not just add “a metaphorical dimension to ordinary morality.” He does imply that Christians have been granted “a special competence for moral behaviour” in that they possess God’s spirit. Paul may even think that this special competence has a material basis in the ­bodies of the Christ-believers: Troels Engberg-Pedersen has forcefully argued in a r­ ecent book that pneuma (spirit) is, for Paul, a physical element that is literally “poured” into believers at baptism.6 We may note in passing that in setting forth his contrast Paul is in good company. The great Philo of Alexandria praises converts to Judaism in his treatise on Virtues (182): 6 Troels Engberg-Pedersen, Cosmology and Self in the Apostle Paul: The Material Spirit (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 72 and passim.

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Those who come over to this worship become at once prudent, temperate, modest, gentle, merciful, humane, venerable, just, magnanimous, lovers of truth, superior to all considerations of money and pleasure. virtues 182

By contrast, “one may see” that Jewish apostates are “intemperate, shameless, unjust, disreputable, weak-minded, quarrelsome,” and so on; a long list of vices follows. What Paul claims for Christ-believers is here claimed for ­non-Christian Jews; what Paul says about non-Christians is paralleled by Philo’s denigration of the apostates. In both cases a clear boundary is established between the ­in-group and those outside. Other Christ-believers, too, often labelled all those who did not accept their message as wicked sinners, cut off from God. In the Gospels, “this generation” which rejects the messengers of Jesus is branded as “evil,” “adulterous,” and “sinful” (Luke 11:29; par. Mark 8:38; Matt 16:4). Christ-believers also claimed that there was a vast difference between their present life and their own past— between their post-conversion and pre-conversion existence. Here are three examples from the Pauline school, from letters somewhat later written by others in Paul’s name: Put to death, whatever belongs to your earthly nature: fornication, impurity, lust, evil desire, and greed… You used to walk in these ways, in the life you once lived. But now you must get rid of all such things—anger, wrath, malice, slander, and abusive language from your mouth. Col 3:5–8

You must no longer live as the Gentiles do, in the futility of their minds. They are darkened in their understanding and separated from the life of God because of their ignorance and hardness of heart. Having lost all sensitivity, they have given themselves over to licentiousness, greedy to practise every kind of impurity. Eph 4:17–19

At one time we too were foolish, disobedient, deceived, slaves to various passions and pleasures. We lived in malice and envy, despicable, hating one another. Tit 3:3

The pseudonymous First Letter of Peter, sent to Christ-believers in Asia Minor toward the end of the first century, assumes a situation in which the Christians are maligned by their neighbours as evildoers. Surprisingly enough, they have

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acquired the reputation of being murderers, thieves, criminals, and mischief makers (1 Pet 4:15). In the same vein, some Gentile authors of the time stated that “hatred for humankind” was a general reason for pagan distrust of Christians.7 Christians had withdrawn from their previous social contacts, and this had created suspicion and misunderstanding. The author of First Peter hopes that through the honourable conduct of the Christians the neighbours may eventually rethink and glorify God (1 Pet 2:12; cf. 3:16). However, his attempt at peaceful coexistence is compromised by his lumping together the pagans as evildoers who live “in licentiousness, lust, drunkenness, revels, carousing, and detestable idolatry,” and are “surprised that you no longer join them in the same excesses of dissipation, and so they blaspheme” (1 Pet 4:3–4). So it happens that both sides attribute similar vices to each other: it is the other one who is “full of hatred.” A particularly gross caricature of pagan life is found in the Book of Revelation, especially Rev 9:20–21. In his forecast of future events, the seer reports that those who are not killed by the plagues described earlier in the book do not repent of their idolatry or “of their murders or their sorceries or their fornication or their thefts.” In another chapter they are classed together with “dogs, sorcerers, fornicators, murderers, everyone who loves and practises falsehood” (Rev 22:15; cf. 21:8). These people are identical with “the dwellers on the earth”—an expression used throughout as a disparaging phrase by the author, meaning all non-Christians of the world.8 When Christ returns to “tread the winepress of the fury of the wrath of God,” he will therefore wipe out most of humanity; the flesh of “both small and great” will be offered to the birds of the sky as “the great supper of God” (Rev 19:11–18). While I do not doubt the report that there is “some evidence that religious people are somewhat more charitable” than others, I would definitely not count the Book of Revelation among this evidence. Even among New Testament authors there are religious people whose charitableness leaves something to be desired. Once more: if “how one views other people” plays a crucial role in motivating altruism, in light of such religious teachings as those mentioned above, the prognosis for altruism in general and for “inter-group cooperation” in particular may not seem too good.

7 Suetonius, Nero 16.2; Claudius 25.3; Pliny, Epistle 10.96; Tacitus, Annals 15.4. 8 This fact militates against the claim of Schüssler Fiorenza (Revelation: Vision of a Just World [Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1993], 119–20, 79–80) that Revelation’s “outcries for judgment and justice” “rise up not only on behalf of Christians but also on behalf of the whole earth,” the ­ultimate goal of the work being “the liberation of all humanity” from Rome’s oppressive power.

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Deconstructing the Contrast

Many Christian commentators have taken Paul’s tirades in Romans 1 at face value and have spoken of actual gross immorality in the pagan world. The chapter has been regarded as “a report of contemporary conditions” on the basis of “personal observation.”9 Scholars have spoken of “the manifest decadence of the pagan world”10 or of “the grossest form of superstition and immorality.”11 It has been claimed that “at every turn the traveller in the Graeco-Roman world met with frank idolatry and its moral accompaniments”; this is what Paul saw—and described with “sober realism.”12 But this is too credulous,13 and some Christian commentators frankly admit that “Paul is unfair”14 and even that the passage is “one of the most violent and hate-filled in Scripture.”15 In today’s idiom, it might well qualify as “hate speech.” The contrast Paul sets forth in Rom 1 begins to break down when we take a closer look at what follows. In Rom 2:17–24 Paul turns to attack Jews to whom he attributes stealing, adultery, and sacrilege. Both attacks, that on Gentiles and that on the Jews, are part of Paul’s argumentative strategy. It aims at the conclusion that the whole world is hopelessly “under sin,” a cosmic power that relentlessly keeps humans enslaved; therefore, all humanity needs Christ as its redeemer (Rom 3:9). The charges Paul makes to “prove” the hopeless plight of humanity are exaggerated in the extreme. (Note that in his indictment of the Jews he does not speak, say, of impure motives that lie hidden behind the most decent outward behaviour, as modern Christian sensitivities might lead 9 10 11 12

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14 15

Floyd V. Filson, quoted in E.P. Sanders, Paul, the Law, and the Jewish People (Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983), 124. C.K. Barrett, A Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans, Black’s New Testament Commentaries (London: Black, 1973), 37. C.H. Dodd, The Epistle of Paul to the Romans, Moffatt New Testament Commentaries (London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1947), 25. Ibid. According to Fitzmyer (Romans: A New Translation and Commentary, Anchor Bible 33 [New York: Doubleday, 1993], 270) too, Paul “describes a de facto situation,” even though he is “not saying that every individual pagan before Christ’s coming was a moral failure.” Cf. Robin Lane Fox, Pagans and Christians (New York: Knopf, 1989), 345–46: “it is quite untrue that pagans lived in unfettered sexuality before Christianity came” (although Christians did create a different code in this area). Even in the pagan Greek world, sexuality was “governed by the profound restraints of honour and shame.” Ulrich Luz, “Das Neue Testament,” in Gesetz, ed. R. Smend and U. Luz, Kohlhammer Taschenbücher 1015 (Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1981), 97. Graham Shaw, The Cost of Authority: Manipulation and Freedom in the New Testament (London: scm, 1983), 143.

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one to expect, but of gross concrete acts.) The conclusion suggests itself that the passage was not written to give an objective… description of Jews and Gentiles. Paul knows what conclusion he wants to draw, and it is the conclusion which is important to him, since universal sinfulness is necessary if Christ is to be the universal savior. Paul did not come to his view of sin and salvation by beginning with an analysis of the human plight.16 Rather, Paul has resorted to factional polemics. He uses caricaturing accounts of “them” as stepping-stones on the road to the conclusion that he knows in advance. Paul’s theological argument runs into difficulties in Rom 2:6–16, a passage with a forceful emphasis on judgement according to deeds. The passage reveals the artificial nature of the polemical account of the Gentiles in the p ­ revious section. It contains statements that stand in stark contrast to the notion of the wretched plight of non-Christian humanity under the irresistible power of sin: God will repay each person according to what they have done… There will be anguish and distress for everyone who does evil, the Jew first and also the Greek, but glory and honour and peace for everyone who does good, the Jew first and also the Greek. This chapter holds out the definite possibility of acting properly in God’s eyes. Paul states that anyone, Greek or Jew, can “do good.” “It was presumably his awareness of a high degree of shared ethos and moral sense among people of good will which allowed him to talk of final judgement simply in terms of ‘good’ rewarded and ‘evil’ punished.”17 Pagans may even obey God’s will “by nature,” for what God’s law demands is “written on their hearts”: “When Gentiles, who do not possess the law, do by nature what the law requires, these, though not having the law, are a law to themselves” (Rom 2:14–15; cf. 2:26–27).18 16 Sanders, Paul, the Law, and the Jewish People, 125. 17 Dunn, Romans 1–8, 665. 18 Paul here avails himself of the Stoic theory of natural law; see, for example, Niko Huttunen, “Greco-Roman Philosophy and Paul’s Teaching on Law,” in The Nordic Paul: Finnish Approaches to Pauline Theology, Library of New Testament Studies 374, ed. L. Aejmelaeus and A. Mustakallio (London: T & T Clark, 2008), 74–89, esp. p. 81–82. Naturally many theories have been developed to deny that these verses really speak of Gentiles fulfilling the requirements of the law, for example, Paul is referring to Gentile Christians: Robert Jewett, Romans: A Commentary, Hermeneia (Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007), 213–14. For a

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When Paul is not reflecting on the plight of humans from the perspective of his Christ-centered theological conviction, he finds it quite natural that some non-Christians can fulfil the demands of God’s law. Such “anthropological slips” suggest that Paul’s intuitive view of humanity may differ from his theological interpretation of the human condition. “At the level of common sense he believe[s] that in the eyes of an impartial God there are similarly moral people among Jews, Gentiles and Christians.”19 This intuitive view yields, however, to Paul’s forced theological analysis, which requires that everyone outside Christ must be a corrupt sinner, imprisoned by evil powers. When he is not arguing for his all-important theological conclusion, Paul shows a greater sense of nuances in his picture of the Gentile world. The apostle can even summarize the ideals of a Christian life in terms of popular Greek philosophy. In Phil 4:8 he states that Christians are to contemplate whatever is true, honourable, just, pure, pleasing, commendable, excellent, worthy of praise… None of these words is specifically Christian.20 “Paul here sanctifies, as it were, the generally accepted virtues of pagan morality,” recognizing that there was a genuine capacity for moral discernment in the pagan society around him and that the things which were counted honourable by good men everywhere were in fact worthy of honour, worthy to be cultivated by a Christian believer.21 In fact, much of Paul’s ethical teaching draws on traditional (Jewish and Gentile) wisdom.22 The content of Christian morality as presented by him is largely r­ efutation of such attempts to reconcile these statements with Paul’s main concern, see Heikki Räisänen, Paul and the Law, Second ed., Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 29 (Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1987), 103–06; Kari Kuula, The Law, the Covenant and God’s Plan 2: Paul’s Treatment of the Law in Romans, Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 85 (Helsinki: Finnish Exegetical Society / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & ­Ruprecht, 2003), 93–94. 19 Kuula, The Law, the Covenant and God’s Plan 2, 137. 20 “The virtues are Hellenistic, not ‘biblical’”: John Reumann, Philippians: A New Translation and Commentary, Anchor Yale Bible 33 B (New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008), 639. “Paul presents favorably virtues hailed in the Greco-Roman world,” assuming a certain consensus in the ethical judgement. (ibid., 638). 21 F.W. Beare, A Commentary on the Epistle to the Philippians, Black’s New Testament Commentaries (London: Black, 1959), 148. 22 Correctly pointed out by, e.g., Dunn, Romans 1–8, 665. “It would be a peculiarly crass arrogance for Christians to believe that they had been given a unique moral sense…” (ibid., 664).

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traditional. The difference lies in the success which he claims for the life in Christ: while others fail, Christ-believers succeed in fulfilling God’s demands.23 But what are we to make of this success when Paul’s own writings show that he is actually painfully aware that the moral life of his converts often falls short of his standards? In his correspondence a gap opens between theory and reality. As several passages24 show, the Spirit did not guide the Christians automatically (as it were) to holy life. Paul himself implies that even a Christ-believer may fall short of the ideal of the life in the Spirit and must be urged to live up to his or her calling: “If we live by the Spirit, let us also be guided by the Spirit” (Gal 5:25). In 1 Corinthians, Paul even criticizes the self-styled pneumatics in Corinth by verbally denying them the status of “spiritual people” (1 Cor 3:1–4). They are still “fleshly” and should correct their conduct so that Paul can treat them as adults rather than as spiritual infants.25 In Romans, a letter sent from Corinth, Paul states with joyous assurance that sin will not reign over Christians (Rom 6:14). Yet precisely the story of the Corinthian congregation puts this optimism in a dubious light. Paul had after all been informed of such sexual transgressions as were, in his words, “not found even among pagans” (!) but were tolerated by the congregation (1 Cor 5:1–5: a case of what Paul considers incest). Paul seems to reckon with the possibility that “a brother” can be “sexually immoral or greedy, or [be] an idolater, reviler, drunkard, or robber” (1 Cor 5:9–13). Some members apparently visit prostitutes (1 Cor 6:12–20); grievances within the congregation are taken to worldly courts (1 Cor 6:1–11). In a later letter (2 Cor 12:20–21), Paul still expresses his fear that he may find among the Corinthian Christians “jealousy, anger, selfishness, slander, gossip, conceit, and disorder”—that is, precisely such vices as he had in Galatians listed as “works of the flesh.” In this light, the eulogy in Rom 8 that paints a wonderful picture of life in the Spirit (in contrast to life in the flesh) turns out to be part of group polemics that serves to support an exclusive view of salvation (only Christ saves). It idealizes those who believe in Paul’s gospel and denigrates those who reject it. It thus 23 24 25

Rom 8:4, 9–11; 13:8–10; cf. Gal 5:14–16. For example, 1 Thess 4:3–8; Gal 5:13–15, and 1 Cor 5:1–6:20. In this connection, Paul even seems to divide the believers into two classes: those with and those without the spirit (1 Cor 2:10–3:4). He is here engaged in polemics against a group of members in the congregation: “Even though they are Spirit people, he could not address them as such because both their thinking and behavior are contrary to the Spirit. … even though they do have the Spirit, they are acting like ‘mere human beings’!” (Gordon D. Fee, God’s Empowering Presence: The Holy Spirit in the Letters of Paul [Peabody, ma: Hendrickson, 1994], 96–97). But despite his branding the Corinthians as fleshly, Paul states a little later that God’s spirit dwells in them after all (1 Cor 3:16).

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serves to strengthen the identity of the in-group—of those who have followed Paul in abandoning full adherence to Jewish practice (whether as born Jews or as Gentile converts tempted to undergo circumcision). Paul assures them that their decision was the right one; it has even allowed them to become—without their own merit, of course—better people than they would have been had they kept (or adopted) full loyalty to the Torah. But Paul compares Christian life at its best (if not an ideal picture of it) with Jewish life at its worst (if not a pure caricature), thus using different standards for “us” and “them,” respectively. The same method was increasingly used by subsequent authors to create a firm boundary between “orthodox” and “heretical” Christians.26 Paul and other Christian authors were not alone in strengthening their identity by way of abusive contrasts. Ancient rhetoric was able to offer them “a rich treasury of invective.”27 In a survey of the conventions of ancient polemic, Luke T. Johnson shows that similar rhetoric was used by religious leaders and philosophers of all schools. Among philosophers, certain things are conventionally said of all opponents… their corrupt lives showed how bad their doctrine was… Certain standard categories of vice were automatically attributed to any opponents. They were all lovers of pleasure, lovers of money, and lovers of glory.28 The slander was not affected by facts…. The purpose of the polemic is not so much the rebuttal of the opponents as the edification of one’s own school. Polemic was primarily for internal consumption.29 In the exchanges between Jews and Gentiles in the Diaspora, “the language was rough both ways,” and “the Qumran rule of thumb is that you cannot say enough bad things about outsiders.”30 26

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Cf. Frederik Wisse, “The Use of Early Christian Literature as Evidence for Inner Diversity and Conflict,” in Nag Hammadi, Gnosticism, and Early Christianity, ed. C.W. Hedrick and R. Hodgson (Peabody: Hendrickson, 1986), 185 (with reference to second-century intraChristian polemics): “it was not considered possible for a false believer to speak the truth and live a genuinely moral life.” Wayne Meeks, The Origins of Christian Morality: The First Two Centuries (New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993), 119, adding that soon enough the Christians, too, “developed a fluent vocabulary of stigmatizing both outsiders and deviant members.” Luke Timothy Johnson, “The New Testament’s Anti-Jewish Slander and the Conventions of Ancient Polemic,” Journal of Biblical Literature 108 (1989): 419–41, esp. p. 432. Ibid., 433. Ibid., 436, 439. The examples quoted include 1 qs 4:9–14; 2:4–10.

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The weight of the Christians’ contrastive rhetoric may thus be somewhat lessened when seen in its social context. As the internal tensions in Paul’s production also suggest, the rhetoric probably does not always represent his “true” sentiments—though I think that it does represent the true sentiments of someone like the author of Revelation. The problem is that since this blackand-white rhetoric is prominent in the New Testament, Christianity remains profoundly affected by it, independently of what its original context and intention may have been. The question of whether this kind of rhetoric is not prone to hinder true altruism is raised with all seriousness. The contrast-oriented discourse is hardly likely to promote altruistic behaviour towards the outsider (insiders are a different matter). What I have presented here is not the whole story about early Christian attitudes to “us” and “them.” Some other writings, especially those cherished in communities more interested in Jesus traditions, seem to have left a different legacy. One thinks here of the injunction to love one’s enemies (Matt 5:43–48; Luke 6:27–28), of the Golden Rule (Matt 7:12; Luke 6:31), of the great scene of the last judgment where one’s attitude to Jesus’ “least brothers” is set forth as the crucial criterion (Matt 25:31–46) or of the examples about the Good Samaritan (Luke 10:25–37) and the Rich Man and Lazarus (Luke 16:19–31). To be sure, even these texts raise problems. Who are the least brothers in the Matthean judgment scene? A case can be made that they are Christian missionaries (cf. Matt 10:40–42) rather than all the needy people in the world. The Matthean Jesus exhorts people to love their enemies—but if Matthew’s Gospel is any guide, this love does not reach to one’s ideological opponents, to such “breed of vipers” as the Pharisees and scribes (Matt 23:33).31 To work through all relevant material from the point of view of the relation between religion and altruism would be a very exacting task. From somewhat later times we do have accounts of altruistic actions by many Christians even toward outsiders, especially during the disastrous e­ pidemics in the second and third centuries. Rodney Stark has rightly called attention to these actions.32 Such efforts would have to loom large in any ­attempt to paint a full picture of early Christian attitudes to “us” and “them,” a picture that would presumably be full of tensions, a varied mixture of light and shadows.

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Cf. C.G. Montefiore, The Synoptic Gospels (London: Macmillan, 1909), 521. Rodney Stark, The Rise of Christianity: How the Obscure, Marginal Jesus Movement Became the Dominant Religious Force in the Western World in a Few Centuries (San Francisco: ­Harper, 1997).

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Excursus: On Christianity and Stoicism

For the moment, however, we are concerned with moral discourse. I wish to call attention, however briefly, to a comparative issue that has very much to do with altruism. It is often held that Christianity taught universal humanity, while the ethical scope of Stoicism was restricted to an exclusive circle of the elect. This common view has been tentatively questioned by Troels EngbergPedersen33 and vigorously (and, I think, successfully) challenged by Runar Thorsteinsson. In a recent book on Roman Christianity and Roman Stoicism Thorsteinsson turns the usual contrast upside down: contrary to common opinion, there can be no doubt that the Stoic texts [treated by Thorsteinsson] teach such [unqualified] universal humanity, while the Christian texts [Romans; 1 Peter] do not. The latter reserve the application of their primary virtue [love] for fellow believers, and thus set an important condition in terms of religious adherence. This condition, in turn, reveals a fundamental distinction between “us” and “them” in Christian moral teaching. Such a condition is not found in Roman Stoic ethics, for which unconditional universal humanity is absolutely basic.34 [The Stoics are] the first ethical theorists clearly to commit themselves to the thesis that morality requires impartiality to all others from the moral point of view. For them, this is nothing but a natural consequence of the process of social oikeiosis in which the distinction between selfinterest and altruism is vanquished.35 The term oikeiosis, or “appropriation,” means this: “human beings are born with an inclination to preserve and take care of that which ‘belongs’ to themselves.” 33

34 35

Troels Engberg-Pedersen, Paul and the Stoics (Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 2000), 265–69. He summarizes (276–77): “the life of shared love within the group works as the basis for another kind of relationship towards outsiders, one which does good and avoids the bad, but not as if the wall between inside and outside had been broken down—or even just perforated”; 288: “the Pauline idea of directedness towards other people is in fact also somewhat restricted. For it is only a directedness towards others as Christ people… in Stoicism one even finds traces of the idea of directedness towards other people even though they may not be wise, but because being human they at least have the potential for being so. One might claim, therefore, that in Stoicism there is a wider concern for others as people than in Paul.” (emphasis original). Runar M. Thorsteinsson, Roman Christianity and Roman Stoicism: A Comparative Study of Ancient Morality (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010), 209. Ibid., 191 (quoting Julia Annas).

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This “instinctive inclination” also affects one’s concern for humanity as a whole. The theory holds that human beings are naturally “programmed” to show affection for other people as well as themselves. It lies in their very nature to be friendly and philanthropic, and to live in organized societies.36 Stoic theory is decidedly universalistic in scope and makes no differentiation between particular groups of people.37 Still, let us not forget that even Stoics could give themselves to slander. Epictetus can state that Platonists have their intellects deadened as well as their sense of shame, and the doctrines of Epicureans are “bad, subversive of the state, destructive of the family, not even fit for women.”38 The other side of Thorsteinsson’s conclusion is that, in the Christian texts studied by him, love is an in-group term. In Rom 12 the word agape “is used within the context of in-group relations” (Rom 12:3–13). In Rom 12 and 13 Paul is “quite positive in his comments on the outside world, on Roman authorities, and on Roman society at large,” and yet he does make “a distinction between Christ-believers and others in terms of moral obligations.” The message is not that the Christ-believers should love the outside world. What they should do is to “try to avoid unnecessary conflict with the outside world” (Rom 12:14–21).39 The same is true of First Peter. The author admonishes his readers (1 Pet 2:17): “Honour everyone. Love the family of believers. [Them only!] Fear God. Honour the emperor.” The Christ-believers are to love one another (1 Pet 1:22) and to “honour everyone,” including the emperor, i.e., “treat everyone with proper honour” (1 Pet 2:17). On a theoretical level, then, Stoicism may seem to provide a more promising starting-point for inter-group cooperation than does Pauline (or “Petrine”) Christianity. But it has to be kept in mind that we have been dealing with discourses on morality, not with real-life situations. 4 Conclusion Self-evidently, there is a connection between Christianity and morality. Early Christian authors put great weight on the moral life of their addressees. 36 Ibid., 31. 37 Ibid., 192. 38 Johnson, “The New Testament’s Anti-Jewish Slander,” 432. 39 Thorsteinsson, Roman Christianity and Roman Stoicism, 193.

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Christian faith is expected to produce a pro-social, altruistic moral life. To what extent the altruism is expected to extend beyond the limits of the inside group is, however, not always clear, and at least the Revelation of John seems to adopt an expressly negative attitude to outsiders. Moreover, it is not clear that there is a necessary connection between religion and morality in the sense that religious faith would be a conditio sine qua non for an altruistic life, even though some early Christian authors suggest that this is the case. To some extent their contrastive, polemical rhetoric seems to work in the opposite direction, rendering pro-social behaviour in inter-group communication more difficult. The relation between Christianity and morality remains ambiguous, religion being capable of producing both altruistic and less altruistic fruit. References Barclay, John M.G. Jews in the Mediterranean Diaspora from Alexander to Trajan (323 BCE–117 CE). Berkeley: University of California Press, 1996. Barrett, C.K. A Commentary on the Epistle to the Romans. Black’s New Testament Commentaries. London: Black, 1973. Beare, F.W. A Commentary on the Epistle to the Philippians. Black’s New Testament Commentaries. London: Black, 1959. Engberg-Pedersen, Troels. Paul and the Stoics. Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 2000. Engberg-Pedersen, Troels. Cosmology and Self in the Apostle Paul: The Material Spirit. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Dodd, C.H. The Epistle of Paul to the Romans. Moffatt New Testament Commentaries. London: Hodder and Stoughton, 1947. Dunn, James D.G. Romans 1–8. Word Biblical Commentary 38A. Dallas: Word, 1988. Fee, Gordon D. God’s Empowering Presence: The Holy Spirit in the Letters of Paul. Peabody, Mass.: Hendrickson, 1994. Fitzmyer, Joseph A. Romans: A New Translation and Commentary. Anchor Bible 33. New York: Doubleday, 1993. Huttunen, Niko. “Greco-Roman Philosophy and Paul’s Teaching on Law.” Pages 74–89 in The Nordic Paul: Finnish Approaches to Pauline Theology. Edited by L. Aejmelaeus and A. Mustakallio. Library of New Testament Studies 374. London: T & T Clark, 2008. Jewett, Robert. Romans: A Commentary. Hermeneia. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2007. Johnson, Luke Timothy. “The New Testament’s Anti-Jewish Slander and the Conventions of Ancient Polemic.” Journal of Biblical Literature 108 (1989): 419–41. Kuula, Kari. The Law, the Covenant and God’s Plan 2: Paul’s Treatment of the Law in Romans. Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 85. Helsinki: Finnish Exegetical Society / Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 2003.

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Laato, Timo. Paul and Judaism: An Anthropological Approach. Translated by T. ­McElwain. South Florida Studies in the History of Judaism 115. Atlanta: Scholars Press, 1995. Lane Fox, Robin. Pagans and Christians. New York: Knopf, 1989. Luz, Ulrich. “Das Neue Testament.” Pages 58–144 in Gesetz. Edited by R. Smend and U. Luz. Kohlhammer Taschenbücher 1015. Stuttgart: Kohlhammer, 1981. Meeks, Wayne. The Origins of Christian Morality: The First Two Centuries. New Haven: Yale University Press, 1993. Montefiore, C.G. The Synoptic Gospels. London: Macmillan, 1909. Räisänen, Heikki. Paul and the Law. Second ed. Wissenschaftliche Untersuchungen zum Neuen Testament 29. Tübingen: Mohr Siebeck, 1987. Räisänen, Heikki. The Rise of Christian Beliefs: The Thought World of Early Christians. Minneapolis: Fortress, 2010. Reumann, John. Philippians: A New Translation and Commentary. Anchor Yale Bible 33 B. New Haven: Yale University Press, 2008. Sanders, E.P. Paul, the Law, and the Jewish People. Philadelphia: Fortress, 1983. Schüssler Fiorenza, Elisabeth. Revelation: Vision of a Just World. Edinburgh: T & T Clark, 1993. Shaw, Graham. The Cost of Authority: Manipulation and Freedom in the New Testament. London: SCM, 1983. Stark, Rodney. The Rise of Christianity: How the Obscure, Marginal Jesus Movement Became the Dominant Religious Force in the Western World in a Few Centuries. San Francisco: Harper, 1997. Thorsteinsson, Runar M. Roman Christianity and Roman Stoicism: A Comparative Study of Ancient Morality. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2010. Wisse, Frederik. “The Use of Early Christian Literature as Evidence for Inner Diversity and Conflict.” Pages 177–90 in Nag Hammadi, Gnosticism, and Early Christianity. Edited by C.W. Hedrick and R. Hodgson. Peabody: Hendrickson, 1986.

Comment 1: Morality, Networks, and Cultural Evolution: A Short Commentary on Petri Luomanen’s “Morality and the Evolution of Christianity” István Czachesz This short commentary on Petri Luomanen’s contribution, entitled, “­Morality and the Evolution of Christianity,” consists of three parts. (1) First, I will deal with the use of some key theoretical notions of the chapter, including morality, group selection, and cultural evolution. (2) Second, I will comment on Luomanen’s model and his analysis of Q, Mark, and Matthew. (3) Third, I will outline a somewhat different model that I suggest answers some of the questions raised in the first two parts of my commentary. (1) Let me start with the notion of morality. From Luomanen’s contribution, one does not get a clear understanding of what the author means by “­morality” and there is no reference to a definition of the concept in other chapters of the  book, either. The word “morality” occurs (only) in the introductory part of the chapter and from its few occurrences one can infer that it is used in the meaning of pro-social behavior. The final part of the chapter examines the effect of texts on the formation and longevity of social groups, implying a broader sense of morality (without using the word), concentrating on benefits for social groups. However, as I will argue below, neither the connection of morality with pro-social behavior nor the connection of pro-sociality with the survival of the group is self-evident. The other two basic concepts of the chapter are group selection and cultural evolution. Let us begin with some reflections on the notion of cultural evolution. In biological evolution, traits are inherited through genes: traits of an individual will show up in the individual’s offspring because genes that caused the trait to develop in the parents will also cause it to develop in the offspring. Can we extend this insight to cultural traits? Richard Dawkins famously suggested that cultural traits are inherited via so-called memes, which are small pieces of cultural information that can be passed on independently from each other.1 Examples of memes are “tunes, ideas, catch-phrases, clothes fashions, ways of 1 Richard Dawkins, The Selfish Gene. 30th Anniversary Edition (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006), 192–94.

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making pots or of building arches.”2 The concept of the meme has been criticized on various grounds,3 such as the practical problem of isolating memes (is Buddhism a meme?), their material implementation (what do memes consist of?), and the fidelity of their transmission. Addressing the latter problem, Dan Sperber argued that pieces of culture are not copied with high enough fidelity so that something like natural selection could act on them; the stability of cultural traits is due to psychological biases rather than to the faithfulness of copying.4 According to Sperber, among the range of possible forms a cultural bit can take there are optimal forms dictated by psychological factors, which he calls “attractor positions.” We can add that by “cultural evolution” scholars almost always mean the natural selection of cultural traits (that is, traits are inherited because they increase the reproductive fitness of the organism), even though natural selection is only one of several mechanisms of evolution.5 It has been argued that both Sperberian “attraction” and natural selection take place among bits of culture and thus the two models are complementary.6 The notion of group selection suggests that some genes can contribute traits that are neutral or even disadvantageous for the reproductive success of the individual but get transmitted because they benefit the group. The notion of group selection is burdened by at least two problems. (i) Anyone who benefits from cooperation but can manage to pay lower costs than others will acquire a fitness advantage and thus the gene or meme that made him or her behave 2 Dawkins, The Selfish Gene, 192. 3 Cf. Radek Kundt, Contemporary Evolutionary Theories of Culture and the Study of Religion (London; New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2015). 4 Dan Sperber, Explaining Culture: A Naturalistic Approach (Oxford, uk; Cambridge, Mass.: Blackwell, 1996) and “An Objection to the Memetic Approach to Culture,” in Darwinizing Culture: The Status of Memetics as a Science, ed. Robert Aunger (New York: Oxford University Press, 2000), 163–73. 5 Using the terminology of evolutionary theory more consistently, Theissen’s suggestion that “cultural evolution” reduces “natural selection” (see above) can be reformulated thus: the natural selection of cultural traits results in a decrease of selective pressures in genetic inheritance. Here the problem is that “fitness” in evolutionary theory is not necessarily associated with strength or physical aptitude; it is measured only by the ability to produce offspring. In an ultimately altruistic and egalitarian society, some behaviors will still cause some individuals to produce more offspring than others and if such behaviors are connected to heritable traits natural selection will take place. For natural selection to disappear, radical measures would be needed: the Chinese one child policy would be a promising start. 6 Richard McElreath and Joseph Henrich, “Modelling Cultural Evolution,” in Oxford Handbook of Evolutionary Psychology, ed. Robin I.M. Dunbar and Louise Barrett (Oxford; New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 571–85; István Czachesz, Cognitive Science and the New Testament: A New Approach (New York: Oxford University Press, 2017, 45–48).

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in such a way will be passed on with greater frequency; that is, cheaters will be represented in ever greater numbers in the population. (ii) Another problem concerns the group as a unit: what is a social group and are groups producing offspring or dying out in sufficiently great numbers to be units of selection? According to D.S. Wilson and E.O. Wilson, sufficiently strong selection on the group level will prevent the spread of free-riding on the level of the individual organisms.7 Even if we accept that premise, however, the question of what a group is remains to be answered, to which I will return below. (2) Let us now turn to Luomanen’s model. How does this model, according to the author, explain the differential success of early Christian texts? Luomanen first cites Wilson’s idea that the formation of the gospels shows adaptive responses to local pressures (that is, pressures posed by local communities), and goes on by suggesting that texts could only become widespread if they were attractive and relevant to other communities. Further, he looks for features of texts that supported the formation and maintenance of new social identities in religious communities. First, let us note that Wilson’s idea of the gospels showing adaptive responses is formulated from the replicator’s perspective. The replicator (a gene, or a cultural meme) does not necessarily have to do anything for the organism to spread, except cause itself to be copied. Further, as Luomanen argues, Wilson’s idea was inspired by his encounter with historical-critical theories about the formation of the gospels; however, whereas form criticism contains an element of evolutionary logic (some pieces of tradition spread because their use is preferred in some typical situation of life), this is hard to argue about entire gospels, which came into being (according to redaction criticism) by piecemeal editorial operations rather that by (random) variation and selection. Second, if we were to put Wilson’s idea back into a truly selectionist context, we could say that (bits of) gospel texts underwent mutation and selection and became adapted to local niches (of regional versions of Christianity), just as various species in the family of cats became adapted to respective natural habitats. Extending this analogy to Luomanen’s version of the theory, we could imagine a generalist species of felines that manages to spread to a wide range of habitats—just as a successful Christian text finds its way into many communities. Further, Luomanen’s version of the idea emphasizes the universal appeal and relevance of texts, thus invoking Sperber’s epidemiological m ­ odel rather than cultural evolution. This is not a problem as such: as we noted 7 David Sloan Wilson and Edward O. Wilson, “Rethinking the Theoretical Foundation of Sociobiology,” The Quarterly Review of Biology 82 (4) (2007): 327–48, and “Evolution ‘for the Good of the Group,’” American Scientist 96 (5) (2008): 378–89.

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above, scholars have defended the co-existence of Sperberian epidemiology and cultural evolution. Third, Luomanen’s focus on the contribution of texts to social identity formation brings in yet another kind of evolutionary reasoning, that is, cultural group selection. According to this theory, combining group selection with cultural evolution, inherited (that is, learned) bits of culture can cause groups to survive better: the groups having that cultural bit will outcompete other groups, which will either disappear or learn the respective cultural bit. Could texts play the role of advantageous cultural bits in ancient Christianity? According to redaction criticism, it was authors who edited the texts according to what they perceived to be the needs of their respective communities—thus the formation of the gospels did not depend on their actual effect on the respective groups. The redaction of the gospels, however, can be seen as the source of guided (Lamarckian) variation. For cultural group selection to take place, we would have to assume that the survival of a community depended substantially on the gospel it used. Further, the gospels must be limited in their circulation—otherwise all communities would use a mix of gospels and there would be no difference in their respective chance of survival depending on the gospel they use. Let us consider the following parallel. Voluntary associations in antiquity used regulations (but each had only one set of rules). If some association thrived better, other associations might have lost membership and dissolved, or some associations could decide to adopt the successful group’s regulation. Probably a selection of regulations in this way could occur over many generations. Of course we could allow for the borrowing or gradual adjustment of only selected rules (e.g., it is better to appoint a treasurer this way rather than that way), but that is not what the assumed selection process between gospels claims. Would a community disappear because they used Q but not Matthew? Or would they drop Q and adopt Matthew because they think the use of that gospel benefitted the other group? It is likely that communities collected multiple gospels over time. It is unlikely, however, that they easily threw out what they already had. What about the particular aspects of the texts that influence the success of the group, which Luomanen calls “discourses”? Let us put aside “attractiveness” and “credence” as they belong to Sperberian epidemiology rather than cultural group selection. The remaining three aspects are the influence of the text on (i) network formation (and the free-rider problem), (ii) identity formation, and (iii) rituals. Apart from the difficulties of this taxonomy (as acknowledged by the author), it is indeed likely that the factors highlighted by Luomanen influenced the formation and maintenance of Christian communities. Yet it is not clear whether the text caused the respective behaviors and beliefs or simply ­reflected

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existing behaviors and beliefs, as redaction criticism would assume. It is relatively easy to identify issues related to network formation, identity, and rituals in the texts. It is less straightforward to explain how groups derived such beliefs and behaviors from the text. We have mentioned the example of voluntary associations above. As local Christian communities probably operated as voluntary associations, they also had to have regulations. (For example, the Pauline epistles or the Didache can give us an impression of the rules and the debates about them.) Although the gospels were likely read aloud and their content influenced the behaviors and beliefs of the communities, it remains to be seen that their effect was strong and direct enough to account for group selection. (3) Let us now briefly mention an alternative theory, which is cited by Luomanen on page 129. Here I will describe a somewhat updated version of the theory I originally published in Evangelische Theologie.8 Let us return to one of our fundamental questions at the beginning of this contribution: what are “groups,” to begin with? The notion of a group can be based on network theory. In a social network, links are not equally distributed among nodes. Some nodes have more connections than others; such nodes are also called “hubs.” Furthermore, sets of nodes sometimes have more connections to other nodes within the same set than connections to other nodes in the network that are not members of the set. The resulting pattern is called a “cluster.” We can use the notion of a network cluster to define a group in a non-essentialist sense. In any real social network, there will be more or less densely connected clusters, which, in turn, might have varying degrees of connectedness with other clusters in the network. This corresponds to the fact that a social group might be barely recognizable or might be very clearly isolated from the rest of society. The concept of clustering takes priority over the notion of strong and weak ties, which differentiate friendship from acquaintance. According to Mark Granovetter, friends (individuals connected by a strong social tie) will have overlapping networks, which means that friends are likely to be members of the same social group (that is, network cluster in our model), and share the same opinions, habits, and knowledge.9 8 István Czachesz, “Theologische Innovation und Sozialstruktur im Urchristentum: Eine kognitive Analyse seiner Ausbreitungsdynamik,” Evangelische Theologie 71 (4) (2011): 259–72, and “Varhaisen kristinuskon leviäminen: Näkökulmia kognitio- ja evoluutiotieteistä (The Spread of Early Christianity: A Cognitive and Evolutionary Perspective),” in Johdatus sosiaalitieteelliseen raamatuntutkimukseen, ed. Petri Luomanen, Jutta Jokiranta, and Outi Lehtipuu. Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 105 (Helsinki: The Finnish Exegetical Society, 2013), 375–92. 9 Mark S. Granovetter, “The Strength of Weak Ties,” American Journal of Sociology 78 (6) (1973): 1360–80. and “The Strength of Weak Ties: A Network Theory Revisited,” Sociological Theory 1 (1983): 201–33.

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If we apply Granovetter’s theory to our model, we can say that network ties between strongly connected clusters tend to be weak social ties. People connected by a weak social tie are thus likely to have access to different information, maintain different opinions, and be members of different social groups. Formerly I argued that geographically mobile Christians (apostles, missionaries) built many weak social ties and can be characterized as inter-group brokers.10 Weak social ties were also generated by charity and the inclusion of women. The advantages of such a network structure for the early Christian movement included the creation and circulation of innovative ideas (ultimately giving rise to successfully spreading theological notions), the accommodation of diversity, and the penetration of social and geographical boundaries. Social network formation interacted with the emergence and spread of theological ideas. On one hand, weak links catalyzed theological innovation (by connecting diverse groups). On the other hand, innovative ideas included behavioral rules that generated the very network structures that led to invention. Innovation further favored the emergence of cognitively optimal beliefs that spread due to the constraints of Sperberian epidemiology (see above). An important problem with network clusters that are connected by weak ties among each other is that the boundaries of the overall social formation (loose association of clusters) are unclear. How does the community in Achaia, perhaps consisting of Roman veterans and Greek artisans, worshipping a Christ who looks to them like Dionysus or Asclepius, recognize its identity with the Torah-observant, Aramaic-speaking group in Syria, whose Jesus is maybe more like a Jewish prophet? The portraits I am drawing here are of course purely hypothetical, yet such differences were certainly not unheard of in ancient Christianity, and Paul’s epistles offer considerable evidence for similar cases. According to Peter Richerson and Robert Boyd, humans are probably hard-wired to deal with an extended tribe, whose members they do not know face-to-face (since our personal networks are limited by our brain capacity to about 150 people), but who can be identified by symbolic markers.11 As I suggested, among the innovative ideas that spread on the above-mentioned network structure, there were so-called symbolic identity markers that helped identification across social and geographic distance. I have also outlined four criteria for social identity markers: discriminability, memorability, symbolic potential, and the ease of identifying oneself with the 10

11

István Czachesz, “Women, Charity, and Mobility in Early Christianity: Weak Links and the Historical Transformation of Religions,” in Changing Minds: Religion and Cognition Through the Ages, ed. István Czachesz and Tamás Biró (Leuven: Peeters, 2011), 129–54. Peter J. Richerson and Robert Boyd, Not by Genes Alone: How Culture Transformed Human Evolution (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005).

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symbol.12 From Paul’s epistles we know that some early Christians arrived with letters of recommendation. Apart from relying on previously existing personal contacts, even letters had to contain symbolic identity markers. Creedal and liturgical formulas, for example, could fulfill such a role. We can imagine that visitors participated in rituals; however, there could be substantial differences in the ritual practices regionally. The knowledge of some formulaic passages could serve as ways to identify the stranger. Stories could be important, as well, although variation was probably great in what stories people knew and in what particular form. The display of emotions in the right context could provide further means to check a stranger’s devotion. Symbolic identity markers were probably used as a network of clues, where not each and every reference had to be gotten right, but a certain overall picture had to emerge.13 The gospels (as well as other writings) probably contain many of the theological concepts, sayings, and stories that could serve as symbolic identity markers. Conversely, once longer texts existed and were circulated, symbolic identity markers could be based on passages and concepts in the text. It is thus likely that the extant texts, especially ones that reached a wide circulation early on, contain (references to) symbolic identity markers. In conclusion, let us return to our initial questions about morality. Neither Luomanen’s four discourses nor the model I just outlined requires that behaviors serving the maintenance of the movement be pro-social or altruistic. Itinerancy, for example, has nothing intrinsically altruistic or pro-social to it, yet it greatly helped the formation of the network structure of Christianity and the emergence of its theology. Perhaps we can understand pro-sociality in terms of ultimate explanations (cf. pp. 120–121 above), that is, as behavior that contributes to the success of a social group—instead of the direct sense of being nice to someone’s neighbor. Further, the social functionality of some behavior has to be separated from the question of whether it was judged as moral in the ancient Mediterranean world. For example, itinerancy was not necessarily seen as morally good. The institution of slavery (judged as immoral from a postenlightenment perspective), in turn, was taken for granted by Christians and 12 13

Czachesz, “Theologische Innovation,” 271. The concept of symbolic identity markers is related to the theory of costly signaling (­William Irons, “Religion as a Hard-to-Fake Sign of Commitment,” in Evolution and the Capacity for Commitment, ed. Randolph M. Nesse. Series on Trust [New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 2001], 292–309; Joseph A. Bulbulia and Richard Sosis, “Signalling Theory and the Evolution of Religious Cooperation,” Religion 41 [3] [September 8, 2011]: 363–88) but there are also differences between them. Signaling theory does not deal with large, anonymous groups, although “charismatic signaling” is an attempt in that direction.

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Christian slave owners, who benefited from it as anyone else in their cultural world. However, I do not wish to deny that emerging Christianity represented some high moral standards either. The point is that the moral quality of a practice, judged from either a contemporary or modern perspective, is not directly connected to its contribution to the success of the movement. There was no reason for early Christians to be “nicer” than adherents of other religions and being nice did not cause the success of a movement, in terms of the model outlined above. From the point of view of the network model, relevant historical details include the efficient use of existing Jewish networks or the blending of Jewish and Greco-Roman religious practices and institutions. References Bulbulia, Joseph A, and Richard Sosis. “Signalling Theory and the Evolution of Religious Cooperation.” Religion 41 (3) (September 8, 2011): 363–88. doi:10.1080/004872 1X.2011.604508. Czachesz, István. “Theologische Innovation und Sozialstruktur im Urchristentum: Eine kognitive Analyse seiner Ausbreitungsdynamik.” Evangelische Theologie 71 (4) (2011): 259–72. Czachesz, István. “Women, Charity, and Mobility in Early Christianity: Weak Links and the Historical Transformation of Religions.” Pages 129–54 in Changing Minds: Religion and Cognition Through the Ages. Edited by István Czachesz and Tamás Biró. Leuven: Peeters, 2011. Czachesz, István. “Varhaisen kristinuskon leviäminen: Näkökulmia kognitio- ja evoluu­ tiotieteistä (The Spread of Early Christianity: A Cognitive and Evolutionary Perspective).” Pages 375–92 in Johdatus sosiaalitieteelliseen raamatuntutkimukseen. Edited by Petri Luomanen, Jutta Jokiranta, and Outi Lehtipuu. Publications of the Finnish Exegetical Society 105. Helsinki: The Finnish Exegetical Society, 2013. Czachesz, István. Cognitive Science and the New Testament: A New Approach. New York: Oxford University Press, 2017. Dawkins, Richard. The Selfish Gene. 30th anniversary edition. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2006. Granovetter, Mark S. “The Strength of Weak Ties.” American Journal of Sociology 78 (6) (1973): 1360–80. Granovetter, Mark S. “The Strength of Weak Ties: A Network Theory Revisited.” Sociological Theory 1 (1983): 201–33. Irons, William. “Religion as a Hard-to-Fake Sign of Commitment.” Pages 292–309 in Evolution and the Capacity for Commitment. Edited by Randolph M. Nesse. Series on Trust. New York: Russell Sage Foundation, 2001.

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Kundt, Radek. Contemporary Evolutionary Theories of Culture and the Study of Religion. London; New York: Bloomsbury Academic, 2015. McElreath, Richard, and Joseph Henrich. “Modelling Cultural Evolution.” Pages 571–85 in Oxford Handbook of Evolutionary Psychology. Edited by Robin I.M. Dunbar and Louise Barrett. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Richerson, Peter J., and Robert Boyd. Not by Genes Alone: How Culture Transformed Human Evolution. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2005. Sperber, Dan. Explaining Culture: A Naturalistic Approach. Oxford, UK; Cambridge, MA: Blackwell, 1996. Sperber, Dan. “An Objection to the Memetic Approach to Culture.” Pages 163–73 in Darwinizing Culture: The Status of Memetics as a Science. Edited by Robert Aunger. New York: Oxford University Press, 2000. doi:10.1093/acprof:oso/9780192632449.003.0008. Wilson, David Sloan, and Edward O. Wilson. “Rethinking the Theoretical Foundation of Sociobiology.” The Quarterly Review of Biology 82 (4) (2007): 327–48. Wilson, David Sloan, and Edward O. Wilson. “Evolution ‘for the Good of the Group.’” American Scientist 96 (5) (2008): 378–89.

Comment 2: Content and Motivation in Christian Ethics: Comment on Syreeni’s, Thurén’s, and Räisänen’s Papers Antti Raunio

My task is to comment on the three papers about early Christian morality. Because I am not a biblical scholar but represent systematic theology, I will not discuss the concrete exegetical analysis but some more general questions of Christian ethics. In a short comment one has to concentrate on only a few things. The broad issue of motivation cannot be properly discussed in the present context. Therefore, my argument concerns mainly the Golden Rule, which also has an important role in Syreeni’s analysis. Thurén discusses the question of what is unique or special in Christian morality and applies the helpful distinction between moral content and moral motivation. Räisänen deals with the controversial problem concerning the moral consequences of religion or religious faith in the context of certain early Christian texts. He is well aware of the difficulties in dealing with such a big question based on such narrow source material. Perhaps a more adequate question would be whether on the basis of the analyzed texts it would be possible to reconstruct the views of the Apostle Paul and the writers of 1 Peter on the relation between Christian faith and morality. As Syreeni states, the Golden Rule is a common and much discussed moral principle in both philosophical and theological ethics. As such it is not a specifically Christian principle but can be found in some form in almost all religions and in many theories and models of moral philosophy. In fact, Christian theology has seldom considered it especially Christian. On the contrary, it has been understood as one formulation of the natural moral law—the universal moral rule that God has written in the human heart. This has been a common view from patristic times to the beginning of the modern era.1 Accordingly, the natural law has not been seen solely as a rational rule of wisdom but as an expression of the divine will. This means furthermore that it is universal and 1 See, for example, Origen, Commentarius in Epistolam ad Romanos, Lib. ii, Patrologia Graeca 14, 892; Jerome, Commentarius in Epistolam ad Galatas iii, v, Patrologia Latina 26, 436–37. Augustine, Enarratio in Psalmum 118, sermo 25, 4, Corpus Christianorum Series Latina 40, 1750.

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somehow evident to all human beings. This line of thinking corresponds with Thurén’s emphasis that the New Testament does not contain any idea of specific Christian ethical content. Furthermore, it is an empirical fact that the view about the Golden Rule as a universal moral principle is not without grounds. As Syreeni notes, it is another question: what does the Golden Rule mean in different contexts and what is its factual use in moral reasoning? The Golden Rule is often understood as a summary of the Sermon on the Mount in biblical studies as well as in systematic theology.2 Its intention is to state in a concise form the whole content of the Sermon. Furthermore, if the Golden Rule expresses both the universal natural law and the content of the Sermon on the Mount, it follows that the Sermon on the Mount is also meant to be universal. However, Christian theology has not always drawn this conclusion. The Sermon on the Mount—or at least certain parts of it—has been understood as a basis for a communitarian ethics, either for the Christians or for a certain group within Christianity. However, the message of the Sermon may also have been understood so that the communitarian or elitist content is meant to be only provisory. When all people have been made disciples of Jesus, the content of the Sermon on the Mount will become ethics for all. In a sense it was therefore both transitorily communitarian and finally universal at the same time. In the discussion concerning communitarian and universal aspects of ethics, one crucial question is whether there is any common feature that justifies speaking about one Golden Rule. The other possibility is that there are several formulations that resemble each other but upon closer examination prove to be different so that we do not have one Golden Rule but a set of different rules. This is a complicated question but detailed research shows that there actually exist several formulations of the rule, and they may also presuppose differing moral motivations and lead to diverse moral conclusions.3 However, there seems to be one—rather abstract—feature common to most of the formulations of the Golden Rule. They presuppose that one can 2 This view is expressed already in John Chrysostom, In Matthaeum homiliae, Patrologia Graeca 57, 313–14. 3 For both philosophical and religious versions of the Golden Rule see Harry J. Gensler, Ethics and the Golden Rule (New York: Routledge, 2013), for modern interpretations see Hans-Ulrich Hoche, “Regel, goldene ii. Die g. R. seit Kant,” Historisches Wörterbuch für Philosophie 8 (1992): 459, and Hans Reiner, “Die Goldene Regel und das Naturrecht,” Studia Leibniziana 9/2 (1977): 122–42, and for the history of interpretations from the patristics to the Reformation, Antti Raunio, Summe des christlichen Lebens (Mainz: Verlag Philipp von Zabern, 2001), 56–123.

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know what to do to one’s neighbor by somehow reflecting one’s own desires or preferences. It is worth noting that the Golden Rule does not teach doing for others as they want or expect one to do for them. The idea is not to fulfill all the other’s wishes. The other’s needs are confronted through one’s own desires or wishes. But how should this happen? In other words, what kind of moral reasoning does the Golden Rule presuppose? It is very easy to understand that by equating our own and our neighbors’ needs we sometimes find the right solution but very often not. If the point of the rule were that one can and should directly conclude from one’s own wishes or preferences what is good for another person, it would not be very a helpful moral principle. Of course, the conclusions also depend on our view about the similarity between the needs of individuals. But even though we might think that the basic needs are approximately the same for all, the different personal and individual conditions of life should be considered as well. For this reason, many philosophers and theologians have thought that the moral reasoning following the Golden Rule always begins by setting oneself in the other’s position. In many contexts this seems to be presupposed even though the formulations of the rule do not explicitly say it. If one takes the rule literally, it does not express the demand of setting oneself in the other’s position, but if one understands the rule in its context, it seems to intend that.4 Setting oneself in the other’s position means that, in order to know what to do, one needs to ask what he or she would wish from other people in a similar situation. A certain distance from the other’s actual wishes at the given moment is maintained but at the same time his or her situation is taken into account as much as possible. This method of moral reasoning is not infallible or without problems, but more than giving a perfect model for moral calculation its aim is to guide human moral thinking to take into account the concrete situations and needs of other human beings—and also of other creatures. Does 4 The exact content of the Golden Rule also depends on the presupposed view of a human being. Until the beginning of the modern era it was commonly thought that human nature includes an inclination to the realization of that nature as much as possible in others. Thus, the preferences of individual humans do not differ in any decisive sense. It is in principle possible to know what promotes the final realization. This is the presupposition of most patristic and medieval interpretations of the Golden Rule. The presuppositions begin to change in late medieval and early modern times when human beings are seen more as individuals without any common ground provided by human nature. However, already Gregory the Great sees setting oneself in the other’s position as the essential content of the Golden Rule. Later, for example, Martin Luther, who refers explicitly to Gregory, stresses the same point, perhaps even more strongly. See Raunio, Summe des christlichen Lebens, 72–73, 157, 206–09, 259–61.

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the context of the Sermon on the Mount give the Golden Rule that kind of content? Syreeni comes to the conclusion that the Golden Rule is a principle of fair play that can be extended to enemy love, that is, to mercy and forgiveness. This seems to leave open what he ultimately thinks about the ideas of the Golden Rule as the law and the prophets and a summary of the Sermon on the Mount. It would be helpful to have information about what “fair play” means in this context and what its relation to enemy love is. Another question is what kind of motivation of moral action the Golden Rule presupposes. It is often taken for granted that it is a principle of reciprocity or mutuality. But what does this mean? Fair play perhaps? Reciprocity as motivation can be understood in different senses. In one sense it describes the intention to do something good for my neighbor with the goal that he or she would then do something good for me. In this sense the motivation contains the promotion of the neighbor’s good but at least as strongly securing my own advantage. Sometimes reciprocity has been interpreted as equal sharing of goods. The aim of the Rule would thus be that one partner gets as much as the other. However, reciprocity can be combined with the Golden Rule in a third sense as well. This means that even though reciprocity is not the motivational basis of acting according to the Golden Rule, it may be the result if people follow the rule in their moral reasoning and actions: then people serve each other reciprocally without counting on any mutual actions from others but out of gratitude for what they have got5 or because they wish to be helpful. In this last case the motivation to follow the rule is something that could be called love of neighbor, which aims only for the neighbor’s good. This has often been considered the theological content of the Golden Rule. Of course, many people would say that it is an unrealistic and utopian idea. In fact, humans always count on their own advantage even though they may do something for others. However, this also seems to be an oversimplification. People may also do something for others without thinking of their own advantage. And, as a moral principle, the Golden Rule not only intends to reflect factual moral attitudes but it will also give a norm to moral motivation, even though such motivation may be difficult or even impossible to attain. Nordic Lutheran theological ethics has predominantly represented the view that the especially Christian character of ethics is found in the motivation, not in the content. If Thurén is correct, biblical studies seem now to draw a similar conclusion concerning biblical ethics and moral values in antiquity. On the other hand, Räisänen seems to give quite a different picture of the Christian 5 Paul Ricoeur, Figuring the Sacred: Religion, Narrative, and Imagination (Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995), 300.

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attitude towards non-Christian morality. According to him, Paul thinks that Christians possess a special competence for moral behavior, namely the Spirit of God.6 Thurén refers to the Spirit as well, but for him the Spirit’s presence is the unique Christian motivation for moral action. What the difference is between these two is difficult to evaluate precisely, but in any case competence may refer both to intellectual content and to the power to act, whereas motivation refers only to the reasons for acting morally. Thurén draws a distinction between basic content of morality or moral values and the factual following or obeying the rules and values. For me, Räisänen seems to take morality more as a complex of content and motivation without differentiation. Of course it is true that the biblical texts do not deal with this kind of difference in any explicit sense. However, as Räisänen also states, Paul adheres to the view that the non-Christians (pagans) do know the law that is written in their hearts and they may do what the law demands and their conscience may either thank or accuse them. Consequently, Paul differentiates between knowing the content of law and obeying the law. He also seems to see the problem of non-Christian morality more on the level of motivation than in the moral principles as such. However, exegetical analysis and systematic theological ethics are not inevitably speaking about exactly the same thing. Thurén discusses and analyzes the motivational aspects of biblical exhortations in 1 Peter and in St. Paul’s Letter to the Romans and finds a common feature as well as different motivations. Systematic theological ethics studies different views about the question of whether there is any common and especially Christian motivation that makes Christians willing to follow the moral commandments or exhortations. Answering this question presupposes analysis of the biblical texts but also some theory about the human being as an active agent as well as the nature of religious and moral action. For finding out what kind of motivation the Golden Rule presupposes in the Christian context, we first take a look at Matt 7:12 and Luke 6:31. Which of you, if your son asks for bread, will give him a stone? Or if he asks for a fish, will give him a snake? If you, then, though you are evil, know how to give good gifts to your children, how much more will your 6 This kind of definition of the Spirit’s role in human life is quite unique in the history of Christian theology and ethics. However, in the Middle Ages the theory about gratia creata or caritas create was formed, which was understood as a supranatural capacity needed for the fulfilling of divine law. This capacity was not the Spirit itself but a certain created influence of the Spirit. This idea of supranatural powers of human nature was then strongly opposed by the Reformation theologians.

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Father in heaven give good gifts to those who ask him. So in everything, do to others what you would have them do to you, for this sums up the Law and the Prophets. matt 7:9–12

But to you who are listening I say: Love your enemies, do good to those who hate you, bless those who curse you, pray for those who mistreat you. If someone slaps you on one cheek, turn to them the other also. If someone takes your coat, do not withhold your shirt from them. Give to everyone who asks you, and if anyone takes what belongs to you, do not demand it back. Do to others as you would have them do to you. luke 6:31

In Matthew’s Sermon on the Mount, the Golden Rule is not directly connected to any motivation. The preceding verses take the inherent badness of humans for granted but sees them still capable of good deeds as well. From these premises, the text argues for the much greater goodness of the Heavenly Father. So the goodness of God is the presupposition for the exhortation to do to others as one wants the others to do to him or her. The addition that this is the law and the prophets combines the Golden Rule with Matt 5:17 and Matt 22.7 Do not think that I have come to abolish the Law or the Prophets; I have not come to abolish them but to fulfill them. matt 5:17

Jesus replied: “Love the Lord your God with all your heart and with all your soul and with all your mind.” This is the first and greatest commandment. And the second is like it: “Love your neighbor as yourself.” All the Law and the Prophets hang on these two commandments. matt 22:37–39

This is the law that Christ has come to fulfill and it says the same as the commandment to love God with the whole soul and mind and the neighbor as oneself. Luke presents the Golden Rule in a context where he emphasizes the love of one’s enemies as the special feature of the followers of Christ. Matthew’s

7 See, for example, Eduard Schweizer, Das Evangelium nach Matthäus, Das Neue Testament Deutsch 2 (Göttingen: Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht, 1981), 112.

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Sermon on the Mount contains the exhortation to enemy love as well. Thus, if the Golden Rule is the summary of the Sermon, it also refers to enemy love for Matthew. Consequently, for both Gospels the essential motive presupposed by the Golden Rule is love. They stress the love slightly differently, but for both there is a specific Christian motivation for obeying the law that can be summarized in the Golden Rule. There is thus a certain tension between the reciprocal Golden Rule and—let us say—the “agapistic” Golden Rule. For many the reciprocal view is the philosophical form and the agapistic understanding is the theological or Christian view of the Golden Rule. Which of them is original? Some say that the agapistic view is a theological interpretation of the genuinely reciprocal principle. There are also some—for example Martin Luther—who think that it is the other way round. The agapistic content is the genuine, God-given meaning of the rule as natural law. It follows, then, that the fallen humankind grasps it mostly in the reciprocal or even in egoistic sense. I think that this tension between agapistic and reciprocal interpretations need not be solved once and for all. The universality of the Golden Rule contains both aspects and also the tension between them. Paul Ricoeur has argued that the philosophical Golden Rule and the theological one constantly correct each other.8 For him it is essential that the two interpretations of the Rule stay in dialogue when searching for the correct moral action. I will add to this that, in order to understand what other people need and how to act morally, humans need to set themselves in the others’ situations. They also need to reflect on why they do so. The first is important for the neighbor and the latter for human beings themselves. They need to know who they are and why they are living and acting in this world. People may ask, if they are content with reciprocal rationality or do they wish to do something “more” or different than being rational moral agents. My conclusion is thus not far from Kari Syreeni’s. Perhaps the difference is, that I do not think that the Golden Rule is principally only a rule of fair play—even though it could be extended to mercy and forgiveness. Even though fair play is an important and valuable goal for moral action in many cases, for me the Golden Rule refers simultaneously beyond that to the special motivation of Matthew and Luke.

8 Paul Ricoeur, “Entre philosophie et théologie: La Règle d’Or en question,” Revue d’Historie et Philosophie Religieuses, 69 (1989): 3–9; Paul Ricoeur, Figuring the Sacred, 293–302. See also Paul Ricoeur, “The Golden Rule: Exegetical and Theological Perplexities,” New Testament Studies 36 (1990): 392–97.

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References Patristic Literature

Augustine, Enarratio in Psalmum 118, sermo 25, 4, Corpus Christianorum Series Latina 40 Gregory the Great, Moralia in Job, Corpus Christianorum Series Latina 143 Jerome, Commentarius in Epistolam ad Galatas III, V, Patrologia Latina 26 John Chrysostom, In Matthaeum homiliae, Patrologia Graeca 57 Origen, Commentarius in Epistolam ad Romanos, Lib. II, Patrologia Graeca 14



Modern Authors

Gensler, Harry J. Ethics and the Golden Rule. New York: Routledge, 2013. Hoche, Hans-Ulrich. “Regel, goldene II. Die g. R. seit Kant.” Historisches Wörterbuch für Philosophie 8 (1992): 459. Raunio, Antti. Summe des christlichen Lebens: Die Goldene Regel als Gesetz der göttlichen Liebe in der Theologie Martin Luthers 1510–1527. Veröffentlichungen des Instituts für Europäische Geschichte Mainz 160. Mainz: Verlag Philipp von Zabern, 2001. Reiner, Hans. “Die Goldene Regel und das Naturrecht.” Studia Leibniziana 9/2 (1977): 122–42. Ricoeur, Paul. “Entre philosophie et théologie: La Règle d’Or en question.” Revue d’Historie et Philosophie Religieuses 69 (1989): 3–9. Ricoeur, Paul. “The Golden Rule: Exegetical and Theological Perplexities.” New Testament Studies 36 (1990): 392–97. Ricoeur, Paul. Figuring the Sacred: Religion, Narrative, and Imagination. Minneapolis: Fortress, 1995. Schweizer, Eduard. Das Evangelium nach Matthäus. Das Neue Testament Deutsch Band 2. Vandenhoeck & Ruprecht: Göttingen, 1981.

part 3 Morality and Christianity in Everyday Life

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Learning and Living the Golden Rule: Religious Communities and Morality Nancy T. Ammerman The link between Christianity and morality has been examined in historical, theological, and evolutionary perspective in these pages. This essay will begin with the contemporary situation and examine the religion-morality link as it is lived in everyday practice and as it is fostered by empirical social organizations and relationships. My research on the link between religion and moral practice spans three research projects and almost two decades, and I will draw on that accumulated evidence in what follows. The picture begins with questions asked of local Christian and Jewish congregational members interviewed in the early 1990s. Their responses to the question “what does it mean to you to be a Christian (or Jew)?” revealed a very pragmatic and this-worldly approach to faith. While some of the more conservative of them answered in doctrinal terms or in terms of eternal salvation, most talked in very practical ways about serving others, and more than a few explicitly mentioned the Golden Rule. As a result, I came to call this orientation to religion “Golden Rule” Christianity and noted the obvious link to the Golden Rule Judaism from which the scriptural injunction to “do unto others as you would have them do unto you” originated. Since that time, I have had further opportunities to explore this link between moral life and religious communities. In the late 1990s, my research turned to the organizational question of what local religious communities organize to do and how they accomplish that work.1 More recently, I have engaged in the gathering of everyday narratives from a representative sample of religious and non-religious Americans, in which participants reflected on (among many other things) the moral dilemmas and commitments of their lives. This essay, then, will bring all of those strands together to describe the role religious communities play, both in forming the everyday moral commitments of their members and in harnessing those commitments into action. 1 The contours of “Golden Rule Christianity” are described in Nancy T. Ammerman, “Golden Rule Christianity: Lived Religion in the American Mainstream,” in Lived Religion in America: Toward a History of Practice, ed. David D. Hall (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997). The congregational patterns are analyzed in Nancy T. Ammerman, Pillars of Faith: American Congregations and Their Partners (Berkeley, ca: University of California Press, 2005).

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The Spiritual Narratives Project

The most recent project on which I will be drawing is one that attempted to discern the degree to which religion and spirituality are present in various spheres of everyday life.2 Employing a narrative methodology, everyday life stories were elicited from a sample of participants in two u.s. locations, Boston and Atlanta. These two sites provide us with at least one comparative angle on how cultural context may affect the processes we are observing. The study’s participants were selected using a quota sample designed to include a representative distribution across Christian and Jewish traditions, as well as a representative number of people who are “seculars” and “seekers.” Those segments of the population, taken together, encompass well over 90% of the us religious landscape.3 We recruited seculars and seekers through posters in cafes and on campuses, and we tapped participants in on-line spiritually-focused discussion groups. To find religiously-affiliated participants, we used key informants to develop quota-based sampling frames from congregations of Catholics, Conservative and Liberal white Protestants, African American Protestants, Jews, Mormons, and a group of Neo-Pagans—sampling within each of those groups on age, gender, and level of religious participation.4 It is important to note that these participants are neither religious virtuosi nor, disproportionately, people who are highly “spiritual.” A significant number are as “religiously unmusical” as Max Weber claimed to be.5 While they were asked questions about their religious and spiritual lives, those who are religiously inactive and spiritually uninterested freely told us so and told stories about their lives that were largely absent any reference either to religious institutions or to spirituality of any sort. Those who are involved in traditional religious communities are present in the sample in numbers typical of the

2 This project was funded by the Templeton Foundation and is described in more detail in Nancy T. Ammerman, Sacred Stories, Spiritual Tribes: Finding Religion in Everyday Life (New York: Oxford University Press, 2013). 3 Missing are non-English speakers from within the Christian traditions and people affiliated with the major world religions (Muslim, Hindu, Buddhist, and others) that each form small segments of the u.s. population. 4 Key informants provided us with lists of persons who fit our quota criteria (rare attender, young, and male, for instance), and we selected from those lists. The internet chat room participants had a range of affiliations (or lack thereof) with other organized religious bodies. 5 Bryan S. Turner, “Preface to the New Edition,” in From Max Weber, ed. H.H. Gerth and C. Wright Mills (Abingdon, u.k.: Routledge, 1991), xii–xxviii.

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u.s., where 61% of the adult population claims membership in a local religious group.6 While the sample is relatively small—95 individuals—the data gathered are quite deep. We began with an interview in which the basic contours of the subject’s life history were explored, inquiring about religion alongside questions about family, work, leisure, and other pursuits. Included in this interview were also the sorts of demographic questions that help us to describe the person’s social location. At the end of the interview, participants were given a disposable camera and a very simple set of instructions to photograph “important places in your life.” They were encouraged to think about both mundane places (back porches, the path of a daily dog walk, or desks at work) as well as places that might seem more inherently significant or life-marking (the place where they were married or a loved one’s grave, for instance). The vast majority of the photos are, in fact, of very mundane everyday spots.7 When they were finished taking pictures, we picked up the cameras, had the pictures developed, and then returned to ask them to tell us the stories behind the photos. The final piece of our data gathering was an oral diary project. We established a mutually-agreeable schedule of two one-week periods, spread over the ensuing six to nine months, and asked subjects to set aside five to fifteen minutes each day to tell us stories about their day. We provided them with a list of prompts for suggested kinds of stories but told them we were interested in hearing about whatever they considered memorable. We said that we were interested in hearing about their religious or spiritual experiences and practices if those were important, but they were encouraged not to introduce such elements if they would not normally do so.8 The sets of recordings of diaries, 6 Data on demographic composition and distribution of religious tradition and practice are drawn from Pew Forum on Religion and Public Life, u.s. Religious Landscape Survey [internet] (Pew Forum, 2008 [cited July 19 2008]); available from http://www.pewforum.org/ religious-landscape-study/. 7 Roman R. Williams, “Space for God: Lived Religion at Work, Home, and Play,” Sociology of Religion 71 (2010): 257–79 explores some of the things learned by asking about the geography of spiritual life. 8 Participating in this project, like participating in any research project, inevitably sensitizes persons to the phenomena they are asked about. Our participants undoubtedly introduced religious and spiritual content into their narrations in ways that might not have occurred without the sensitizing context. The aim here, however, is to analyze how they did so rather than whether and how much. A fuller description of the comparative strengths of these complementary methods, see Nancy T. Ammerman and Roman R. Williams, “Speaking of Methods: Eliciting Religious Narratives through Interviews, Photos, and Oral Diaries,” in Annual

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photo elicitation interviews, and the initial life history interviews—330 texts in all—were transcribed and analyzed with the assistance of the qualitative analysis software MaxQDA. Analysis of these texts involved identifying discreet storylines and then coding the actors, settings, types of action, emotional valence, and presence or absence of any religious or spiritual reference in each of these stories. The demographic characteristics of the teller and a variety of other data are also linked. For this analysis, I have looked for the places where stories address questions of morality, where they include assessments about how things ought to be, how people ought to behave, descriptions of people they consider admirable or despicable, and especially stories about what people do to try to live up to the standards they set for themselves and others. Interviewers asked participants to talk about what a “better world” would look like and about things they observe in everyday life that they see as unethical or wrong. Responses to those questions often led to stories with moral content, but we also heard many other stories along the way that provided a picture of a participant’s moral sense of the world. We can ask, then, whether and how the moral stories they tell are framed in terms of what they believe God wants or participates in, and whether their religious communities and traditions are part of the story. As we look at the moral stories they told, we will do so by reference both to the ways in which they are connected to traditional religious communities and to the degree to which spirituality is important in a person’s individual life. As I have analyzed this body of data, four primary clusters of spiritual and religious practice can be seen among the participants. The “spiritually serious” (26 of the participants) expressed a high level of commitment to their individual spiritual lives, engage in multiple spiritual practices, and often attend activities in a religious community. The “typical members” (35 participants) have more moderate levels of spiritual interest and practice and attend less regularly— at least monthly, but not usually weekly. The nineteen “marginal members” have a moderate level of spiritual interest and practice, but hardly ever attend religious services. And the fourteen “disaffiliated” have neither any particular spiritual interest or practice nor any attachment to a religious community.9 Few have been absent from religious traditions all their lives, so they are more Review of the Sociology of Religion: New Methods in Sociology of Religion, ed. Luigi Berzano and Ole Riis (Leiden: Brill, 2012). 9 This roughly parallels the number of “nones” one would expect in an American sample. As in other examinations of this population, most are not convinced atheists, but neither are they actively spiritual. See Michael Hout and Claude Fischer, “Why More Americans Have No Religious Preference: Politics and Generations,” American Sociological Review 67 (2002): 165–90.

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properly dis-affiliated than un-affiliated. Just one of our participants can be called a “seeker,” that is, someone who has a fairly lively spiritual interest and has sought out alternative spiritualities (while not participating in any traditional “organized” religion). This American distribution of spiritual types is quite different from what one might find in Europe, but the types themselves may nevertheless have a broader usefulness as analytical categories. It is also important to note at the outset that we cannot assume an opposition between individual spirituality and participation in religious communities. In contrast to those who downplay attention to institutional religion in favor of a notion that modern or postmodern society implies the rise of individual spiritualities, our research in the u.s. demonstrates that the two are intimately linked. At least in our sample, discourse about being “spiritual but not religious” is largely deployed as a boundary that marks institutional religiosity as a tainted status from which they wish to distance themselves. Those who deploy this discourse are most often neither actively spiritual nor religious.10 It is important, then, to retain both religious participation and spiritual practice within our analytical focus. 2

Morality and Religious Community: The Spiritually Serious

Our “spiritually serious” participants are not only regular participants in religious worship services, but are also especially distinguished by involvement in various other forms of connection in their religious communities—bible and book study groups, retreats, groups for “moms” or workplace prayer groups, for instance. They were much more likely to include stories about these kinds of religious activities than were other participants in our study, and much more likely to talk about sharing experiences in their faith community with people they named as friends. In other words, these are people with both an active private spiritual life and a religious community of intimate relationships and social opportunities to talk about everyday life. This category of spiritually serious people was also the most likely place to find stories about moral concern and moral action. They spent more time in their interviews, photos, and diaries talking about moral issues than did those who are less spiritually attuned and less involved in religious communities. They had an ample store of stories and admonitions about loving and serving others, being gentle and compassionate, and otherwise seeking to live out the 10

Nancy T. Ammerman, “Spiritual but not Religious? Beyond Binary Choices in the Study of Religion.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 52(2): 258–78.

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faith they claim. While a good bit of that conversation focused on “private” matters in the arenas of home and leisure and the church itself, the stories they told were actually more likely to be about community and work, or about the big social and political issues of the day, than about personal or private morality. This mix of public and private concern was not actually unusual. The most religiously engaged are neither more nor less concerned about public morality than are those who have little engagement with religious communities. As we will note at the end, there are specific public issues that are more commonly mentioned by disaffiliates, but the overall scope of concern is no different. What is different is the degree to which moral concerns find their way into the stories of everyday life. Charles Curlew,11 for instance, is a middle-aged statistician and member of a Southern Baptist church in Atlanta. He is especially drawn to making connections with the many new immigrants in his community, at least some of whom have found their way to his church. He says of his church, I really feel like it’s not just something [where] I’m going to that place to get something for myself in terms of worship or fellowship or seeing other people but really looking for opportunities to minister to other people, to be the presence of Christ for other people, to get to know who they are and what their needs are and see if there’s any way that I can help them meet their needs. Hospitality and charity are the personal virtues implied in what he says, and his church is the primary arena in which he practices these virtues; but he is attuned to the needs of immigrants in his neighborhood, as well, providing transportation and other assistance from time to time. Equally spiritually serious Jessica Kingman is a young Boston Catholic whose moral vision not only applies to church and family behavior, but also includes a sense of obligation to the broader community. She puts that obligation into practice in her regular work on the streets with Boston’s homeless population. Others among the spiritually serious could be found at anti-war rallies, working on programs to provide better access to health care and education, and advocating for measures that would reduce income inequality and racism. To be sure, a few Conservative Protestants and Catholics mentioned abortion and homosexuality as key moral concerns, and Latter-day Saints were especially likely to mention an ethic of hard work and personal responsibility. But overall, the moral vision of 11

The names of persons and congregations are pseudonyms. The descriptions of the people and of the congregations, however, follow their actual characteristics.

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these religiously-engaged Americans is focused much more on violence, poverty, racism, and other forms of inequality. What is also striking about the moral stories they tell is that they are very likely to be doing something in response to the moral obligation they express. The most religiously engaged stand in significant contrast to the least engaged in the degree of moral agency they exhibit. Disaffiliated people named many moral goals and condemned moral ills, but they were much more likely to see those issues as things that are inevitable. While Christians might have justified inactivity with the biblical verse that has Jesus saying that the poor will always be with us, it was the non-religious who were more likely to speak of war and violence, poverty and inequality, as something endemic to the human condition, problems for which it is no use to pursue solutions. We will return to the moral commitments of the disaffiliated below, but what we heard among the most religiously-engaged was, by contrast, both more concern and more activity in pursuit of the moral good. Cynthia Gardner works in Boston’s biotech industry and attends All Saints Episcopal in the suburbs of the city. She says, Jesus said there are two commandments and one of them is love one another. He didn’t talk about all the laws in Leviticus. He just talked about two. I like to follow that and I like to, as inadequately as I do it, to try to follow living as Christ lived, which was accepting and embracing outcasts and loving people and not judging. What that commitment implies for Cynthia is the church-based organization she has founded for support of gay and lesbian people and her advocacy for disabled people. Jen Jackson is a young mother and behavioral therapist who is active in a neo-Pentecostal church in Atlanta. Her moral compass includes a strict traditional standard of sexual morality, but she recognizes that many youth find such standards nearly impossible to follow. Her response is to enter a mentoring relationship with a young woman, including bringing the girl into her home for weekend stays in which Jen and her husband hope to model healthy family life. Cynthia and Jen are two spiritually serious women with very different theological views and a different set of moral commitments; but for each, religiously-based beliefs about how life should be lived are put into concrete action. That sense of moral agency may be, in part, an outgrowth of the organizational action patterns engendered by voluntary religion. Voluntary religious organizations require the energy and leadership of those who participate in them, and the more active people are, the more likely it is that they will be called on to organize and lead, action patterns that have proved to be socially

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transferrable. Leadership experience can lead to development of what political scientists have called “civic skills,”12 involving especially the arts of ­communication, planning and decision-making that are necessary for p ­ ublic letter-writing, participating in decision-making meetings, planning and ­chairing meetings, and giving presentations or speeches. These are skills often learned in school and on the job, but they are also skills that can be learned through participation in voluntary organizations. Every club that plans a special event, every society that needs officers, and every congregation that asks its members to teach classes and chair committees provides opportunities for the development and exercise of civic skills. Because people of all economic and educational levels nearly equally maintain membership in congregations (whereas other voluntary organizations are disproportionately middle and upper class), congregations are the single most widespread and egalitarian providers of civic opportunity in the u.s. Indeed, research on civic skills suggests that the same person who learns to write letters to missionaries and collect money for new hymnals can use those skills to participate in local and national political life. What the stories told by spiritually serious participants in this project suggest is that active congregational participation and leadership also produces the sense of agency that combines with civic skills to create a broad and active moral engagement in the world. One of the most common moral injunctions cited by these highly-religious people was the simple admonition that they should “help others.” While this sometimes focused on one’s own familial and religious compatriots, it far more often meant paying attention to the needs of people in the larger community and in the world beyond. For some it meant an obligation to give generously to charity, while others participated in community organizations ranging from food pantries to efforts to re-build following Hurricane Katrina. Sam Levitt is an active member of Congregation Sinai in the Boston suburbs, and his assessment is this. I think we live in a world in which—I think American culture is about as individualistic and isolationist as you can be. I think that the pendulum has swung all the way to one side…so religion to me brings us—is a communitarian expression for me, a group of people who I’m involved with in an ongoing way, a community that I have some strong allegiance to, responsibilities for and I contribute financially to. And to 12

Sidney Verba, et al., Voice and Equality: Civic Voluntarism in American Politics (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1995).

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me it sort of balances the dominant culture which I find is destructively anti-communitarian and individualistic. His tradition also emphasizes doing good deeds (mitzvot) and contributing to charity, both of which are practices Sam seeks to pursue. Rachel Halpern is at Temple Beth Torah in Atlanta and has so distinguished herself in Temple and community volunteer work that she has received a national award normally reserved for much older Jewish women. People of all religious traditions told moral stories about this sort of community engagement, but Jews and Catholics were especially likely to point to helping others as something good people of faith are supposed to do. Like Jen and Cynthia, Sam and Rachel, all of the people who routinely attend religious services linked the moral stories they told to the teachings of their churches and synagogues. Often they spoke of specific teachings, but just as often what came through was the extent to which the community modeled and enabled the moral ideals they held. The web of relationships in which the most spiritually serious are enmeshed is one that allows religious teachings to have their effect. The institutional infrastructure on which this depends begins with the fundamental organizational commitment of local congregations to the business of building what Robert Putnam has called “bonding social capital.”13 Congregations, given the American voluntary way of organizing, are places of belonging that are bigger than the family and into which one does not have to be born. They are organizations in which beyond-kin relationships are routinely forged. American religious life is shaped, in fact, by cultural expectations that congregations should provide “fellowship” activities and try to build a family-like atmosphere for their members.14 They are places that can and must take seriously the task of creating communal events and spaces where people meet, debate, celebrate, and know each other on a face-to-face basis. They are also places where people take care of each other, teaching by example a repertoire of caring practices. They often supply, for example, food and child care and job assistance and in-home visits to the elderly, a pattern especially notable among Latter-day Saints. Catherine Young recounted being on the receiving end of service provided by her sisters in the ward who brought in meals after her daughter was born. 13 14

Robert D. Putnam, Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000). Nancy T. Ammerman, Pillars of Faith.

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I was just so thankful for people’s love and they were so willing to do that for me. I just didn’t have any idea how helpful it would be because it really did give me extra time not to worry about that, but to focus on being a mom…It is just funny how things like that can just bring so much love into your life, and also it makes you want to be able to do that for other people. Service inside the community, in other words, models the virtues of common good, accountability and mutual care in ways that benefit the society as a whole. For the twenty-five percent or so of the u.s. population that takes religion and spirituality most seriously, the congregational web of association is especially strong, and the moral impact of that web is clearly evident. 3

Morality and Religious Community: The Typical Members

For the one-third of the population that is more moderately connected to religious and spiritual life, many of the same patterns can be seen—but in moderation. These are people who are routinely connected to a religious community, but are more likely to attend once a month than once a week. They do think of themselves as spiritual and, in almost all cases, have at least a few fairly regular spiritual practices of prayer, reading spiritual books and scripture, meditating, and the like. But both their practices and their religious service attendance are more sporadic. In addition, their participation in their religious communities is different. They are less likely to be involved in fellowship and education activities, more likely to see the worship service itself as their most important connection, and more likely to describe the care they receive from the community in terms of crisis response than in terms of on-going relationships. They have fewer opportunities, then, for discussion of moral issues or observing virtuous behavior. The moral stories they told covered an identical range of situations from personal interaction to macro social inequities, but they were somewhat less likely to tell stories about their own interventions in pursuit of moral goodness. Still, they are much more like their more active fellow attenders than they are like those who are disaffiliated or marginal to religious communities. Their religious engagement may be more narrow, but even what happens in a worship service can have significant effects in instilling moral sensibilities and moral agency. Even the most “spiritual” ritual activities of a religious community are not merely otherworldly and irrelevant in the here and now. In my previous research, looking at the institutional patterns that shape congregational

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life, it was clear that not nearly all churches are “activist,” in the usual sense of undertaking political or social justice programs. They are not primarily in the business of providing social services to their communities, and they are not relief, development, or political organizing agencies, even if they occasionally engage in those activities. What most congregations define as their core task is providing opportunities for their members to worship, to deepen their individual spiritual lives, and to provide religious education for their children.15 And the vast majority think that the spiritual work they do makes a real difference in this world. At the personal level, one of the messages these typical religious participants seem to take with them from service attendance is that their personal way of being in the world is important. Kindness, helpfulness, and generosity are called for. Camilla Hart is a member of Cornerstone Baptist, a black church in the suburbs of Boston. She summed it up this way. It’s how you live your life and what you do for others, too. How you help other people. Helping other people—to be that role model, mentor, ­teacher, helping that person who’s sick. Just being as good a person as we can be. What we know from other research is that the experience of worshiping together can be a source of critical perspective in which a non-everyday way of looking at the world is experienced. These “liminal” moments can reinforce the notion that the values of mutual care, simplicity, and the like, are superior to the selfish rat race of the everyday world. When people worship together, they often experience a world in which God is in control, and that existential knowledge can make a difference on Monday morning.16 Dr. Stephen James, a Boston pediatrician, was another of the participants in our study. Cornerstone Baptist and his own active spiritual life were both important to him in surviving as one of only a few African Americans in his profession, in his determination to forge strong bonds to support other people of color in his community, and in 15 Ammerman, Pillars of Faith. 16 Victor Turner, The Ritual Process (Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1977) provides a theoretical perspective from which to understand this phenomenon. On the this-­worldly dimensions of Pentecostal worship practices, see Timothy J. Nelson, “The Church and the Street: Race, Class, and Congregation,” in Contemporary American R ­ eligion, ed. Penny Edgell Becker and Nancy L. Eiesland (Walnut Creek, ca: AltaMira Press, 1997), 1­69–90; Karen E. Fields, “Charismatic Religion as Popular Protest: The Ordinary and the E ­ xtraordinary in Social Movements,” Theory and Society 11(1982): 321–61, among others.

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his leadership in initiatives for improved health care that would reach more of the American population. His work is at once spiritual, religious, personal, and political, and those connections are especially fostered in African American churches, where boundaries between social spheres are very permeable, and moral living is defined and modeled across all those lines.17 Another organizational reality that gives congregations their moral impact is their significance as hubs for the formation of and connections among charitable organizations. This may be especially characteristic of u.s. congregations, given both the American voluntary religious regime and the weak u.s. welfare state. That is, there is both need and opportunity, and u.s. congregations are critical players in mobilizing collective energies. The larger of them may organize their own locally-run programs of community service and encourage their members to turn their moral concerns into voluntary action serving meals or providing shelter or tutoring children.18 As we have studied congregations all over the country, however, it has become clear that a great deal of what they do in the community is not done through the mechanism of beginning their own individually-run programs. Far more common are complex networks of organizational partnerships—connections that include everything from informal coalitions among churches to formal programs run with government funds to

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Important sources on the culture of black churches include Allison Calhoun-Brown, “While marching to Zion: Otherworldliness and Racial Empowerment in the Black Community,” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 37(3) (1998): 427–39; Omar Maurice McRoberts, Streets of Glory: Church and Community in a Black Urban Neighborhood (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003); Mary Pattillo-McCoy, “Church Culture as a Strategy of Action in the Black Community,” American Sociological Review 63 (1998): 767–84; and the classic C. Eric Lincoln and Lawrence H. Mamiya, The Black Church in the African American Experience (Durham: Duke University Press, 1990). The literature on this phenomenon has grown quite large. See, for example, Mark Chaves, “Religious Congregations and Welfare Reform: Who Will Take Advantage of ‘Charitable Choice’?,” American Sociological Review 64 (1999): 836–46; Ram A. Cnaan, et al., The Invisible Caring Hand: American Congregations and the Provision of Welfare (New York: New York University Press, 2002); Arthur Emery Farnsley ii, Rising Expectations: Urban Congregations, Welfare Reform, and Civic Life (Bloomington, in: Indiana University Press, 2003); Peter Dobkin Hall, “Founded on the Rock, Built Upon Shifting Sands: Churches, Voluntary Associations, and Nonprofit Organizations in Public Life, 1850–1990,” (Presented to the Annual Meeting of Arnova, 1996); Paula F. Pipes and Helen Rose Ebaugh, “Faith-Based Coalitions, Social Services, and Government Funding,” Sociology of Religion 63 (2002): 49–68, and Robert Wuthnow, Saving America? Faith-Based Services and the Future of Civil Society (Princeton, nj: Princeton University Press, 2004). My own work is documented in Ammerman, Pillars of Faith.

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support for religious and secular nonprofit agencies locally and around the world. Both the individual programs and the partnerships provide a mechanism through which individuals can pursue the moral imperative to “help people in need” and to “make the world a better place.” Almost three quarters of the congregations we surveyed in the late 1990s had at least one connection to a community organization that provides immediate aid. They help to house runaway teens; provide safe spaces for battered women and children and temporary shelter for homeless people, as well as meals and food for people who are hungry. Somewhat less common, but still present, is participation in organizations that foster community development, civic wellbeing, or long-term economic and social change. The typical congregation also provides support for organizations that enhance the educational, cultural, and personal wellbeing of the community—scout troops and nursery schools, senior centers and sports leagues. In addition, there are arts organizations that use church buildings for rehearsals, performances and lessons. Churches support formal and informal programs of tutoring, after-school care, and literacy classes. They contribute to programs of education and service provision for people with aids or unwanted pregnancies, for handicapped persons, people contemplating adoption, and the like. They support and refer parishioners to counseling centers of all sorts. And they cooperate with others in delivering spiritual care to people in hospitals, nursing homes, on college campuses, and even in police and fire departments. All kinds of Christian congregations are involved in these partnerships, as are Jews, but Mainline Protestants are far more involved than anyone else. A good example of this pattern is Stan Morris’ story, told as part of the Spiritual Narratives project. He recounted his daughter’s trip to Honduras with a group from Grimsby Congregational church. There they worked with Habitat for Humanity (a large nonprofit) on building a house for a needy family. For Stan, this sort of investment in helping others was held up as a moral example, and it was his church and its wider partnerships that made action possible. Sometimes congregations are providing space, money, and other r­esources, but, like Grimsby Congregational, they are also very likely to be p ­ roviding volunteers. Each u.s. congregation contributes, on average, volunteers to three other organizations, and that does not count the smaller internal church groups that may undertake projects, as well. It also does not begin to count the number of groups in which individual members work, not as official representatives of their congregations, but at least in part because their congregation encourages them to do it. In fact, sixty percent of the individual members we surveyed in the late 1990s claim that they participate in ­community service

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organizations at least a few times a year, and seventy-five percent claim that they at least occasionally provide informal service to people in need.19 People who participate in congregational life are simply more likely to volunteer in the community than are people who do not attend services.20 In fact, church participation is one of the best predictors of participation in service activities in the community. Caring for communities and caring for each other is not a zero-sum proposition. Volunteering does not come at the expense of religious participation, nor does religious participation come at the expense of community service. The very participants who are most deeply involved in service to their communities are the people who are also most active in the worship and fellowship activities of their congregations. People in congregations of all sorts want to salve some of society’s wounds, and most of them recognize that they cannot respond to all the need around them with only their own resources. They need to work with others, pooling money, personpower, and expertise that can go beyond a quick handout at the door. Doing good for people in need and seeking to change the structures of society are simply part of what congregations do. If those moral imperatives are ever visible, it is surely in times of disaster, when the routine motivations and connections nurtured in congregations are brought to the fore.21 When riots struck Los Angeles in 1992, for instance, congregations became a primary organizing point for recovery. That was possible because they were already present in the community, but also because they were already linked to denominations and other organizations that mobilized volunteers and resources. A disruption activated nascent connections. After September 11, similar mobilization of nascent networks occurred.22 And we saw it again after Katrina. Volunteers from the whole range of American religious communities found themselves working together to respond to disaster. 19

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Nancy T. Ammerman, “Religious Narratives, Community Service, and Everyday Public Life,” in Taking Faith Seriously, ed. Mary Jo Bane, et al. (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005), 146–74. See also Robert D. Putnam and David E. Campbell, American Grace: How Religion Divides and Unites Us (New York: Simon & Schuster, 2010). See Grace Davie, “Vicarious Religion: A Methodological Challenge,” in Everyday Religion: Observing Modern Religious Lives, ed. Nancy T. Ammerman (New York: Oxford University Press, 2006), 21–36. On Los Angeles, see Orr, et al., Politics of the Spirit: Religion and Multiethnicity in Los Angeles (Los Angeles: University of Southern California, 1994). On September 11, see Nancy T. Ammerman, “Grieving Together: September 11 as a Measure of Social Capital in the u.s.,” in September 11: Religious Perspectives on the Causes and Consequences, ed. Ian Markham and Ibrahim Abu Rabi (London: Oneworld Publications, 2002), 53–73.

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What we have seen so far, then, is that people who are involved in religious communities talk about the moral values that shape their lives in terms of both personal character—being honest, kind, helpful, and the like—and communal commitment—helping the needy and making positive contributions to the larger community. What we have not yet addressed are the issues of morality often associated with religious communities, namely the do’s and don’ts, especially related to sexuality. The questions we asked in the Spiritual Narratives project were admittedly not aimed at getting a checklist of all the things people approve or disapprove. Rather, our conversations with them aimed at uncovering the things about which they are most concerned, the kinds of behavior and the ethical issues they put at the center of what is right and wrong in the world. Because we asked them to tell us stories, the subjects they chose were about concrete observations and dilemmas rather than abstract political issues. So despite the hot-button character of abortion and homosexuality, neither subject came up in more than a handful of conversations. Three of our twenty Conservative Protestants and an equal number of our Catholics named abortion as a moral evil they hoped to combat in their everyday lives. An equally small number of Conservative Protestants also named gay marriage and “the gay lifestyle” as immoral. On both those issues, however, they are outnumbered by Mainline Protestants and by other Catholics who declared themselves pro-choice and in support of gay rights. To the extent that these American churchgoers link their sense of sexual morality to their religious and spiritual identities, they are more likely to advocate a healthy and accepting sexual ethic rather than lobbying for a restrictive one. The loud voices of the activists notwithstanding. If sex is rarely talked about, neither is money. Again, it is a handful of our participants who linked their faith with their economic lives, and very few of those implicated their churches or synagogues in teaching them economic morality.23 A few mentioned the virtue of hard work or taking personal responsibility and paying one’s bills, and a few others mused that an ideal world would involve both shared work and shared reward. The issues of materialism and greed came up occasionally, but Jessica Fletcher, a young member of Atlanta’s (neo-pentecostal) Vineyard church, was unusual in the long reflection on materialism she recorded in her oral diary for us. It’s something that I think that is a real problem in modern Christianity is the concept of materialism. You know, most people shrug their material 23

This is consistent with the findings of Robert Wuthnow, God and Mammon in America (New York: Free Press, 1994).

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gifts off, because, you know, we are always told to use our gifts for the betterment of others, for the spiritual fulfillment of our brothers and sisters. And so, you know, I think a lot of people justify the big house and the big car…but I don’t really see too many people using their suv’s to witness to homeless people or, you know, I don’t really see too many people using the eight spare bedrooms in their homes to house missionaries or, you know, take in underprivileged children. So, you know, I just, I feel like I don’t have much, but I feel like if I were given much, that I would accept the greater responsibility of using those, you know, to further God’s kingdom. This sort of commitment to an altruistic economic ethic was somewhat more likely among the most spiritually serious and somewhat less likely among the disaffiliated, but it was not a common theme among any types of our participants. 4

Morality beyond the Traditional Religious Communities

The link between moral commitments and religious traditions was not always evident, however. Elizabeth Evans is an active Catholic and works in public health at the u.s. Centers for Disease Control and Prevention in Atlanta. She had a long list of moral ills she tries to address in her work, starting with the need for basic education and reproductive and family planning assistance for women. For her, gender inequality, economic inequity, and dishonesty is all “social justice stuff,” but in spite of her Catholic tradition’s social justice teachings, she said, “I mean the church just didn’t get some of these things.” She stayed in the Church, in spite of her frustration, but many others did not. Sometimes attending and non-attending people shared very similar moral concerns. As Christmas approached during the time he was doing oral diaries for us, Greg Collins (a disaffected Catholic) contemplated the idea of buying and receiving gifts with some dismay. I walked around and looked, the more I looked—and it was like, God, I’ve got so much stuff, and it’s just stuff…It seems really counterproductive. It seems like it’s leading me in the wrong direction…I really feel like life is complicated when you have a lot of stuff, and that it would be much simpler if I had gotten rid of some of this stuff…A lot of the things I have really don’t have any meaning to me. They’re just things.

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There is no apparent overarching moral philosophy that informs his distrust of “stuff,” but he has the nagging sense that material goods are not leading him in the right direction. When marginal members like Greg talked about the moral compass that should guide their lives, they sometimes named the sorts of personal and communal virtues we heard about from those who are part of a religious community—individual honesty and kindness, along with a collective sense of responsibility to people in need. Interestingly, many of them referenced religion when they talked about these virtues, even as they made clear that they were claiming the moral teachings and not the way those teachings have been instantiated in the religions of the day. Robin Mitchell, a forty-something financial planner in Boston (and a secular Jew) said, If there’s anything in the Bible that I would resonate with it would the idea of Jesus. Not the idea of Jesus, excuse me, the teachings of Jesus. He seemed sort of like a John Lennon type, and I think it’s just a shame that what has been layered onto Christianity obscures so thickly the basic message of loving thy neighbor and taking care of other people. Even those who are not involved in a religious community can nevertheless draw on culturally-available religious resources to guide their moral lives. Like other disaffiliated people in our study, Robin’s moral focus tends toward the big picture—war and peace, caring for the earth, fighting aids. Environmental concern was, in fact, disproportionately likely to come up in the stories of people outside traditional religious communities, compared to those who regularly participate in churches and synagogues. The neo-pagans in our study were especially attuned to earth-care. As Laura Henderson put it, “It’s an earth-based religion. I try to think of that and how that affects—what I do affects this earth every day.” She and most of the others who placed the environment in their circle of moral concern were very likely to talk about that concern in active terms. They might not be able to prevent global warming, but they were doing their part to recycle, to reduce their carbon footprint, and the like. They could draw on a range of cultural messages, secular organizations, and practical strategies to lend agency to this moral concern. For both the traditionally-religious and those outside traditional religious communities, care for the earth was often seen in spiritual terms. As we listened to how our participants described what it means to be spiritual, one of the common modes of discourse centered on an attitude of awe before something beautiful, powerful, and out of the ordinary—very often experiences

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encountered in nature. This is a way of thinking about spirituality that exists both inside and outside religious communities, and for at least some people the spiritual character of the natural world carries over into a moral commitment to care and a practical effort to act accordingly. While some religious communities undoubtedly amplify this concern and provide organized ways to act, this is a moral concern that has gained broad traction in the culture at large and is claimed by people who have no religious affiliation at all.24 The single most distinctive moral issue raised by those who are not active in traditional religious communities was the problem of religious intolerance. It is perhaps not surprising that those on the outside of America’s religious establishment would be especially sensitive to the need for a greater measure of tolerance. Laura Henderson talked about all the misconceptions she encounters in her southern community, often hearing her Wiccan path characterized as “satanist.” In contrast, she said, One thing I do like about this path is that we seem to be very tolerant. We don’t necessarily like what other people say about us, but we’re very tolerant because we’ve been so prejudiced [against] that we’re very tolerant of what people pick as their religion. It just simply doesn’t matter to us. As long as you’re a good person and you follow something, that’s sort of what we care about. Similarly, Carlos Fernandez, an Atlanta doctor who no longer participates in the Catholic traditions of his upbringing said, The ideal would be that people would get along and would be willing to listen to other people’s opinions and, you know, have that tolerance for the way other people think, the way other people live. And not n ­ ecessarily feel as if, you know, just because I think this is the way it should be that everyone has to think the same way. Of the eleven people who mentioned intolerance as a moral problem, only one was a regular participant in a Christian congregation.25 What non-affiliates 24

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On religious environmentalism, see Laurel Kearns and Rosemary Skinner Keller, ed., Ecospirit: Religions and Philosophies for the Earth (New York: Fordham University Press, 2007) and Michael Moody, “Caring for Creation: Environmental Advocacy by Mainline Protestant Organizations,” in The Quiet Hand of God, ed. Robert Wuthnow and John Evans (Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002), 237–64. On tolerance, see also Putnam and Campbell, American Grace.

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and marginal members bring to the moral table, then, is both a special sensitivity to the problem of exclusion and a willingness to contemplate the large structural dilemmas that face the human community. 5 Conclusion The United States remains a highly religious country, and in the u.s., ­religion is extensively organized into a set of voluntary organizations that can be found on seemingly every block. While there may be many other i­ nstitutional sources for moral education, the pervasiveness of local congregations and their network of affiliated organizations means that they would be expected to play a significant role. As congregations are institutionally constituted in the u.s. cultural system, they are expected to provide opportunities for worship and religious education, for fellowship and mutual care, and for service to the broader community. Each of these functions, as we have seen, has important implications for the moral lives of their participants. Worship rituals sanctify moral ideals and perspectives; fellowship provides spaces for debate and discernment and modeling; and the network of voluntary o­ rganizing facilitates engagement in pursuing moral goals in the community. The result is that religious participants have a fuller vocabulary of moral concerns and a more active engagement in pursuing those concerns, as compared to non-participants. The moral vision religious participants are pursuing is rarely focused on sexuality, and they tend to take for granted questions of personal honesty and abstaining from violence. Instead, their moral energies are turned toward ­cultivating virtues of kindness, hospitality, charity, and service to others. These virtues are both elements of personal character to be exhibited in home and congregation and also ways of being in the everyday world that extends to work, neighborhood, and far-flung communities in need. Those outside traditional American religious communities are certainly not without moral sensibilities. They are especially aware of the need for religious tolerance, an issue that is something of a moral blind spot for people inside religious traditions. Beyond that, religious “nones” are less likely to talk about Golden Rule virtues and more likely to see the moral needs of the world in structural and political terms. Seeing the big picture, however, seems more ­often to engender a sense of powerlessness than a path to activism. They lack the ready voluntary infrastructure provided by local congregations and more often express a sense that nothing can be done about the problems they see. When they do engage in action in pursuit of their moral goals, it is more likely

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to be political action or charitable contributions, in contrast to the voluntary service activities of religious participants. All of that is, of course, shaped by the American religious and political situation. A robust voluntary and pluralistic array of local religious communities means that American society has come to depend on those communities as sites of moral formation and nodes of service provision. In societies where religion and/or service provision are organized differently, the structure of moral action may look quite different. In the u.s. today, however, the link between religious participation and moral action is strong. References Ammerman, Nancy T. “Golden Rule Christianity: Lived Religion in the American ­Mainstream.” Pages 196–216 in Lived Religion in America: Toward a History of P­ ractice. Edited by David Hall. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1997. Ammerman, Nancy T. “Grieving Together: September 11 as a Measure of Social C ­ apital in the U.S.” Pages 53–73 in September 11: Religious Perspectives on the Causes and Consequences. Edited by Ian Markham and Ibrahim Abu Rabi. London: Oneworld Publications, 2002. Ammerman, Nancy T. Pillars of Faith: American Congregations and Their Partners. Berkeley, CA: University of California Press, 2005. Ammerman, Nancy T. “Religious Narratives, Community Service, and Everyday Public Life.” Pages 146–74 in Taking Faith Seriously. Edited by Mary Jo Bane, Brent Coffin, and Richard Higgins. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005. Ammerman, Nancy T. “Spiritual but not Religious? Beyond Binary Choices in the Study of Religion.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 52(2) (2013): 258–78. Ammerman, Nancy T. Sacred Stories, Spiritual Tribes: Finding Religion in Everyday Life. New York: Oxford University Press, 2013. Ammerman, Nancy T., and Roman R. Williams. “Speaking of Methods: Eliciting ­Religious Narratives through Interviews, Photos, and Oral Diaries” In Annual Review of the Sociology of Religion: New Methods in Sociology of Religion. Edited by Luigi Berzano and Ole Riis. Leiden: Brill, 2012. Calhoun-Brown, Allison. “While Marching to Zion: Otherworldliness and Racial Empowerment in the Black Community.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 37 (3) (1998): 427–439. Chaves, Mark. “Religious Congregations and Welfare Reform: Who Will Take ­Advantage of ‘Charitable Choice’?” American Sociological Review 64 (1999): 836–46. Cnaan, Ram A., Stephanie C. Boddie, Femida Handy, Gaynor I. Yancey, and Richard Schneider. The Invisible Caring Hand: American Congregations and the Provision of Welfare. New York: New York University Press, 2002.

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Davie, Grace. “Vicarious Religion: A Methodological Challenge.” Pages 21–36 in ­Everyday Religion: Observing Modern Religious Lives. Edited by Nancy T. Ammerman. New York: Oxford University Press, 2006. Farnsley II, Arthur Emery. Rising Expectations: Urban Congregations, Welfare Reform, and Civic Life. Bloomington, IN: Indiana University Press, 2003. Fields, Karen E. “Charismatic Religion as Popular Protest: The Ordinary and the ­Extraordinary in Social Movements.” Theory and Society 11 (1982): 321–61. Hall, Peter Dobkin. “Founded on the Rock, Built Upon Shifting Sands: Churches, ­Voluntary Associations, and Nonprofit Organizations in Public Life, 1850–1990.” ­Presented to the Annual Meeting of Arnova, 1996. Hout, Michael, and Claude Fischer. “Why More Americans Have No Religious Preference: Politics and Generations.” American Sociological Review 67 (2002): 165–90. Kearns, Laurel, and Rosemary Skinner Keller, eds. Ecospirit: Religions and Philosophies for the Earth. New York: Fordham University Press, 2007. Lincoln, C. Eric, and Lawrence H. Mamiya. The Black Church in the African American Experience. Durham: Duke University Press, 1990. McRoberts, Omar Maurice. Streets of Glory: Church and Community in a Black Urban Neighborhood. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 2003. Moody, Michael. “Caring for Creation: Environmental Advocacy by Mainline P ­ rotestant Organizations.” Pages 237–64 in The Quiet Hand of God. Edited by Robert Wuthnow and John Evans. Berkeley: University of California Press, 2002. Nelson, Timothy J. “The Church and the Street: Race, Class, and Congregation.” Pages 169–90 in Contemporary American Religion. Edited by Penny Edgell Becker and ­Nancy L. Eiesland. Walnut Creek, CA: AltaMira Press, 1997. Orr, John B., Donald E. Miller, Wade Clark Roof, and J. Gordon Melton. Politics of the Spirit: Religion and Multiethnicity in Los Angeles. Los Angeles: University of ­Southern California, 1994. Pattillo-McCoy, Mary. “Church Culture as a Strategy of Action in the Black Community.” American Sociological Review 63 (1998): 767–84. Pipes, Paula F., and Helen Rose Ebaugh. “Faith-Based Coalitions, Social Services, and Government Funding.” Sociology of Religion 63 (2002): 49–68. Putnam, Robert D., and David E. Campbell. American Grace: How Religion Divides and Unites Us. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2010. Putnam, Robert D. Bowling Alone: The Collapse and Revival of American Community. New York: Simon & Schuster, 2000. Religion and Public Life, Pew Forum on. U.S. Religious Landscape Survey [internet]. Pew Forum, 2008 [cited July 19 2008]. Available from http://www.pewforum.org/ religious-landscape-study/. Turner, Bryan S. “Preface to the New Edition.” Pages xii–xxviii in From Max Weber. ­Edited by H.H. Gerth and C. Wright Mills. Abingdon, U.K.: Routledge, 1991.

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Turner, Victor, The Ritual Process. Ithaca, New York: Cornell University Press, 1977. Verba, Sidney, Kay Lehman Schlozman, and Henry E. Brady. Voice and Equality: Civic Voluntarism in American Politics. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1995. Williams, Roman R. “Space for God: Lived Religion at Work, Home, and Play.” Sociology of Religion 71 (2010): 257–79. Wuthnow, Robert. God and Mammon in America. New York: Free Press, 1994. Wuthnow, Robert. Saving America? Faith-Based Services and the Future of Civil Society. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004.

Religion and Moral Choice: Does an Innate Moral Sense Account for Religion’s Influence on Moral Choice? Kristen Monroe 1 Introduction What is the importance of religion for morality? My own work on this topic has focused on altruism, not morality per se. The Heart of Altruism1 and The Hand of Compassion2 found religion was not a consistent, significant influence of altruism. Instead, I found that how one saw one’s self in relation to others was critical in establishing what I called the altruistic perspective, a sense of connection with the person in need that led to a felt imperative to act to alleviate the person’s suffering. Religion was one of many trigger factors that could result in the actor experiencing this altruistic perspective but religion itself I did not find was sufficient to cause altruism. I realize that other scholars have found religion an influence on altruism, however, as on morality itself, and as I prepared my chapter for this volume, I wondered how their findings might be reconciled with my own more negative findings. I have more questions than answers. What I would like to present are some thoughts about religion and how we might construct a general theory of moral choice that would allow for religion’s influences on morality in a variety of subtle ways. To do this let me begin (Section 2) by reviewing the empirical data that led me to believe that at least a significant number of moral choices are spontaneous, not subject to the conscious calculus we traditionally employ when discussing moral dilemmas, as in Utilitarianism or Kantian ethics. The implications of my analysis of these data are that moral decisions are not the result of deliberation in which religious admonitions, or any other conscious considerations, are brought to bear on the choice at hand. In Section 3, I suggest a theory of moral choice designed to explain these situations in which, as one of the rescuers I interviewed told me, “The hand of compassion was faster 1 Kristen Renwick Monroe, The Heart of Altruism: Perceptions of a Common Humanity (Princeton, nj: Princeton University Press, 1994). 2 Kristen Renwick Monroe, The Hand of Compassion: Portraits of Moral Choice during the Holocaust (Princeton, nj: Princeton University Press, 2004).

© koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi 10.1163/9789004343535_016

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than the calculus of reason.” In Section 4, I want to raise a few questions about the extent to which religious training and convictions might enter into this kind of pre-conscious, spontaneous choice, either via identity or via an innate sense of right and wrong. I will suggest what is probably a minority view but one which we should nonetheless address and consider directly, that is, that the importance of religion for morality comes from the degree to which religious teachings correspond and tap into an innate moral sense that provides human being with an inborn ethical framework for thinking about morality. 2

Empirical Work as Foundation for Theory

The Heart of Altruism: Portraits of a Common Humanity3 presented results from survey and narrative interviews with entrepreneurs, philanthropists, heroes, and rescuers of Jews during the Holocaust. Findings suggested altruism is explained not by traditional demographic forces—such as religion, education, gender, or other sociodemographic characteristics—or from theories based on self-interest, such as cost-benefit analysis, rational choice theory or evolutionary biological explanations stressing kin selection or group selection. Instead, psychological factors, especially identity and sense of self in relation to others proved critical. The Hand of Compassion: Moral Choice during the Holocaust4 made a closer examination of rescuers or Jews to ask about the more precise nature of the psychological process underlying altruism. It treated altruism as an analytical lens to lend insight into moral and ethical issues and found identity trumps choice. How we see ourselves in relation to others sets and delineates the range of acts we find available, not just morally but empirically. Ethics in an Age of Terror and Genocide5 asked whether the ethical framework found among rescuers has an analogue for other people. In other words, are all people as constrained by their identities as rescuers are and, if so, what constitutes the critical contours in an underlying ethical framework we all might possess? 2.1 Identity Sets and Constrains Choice Using a respondent-driven snowball sample, I interviewed over 100 people who lived through World War ii and categorized them into bystanders, rescuers or Nazi supporters. Some interviews served only as background, with 3 Monroe, The Heart of Altruism. 4 Monroe, The Hand of Compassion. 5 Kristen Renwick Monroe, Ethics in an Age of Terror and Genocide: Identity and Moral Choice (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012).

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respondents asking not to be described only quoted; other interviews were formal and were transcribed and served as text for analysis by independent coders. Results from these interviews suggested that self-image and identity— especially our sense of self in relation to others and the way we view ourselves in relation to the world—set and delineate the range of choice options we find available, not just morally but cognitively. People’s worldview determined whether they saw themselves as people who could help or as people who were helpless observers of political events, under threat and fighting for their very existence. Core values integrated into the speakers’ sense of self create canonical expectations about what kind of behavior they believed normal and appropriate. A sense of moral salience moved rescuers beyond mere sympathy for the suffering of others to create a moral imperative to act. It was the speakers’ cognitive categorization system that established a critical relationship between “the other,” moving individuals in need into a classification of someone “just like us” or reducing them to strangers perceived as different, threatening, or even people considered beyond the boundaries of the community of concern. Overall, these findings suggest psychological dehumanization is a prerequisite for genocidal aggression, and show how the moral psychology works through the re-classification of “the other” to determine our response to another’s suffering. Let me now present several illustrations of these findings and then suggest how I used these findings on the psychology surrounding genocide to develop a broader theory of moral choice, one applicable to other forms of ethnic, religious, racial, and sectarian prejudice, aggression and violence. Empirical Differences between Rescuers, Bystanders and Nazi Supporters: Cognitive Categorization, Idealized Cognitive Models, and Agency Interestingly, all participants interviewed emphasized the importance of identity. Surprisingly, no one spoke of any kind of agonistic choice. Survivors noted of rescuers, “These were not people making choices on reflection. They just had to do it because that’s the kind of people they were.”6 Rescuers themselves explained their behavior through reference to identity, revealing a strikingly similar sense of how they saw themselves in relation to others. Indeed, rescuer after rescuer used such similar phrases that it became a kind of leitmotif. “But what else could I do?” they would ask when probed on why they risked their lives for strangers. “They were human beings, like you

2.2

6 “Emmanuel Tanay,” in The Courage to Care, ed. C. Rittner and S. Myers (New York: New York University Press, 1989), 57.

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and me.” This linking of identity with choice was conspicuous, and focused on a categorization system in which all people—rescuer, Nazi and Nazi victims— were classed as human beings who were similar not different. Tony (rescuer): We all are like cells of a community that is very important. Not America. I mean the human race…every other person is basically you. You should ­always treat people as though it is you. That goes for evil Nazis as well as for Jewish friends who are in trouble. For rescuers like Tony, all human beings—even “evil Nazis” are classed in the same category. All rescuers expressed this sense of being people strongly connected to others via bonds of a common humanity, bonds which then led to a sense of moral salience, the feeling that another’s suffering was relevant for them, that it demanded action to help, not just generalized feelings of sympathy or concern. This moral salience foreclosed other options. Not helping was simply not imaginable for rescuers. Rescuers’ moral life was complex, and their sense of who they were might be highly related to duty for one person, to role models, socialization, or religion for another. Even, sometimes, I found what seemed an innate pre-disposition to do good. All of these factors were mentioned by different rescuers as explanations for their behavior. But what was not mentioned was choice. Agonistic choice, that staple of Western artistic and scholarly analysis, never was mentioned as a factor in rescuers’ moral acts. Bystanders expressed a similar lack of choice but articulated none of the sense of moral salience found among rescuers. Tony’s cousin Beatrix reflects the bystander self-image: passive, with a low sense of agency in which the speaker describes herself as helpless, low in efficacy, and fatalistic. Beatrix has no choice because she has no ability to help. The bystander refrain was: “But what else could I do? I was alone against the Nazis.” The same lack of choice, but vastly different perceptions of themselves in relation to others, and enormously different behavior. This lack of choice I found a startling omission. The link between lack of agency and choice was clear in the bystanders’ protestations that they did not know anything about what was going on during the war, as demonstrated in the following exchange with Beatrix, Tony’s bystander cousin: Q. Did you know about the concentration camps during the war? Beatrix: Yes. Q. Did you know that the Jews were being gassed? Beatrix: Yes. I can’t tell you who told this, but my husband heard a lot…

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Q. How did you react? Beatrix: You couldn’t do anything. Q. There was nothing you could do. Beatrix: No. No…[Long pause.] You could not do anything. Another interviewee was a German I call Kurt. Kurt was drafted into service and said he did not like the Nazis, yet explained how he had to fight for them anyway. Why? Because he had no choice. Q. Do you have a feeling that you were caught up in history? You keep mentioning these other things repeating themselves…[Kurt became agitated and interrupted.] Kurt: Ya. Why do we do this again? Q. But I’m hearing…a kind of futility at doing it again and yet you kept on doing it. Does it never occur to you…?[Kurt interrupted, with some vehemence.] Kurt: Ya. Can I change this? I have no power to change this! Certainly, there is much objective evidence to suggest why Kurt might have had to fight for the fatherland, but—significantly—Kurt did not mention these. Instead, his explanation stressed the winds of history, forces beyond his ability to influence, not the Gestapo or specific retaliation or even fear. This view is shared with Nazi supporters, including a Dutchman who wrote propaganda for the Nazis and was an enthusiastic member of the party during the war. Q. Did you know much about what went on with the Jews? Fritz (Nazi Propagandist): Not much…I did know that there were concentration camps. But I didn’t know what was happening there. You stick your head in the sand, like an ostrich. Q. You stuck your head in the sand. Fritz: Yes, I must say now. Q. You didn’t really want to know about it? Fritz: No. Q. You never thought about helping anybody or trying to hide anyone? Fritz: I hadn’t the possibility to help people. I didn’t see the need of it at that time. I didn’t know what was happening. This link between not knowing—whether the ignorance was carefully cultivated or subconscious in origin—and not helping was evident for many Nazi supporters and bystanders I interviewed. The importance of this link has been

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noted before, by survivor Primo Levi, among others: “Shutting his mouth, his eyes and his ears, he [the average German] built for himself the illusion of not knowing, hence not being an accomplice to the things taking place in front of his very door.”7 A Dutch bystander makes clear how this linkage works psychologically, as she describes how she obtained her lovely home, from a doctor who sold his practice and left Holland for some reason “unknown” to Beatrix. Beatrix: It was a very old-fashioned home, and so we had in the attic…we made a part where you could go away to hide. Q. Was there anyone you were hiding? Beatrix: My husband had been taken away once; for one day. That [happened] with all the [medical] specialists, because they had taken their name plate from the doors. After one day he could come back home. Q. So you had a hiding place for your husband to hide. Beatrix: He hasn’t been there, but our neighbor of the other side, he had to hide for a certain moment. Q. Why was he hiding? Beatrix: I don’t remember why. Q. Was he Jewish? Beatrix: He wasn’t Jewish, no. Because if you were Jewish you were immediately away or you had gone to Africa. When my husband made that trip to Africa, a lot of Jewish people were abroad. We saw it already coming. Q. But you were not hiding Jews in the attic? Beatrix: No. Q. Did you know any people who were Jewish at that time? Beatrix: Yes. Q. But nobody approached you… Beatrix: No, because there were a lot of Jews who stayed there and didn’t want to hide. After some times, they were taken away too because a lot of Jews who lived normally, and had only to wear the Star of David. Yes. He had known in the hospital because there have been several Jews put away so nobody knew… Q. They were hidden in the hospital… Beatrix: Yes. Q. And your husband knew about this. Beatrix: He knew about this, yes… Q. How about during the war. Were you involved in any of the politics that was going on then during the war? 7 Primo Levi, The Reawakening (ny: Collier, 1965/1993), 215.

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Beatrix: No. There were no…they were all the same against the Germans. I am such a terrible woman that still I should not like it one of my children was married to a German. I always have something against the Germans… Q. Because of the war? Beatrix: Yes, because of that. There were a lot of German boys who didn’t like it at all and had to do it. Q. But you didn’t get involved in any of the anti-German activities during the war yourself? Beatrix: No. Q. You were kind of the normal citizen…normal average person if you will. Did you know what was going on? What was your impression of what was happening? Did you… Beatrix: Did I know? Q. Yes. What did you think was the situation for the Jews? You said a lot of them that you knew went to Africa…the man who sold your husband [his practice and your house]… Beatrix: Yes. And they went to a camp in the neighborhood, I can’t say the name. I knew it… Q. What kind of camp was it? Beatrix: Those camps. There was no gas, but they had a very bad life. Q. So it was a work camp? Beatrix: Yes. Q. Did you know about the concentration camps during the war? Beatrix: Yes. Q. Did you know that the Jews were being gassed? Beatrix: Yes. I can’t tell you who told this, but my husband heard a lot when he worked in the hospitals. Q. How did you react? Beatrix: You couldn’t do anything. Q. There was nothing you could do. Beatrix: No. No. All the Jews I knew were already away. [Long pause.] No. Q. So there was nobody you knew who was still here. They had all gone. Beatrix: Basically, yes. I knew no-one, but still there were Jews, and they had their sign. But [pause] no. Q. Did you just feel that you were kind of helpless in this situation to do anything, to stop it from happening? Beatrix: You could not do anything. You could hide them. But you have help in the house. [Shrugged.] We had too much people around because we had a practice at home…You couldn’t do anything.

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Q. So you basically just tried to lay low and make it through and avoid the Germans as much as possible. Beatrix: I must honestly tell you that I knew everything on the minute exactly about my news… Q. So you didn’t want to know anything… Beatrix: No. The above exchange reveals how the psychological process of denial and ignorance involves twists among bystanders like Beatrix, with Beatrix’s inability to help related to her canonical expectations about “the good life,” in Beatrix’s case the leisure time provided her by having help in the house. Beatrix ignores the fact that many rescuers worked with their domestic help to hide Jews. Another important explanation for behavior was the idealized cognitive models people carried around inside their heads. In this case, we can see how Beatrix’s concept of what it means to be a human being and to have a good life enters her political psychology. For Beatrix, the good life is heavily materialistic, having the leisure time to play squash and tennis. In contrast, rescuers spoke of the good life as one that involves helping other people. For rescuers, happiness comes not from leisure time or material possessions but rather from sharing with others. The political psychology of the Nazis resembles something out of Alicein-wonderland. Florentine, the wife of one of the top two Dutch Nazis and herself prominent in Nazi activities before her marriage, was totally unrepentant, a true believer who remained staunchly loyal to her Nazi ideals, even after her husband was captured and killed by his Canadian captors. (Independent sources confirm this view.) Florentine devoted the rest of her life to traveling around the world, speaking on behalf of Nazi causes and “­telling people the truth” about what happened during World War ii. Her view of the Nazis as simple, trusting people, tricked and threatened by Jews, resembled other Nazis’ worldviews. It is not unique and, as bizarre as it might sound, it is a worldview in which the Nazis become the victims of Jewish plots. Q. So you think the Christians have treated the Jews too, uh, too well throughout history? Is that what you are saying? Florentine: We are too nice, I think. We are defenseless against them. Q. Why do you say that? What do you mean by that? I’m trying to understand your view…[A]re you thinking that the Holocaust was really made up? That it was not something [that was] real? Is that what you are suggesting?

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Florentine: It’s the biggest business in the world. Q. The biggest what? Florentine: Young Nazi. Business. The Jews themselves, they call the Holocaust a Shoah. A Show-a. There’s no business like Sho-ah business. That’s the Jews themselves who say so. And it is. Florentine: Yes, I agree. I agree. What is perhaps most striking is that for all of these individuals, identity, not agonistic, rational choice, seemed the key to explaining Holocaust behavior. Character counted more than the influences traditionally said to provide the impetus behind moral action (religion, education, gender, etc.) and emotions and feelings trumped the cool and impartial calculus of reason. These findings provided empirical foundation for scholarly accounts of virtue ethics, and for our more general understanding of why it is so important to develop good moral character. Yet, character is not all. It was the sense of one’s self in relation to other people that was decisive. It is not just identity but the perception of the relationship between the rescuer and “the other” that seems key. Beyond this, rescuers, bystanders and Nazi supporters differed significantly in their worldviews and their idealized cognitive model for what constitutes the good life. For bystanders such as Beatrix, happiness comes from having the time and the servants and the money to provide leisure that constitutes the good life, which Beatrix described as playing squash and tennis. Her cousin Tony and other Dutch rescuers reveal a distinctly different idealized cognitive model for the good life, one in which happiness comes from making others happy. A Dutch rescuer on the Gestapo Most Wanted List articulated this view. Q. You’re talking about practical aspects of life now. Before, it seemed to me that you were talking more about the meaning of life in some sense. You were speaking, if I may use that term, about what it means to be a human being. What does it mean to be a human being to you? John (Dutch rescuer): I have some privileges, we get in turn some responsibilities. To have the abilities of speech, of hearing. I can walk. I am thankful for what I have. My responsibility is to share with others. Because otherwise life would not be possible. I have seen in my life people who are selfish, and not happy. People who have power, and money, and everything, and they don’t have enough. Never enough. They are not happy. I have seen people who are unselfish, and happy, people who don’t have very much, and are happy with what they have. My ambition, my aim is to be happy. Then [you ask], how can you be happy? By being selfish? [John shook his head.]

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Q. You would not have been happier if you had simply taken all your family and sat out the war in Switzerland? After the war, you could have said, “At least my family is intact. I love them. I’ve been a good person. I haven’t done anything wrong.” You would not have been happier doing that? John: You have to do what is right. You have to think about more than yourself. You have to think about yourself, certainly. You have to eat, and have a home. But you must not concentrate on that. It is not my aim, it is not my rule to say, I, I, I. I have seen others around me, Salvation Army people, they are very happy. Why? Because they are helping. I see a lot of people who are very rich, but they don’t have enough. I think happiness comes through helping other people. I am convinced of that. I see it around me. I see it for myself. I am really happy. I can make other people happy. Q. When you spoke of being given certain gifts, and how these gifts entail certain obligations and duties, the things you mentioned were not being born into a wealthy family, or being born into the Dutch tradition of helping people. Instead, the things you mentioned as gifts are things such as the ability to speak and hear, things that every human being—except in rare cases—is born with. And yet, you speak of these as gifts. Are you suggesting that merely having the gift of life entails certain responsibilities? John: Yes, I think so. And I am happy that I can fulfill my responsibilities. In contrast, Nazi supporters linked happiness and self-image via the community. Their chief goal seemed not to be personal happiness but rather the need to protect the community. Main differences among the rescuers, bystanders and Nazis are summarized in Table 10.1.8 2.3 Implications of Findings My initial concern in constructing this analysis was two-fold. First, I tried to use the empirical findings illustrated above to answer two particular puzzles: (1) What causes genocide? And (2) Is there a psychological process by which universal and possibly innate human needs for consistency and self-esteem provide a foundation for moral action that is not based on religion, reason or externally imposed rules or laws?

8 A fuller discussion of this model and the theory that lies behind it is found in Monroe, Ethics in an Age of Terror and Genocide.

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Religion and Moral Choice Table 10.1 Ethical framework → Ethical perspective: critical parts and differences → Moral choice

Rescuer View of self/others All part of the human race

Bystander

Nazi supporter

Groups, Ostrich

Community, victims under siege, Aryan Superiority, elitist

Others

Humans Complex/ Strangers Forgive Nazis Aristotelian dissipation of moral energy: Psychological distancing ->out-groups lesser

Distance = threat Aristotelian dissipation of moral energy: Psychological distancing ->out-groups lesser

Worldview

Mixed

Deterioration

World harsh

Ontological security

Mixed

Weak

Threatened

Values, attitudes

Human well-being core of ethics

Mixed

Cultural, racial superiority

Agency

Ability effect change

Low efficacy Passive, helpless

Larger forces, historical forces provide agency

Categorization schema

Inclusive, broad In/out group porous boundaries Exclusive

Idealized cognitive Good life = helping Good life = material well-being, affluence models/ canonical others expectations

Rigid, hierarchical Exclusive Community key Good life = follow leader, group

→ Moral salience, felt imperative to act → Menu of choice options perceived as available. Identity trumps choice

In analyzing the importance of these findings for our understanding about what causes ordinary people to become killers, I found re-categorization of “the other,” framing of the political choice, and the emotional distancing of the other played key roles. In asking what causes some people to risk their lives and those of their families for strangers, the individual’s sense of moral salience and agency were critical. In thinking about the importance of these

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findings for broader themes in moral choice, I tried to develop a more general theory about moral choice that would capture some of the empirical behavior I found so surprising, at least initially. Let me now turn to a fuller discussion of this theory. 3

A Broader Theory of Moral Choice

The theory can be summarized as follows. Our moral choices reflect our basic sense of who we are in relation to others. Identity constrains moral choice through setting the range of options we perceive as available, not just morally but cognitively. Identity exerts its influence by filtering the actors’ sense of who they are in relation to others through the actors’ worldview, sense of ontological security, and idealized cognitive models. All these lead to a cognitive classification or categorization system that effectively creates a particular ethical perspective through which actors view the world, others around them and the situations demanding a moral choice. This process exists because identity is more basic than conscious choice. Much of political and moral behavior emanates in a psychological process that appears spontaneous, reflecting intuitions and emotions that affect how we see ourselves in relation to others at the time of action. Moral behavior does not result merely from conscious deliberation, although such conscious deliberations indeed may enter the equation. But what we say we have chosen may reflect who we are as much as, perhaps even more than, any conscious calculus based on reasoning. This dynamic model makes identity central to moral action. Predicting moral choice requires us to understand the ethical perspective of the actor at the moment action is taken. It is the ethical perspective that constitutes the link between the social and individual influences on behavior. To understand moral choice, we need to understand how these influences in turn relate to the critical role played by identity perceptions in deriving moral behavior and moral choice, whether that action takes the form of helping and peaceful cooperation or involves us in the stereotyping and prejudice that deteriorates into conflict, including ethnic, religious, racial, and sectarian violence. This theoretical framework makes the critical components for analysis identity and political psychology, including character, self-image or, more particularly, our sense of who we are in relation to others. The sense of self in relation to others works to cognitively classify or categorize others by working through the filters of our individual idealized cognitive models, worldviews, and sense of ontological security. The above forces come together to result in

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cognitive classification of others, which also works through framing of normative political choice to set the boundaries of entitlement, effectively differentiating those to whom we accord fellow feeling from those to whom we do not. This establishes moral salience, the feeling that moves us beyond a generalized sympathy at the plight of others to a felt imperative to act to alleviate another’s suffering. All of these will result in a normative political act, whether that act is one we find morally commendable, neutral or negative. This theory is designed to explain how the categorization and classification of others influences our treatment of them. What drives the theory is the basic human psychology. Each of us wants to be treated well. Recognizing that others have similar needs leads us to extend these universal rights of entitlement reciprocally, treating others as we ourselves wish to be treated. The moral psychology thus is reminiscent of tenants found in both religious teachings and philosophical systems of ethics. (Christianity’s Golden Rule is one obvious example.) Insofar as this ethical reciprocity is a fundamental correlate of our human capacity for intersubjective communication and the need to distinguish boundaries via categorization, ethical reciprocity is more basic than an intellectualized sense of duty or religion. Indeed, the power of both religious and philosophical admonitions may emanate from their resonance with the basic moral psychology. There are many aspects of this theory, presented more fully in Ethics in an Age of Terror and Genocide9 But let me turn now to discuss some of the implications of this theory for our main concern in this volume: religion’s influence on morality. In doing so, let me focus discussion on the extent to which there may be an innate sense of morality born into all people. 4

Implications of this Theory for Work on Religion and Morality

I begin by examining evidence relevant to what some may find a controversial claim inherent in my theory: the innate aspect of morality. I claim that the ethical acts emanate not so much from conscious choice but rather from deep-seated instincts, predispositions, and habitual patterns of behavior that are related to our central identity. These emanate and manifest themselves in diverse factors, such as genetic predispositions, social roles, or culturally inculcated norms. Culture provides a range of self-images but actors gravitate toward the image(s) which strikes a chord with their genetic propensities, with a 9 Monroe, Ethics in an Age of Terror and Genocide.

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powerful push coming from situational or contextual factors.10 The actor need not be consciously aware of this process although conscious recognition is part of the process; but our moral sense is instinctual and powerful, often more influential than conscious calculus. These claims are consistent with psychological experiments and theories of decision making that do not rely on conscious, rational analysis.11 The nature/ nurture debate over the origins of moral values seems more a red herring than a useful debate, and I prefer the concept of a phenotype, to refer to behavior or characteristics resulting from the expression of an organism’s genes as well as the influence of environmental factors and the possible interactions between the two. Indeed, I am prepared to believe human beings may be programmed to have certain innate moral senses.12 The extensive literature supporting this claim is too hard to ignore, ranging from recent scientific work in child development,13 evolutionary biology,14 behavioral economics,15 primatology,16 10 11

12

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John Weidner’s background so resembled that of Klaus Barbie, the notorious Nazi known as the Butcher of Lyon, that a movie had been made about the two men. D. Kahneman, P. Slovic, and A. Tversky, eds. Judgment Under Uncertainty: Heuristics and Biases (New York: Cambridge University Press, 1982); Herbert A. Simon, Models of Bounded Rationality, Vol 1 & 2 (Cambridge, ma: mit Press, 1982). Even extreme rational choice theorists (Milton Friedman, Essays in Positive Economics [Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1953], 22) allow that economic actors may rely on habit or random chance rather than conscious rational calculation, as long as the outcome produced corresponds to the outcome that would have occurred “as if” they had followed the rational calculus. Work in neurobiology linking emotions to cognition is moving toward expanding our understanding of why and how this process works, but the work remains in early stages. Interestingly, the modern concept of the self originated with John Locke, who conceptualized a tabula rasa self in which people are born without any innate ideas. Locke’s patron was Anthony Ashley Cooper, the 1st Earl of Shaftesbury. Locke arranged the marriage of Cooper’s son, the 2nd Earl and thus was responsible for the birth of the 3rd Earl, the man most closely associated with the origin of moral sense theory, arguing for an innate moral sense. The young man was tutored by Locke who, we may infer, was an excellent tutor who taught his young charge to think for himself. Jerome Kagan, The Second Year: The Emergence of Self-Awareness (Cambridge, ma: Harvard University Press, 1981). idem., Three Seductive Ideas (Cambridge, ma: Harvard University Press, 1998). Kristin E. Bonnie and Frans de Waal, “Primate Social Reciprocity and the Origin of Gratitude,” in The Psychology of Gratitude, ed. R.A. Emmons and M.E. McCullough (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004); Frans de Waal, Chimpanzee Politics: Politics and Sex Among Apes (Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1982). Samuel Bowles and Herbert Gintis, “Pro-Social Emotions,” Santa Fe Institute, Working Paper, 2002. Jane Goodall, The Chimpanzees of Gombe: Patterns of Behavior (Cambridge, ma: Harvard University Press, 1986); Robert Sapolsky, A Primate’s Memoir (ny: Touchstone Books, 2002).

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and linguistics.17 Haidt’s work18 suggesting people have natural disgust for certain behaviors, such as incest, and de Waal’s work19 suggesting an underlying primate proclivity for fairness, hierarchy and reciprocity are but two illustrations of this literature. Given its potential significance and its relative obscurity among current philosophical discussions among ethicists, scholars need to consider the literature on an innate moral sense more carefully.20 For example, what if people are born with a moral sense built into their neural circuitry?21 If they are, does this provide any content to the ethical framework? In other words, do human beings have any kind of innate moral sense or is the ethical framework I have posited simply a neutral scaffolding on which culture and socialization impart values, much as we have the innate capacity for grammar that waits to be filled in by culture and socialization? If so, how might this work? The original moral sense theory22 holds that morality is grounded in moral sentiments or emotions, born within us much as our sense of smell or taste or touch is innate. While moral sense theory as a body of philosophical literature was soon eclipsed by Kant’s magisterial ethical analysis that privileges reason, the stories I heard from rescuers suggest there is an important part of ethics that cannot be explained solely by conscious choice and reason, and that the Kantian picture needs to be complimented by a theory of moral choice that allows more fully for identity, including that part of identity that is composed of innate forces and influences.

17 18 19 20

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George Lakoff, Women, Fire and Dangerous Things: What Categories Reveal About the Mind (Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1987). Jonathan Haidt, “The Emotional Dog and Its Rational Tail: A Social Intuitionist Approach to Moral Judgment,” Psychological Review 108 (4) (2001): 814–34. Frans de Waal, Good Natured: The Origins of Right and Wrong in Humans and Other Animals (Cambridge, ma: Harvard University Press, 1996). Kristen Renwick Monroe, Adam Martin, and Priyanka Ghosh, “Politics and an Innate Moral Sense: Scientific Evidence for an Old Theory?” Political Research Quarterly 62 (2009): 614–34. Much of the rest of this chapter represents joint work done with Adam Martin and Priyanka Ghosh, two extraordinary students with whom I have been fortunate enough to work. I would like to acknowledge their assistance, stimulation, encouragement, and their permission to reprint part of this work here. Parts of this article appeared in Monroe, Martin and Ghosh, “Politics and an Innate Moral Sense.” Anthony Ashley Cooper, Third Earl of Shaftsbury, An Inquiry Concerning Virtue, or Merit [1714 edition with Tolland’s 1799 edition and bibliography], ed. David Walford (Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1977). Francis Hutcheson, A System of Moral Philosophy (New York: A.M. Kelley, 1968 [1755]).

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Contemporary Evidence of a Moral Sense

Arguments that human beings have an inborn sense of morality, much as they have an instinct for survival, surfaces prominently in the contemporary literature of a wide variety of quite diverse disciplines. Ethology and anthropology, for example, share a concern for human sociability and ask whether there are behaviors, such as mothering, that are socially constructed or if such behaviors contain an innate element. Anthropologists ask about human behavior in the ancestral environment to discern the role of culture in influencing moral behavior. Animal ethologists ask if the ethical nature of human beings is rooted in the biological nature we share with other species. Developmental psychologists examine children in their earliest years, before culture and language have shaped what might be innate tendencies toward certain kinds of behavior. And, increasingly, moral psychologists and neuroscientists are making inroads into the biological substrates of moral behavior not only in animals or infants but also in adults throughout the life cycle. I summarize much of this empirical research in Ethics in an Age of Terror and Genocide,23 noting that the data supporting the idea of an innate moral sense can be fragmentary and preclusive; it occasionally involves questions about the scientific reliability of certain findings.24 Nonetheless, this evidence is salient enough to justify a reconsideration of the existence of an innate moral sense. We need to ask if this assumption, or at least its possibility, should be built into our models and theories designed to capture the important influences on morality.25 I am prepared to believe that much of what happens subconsciously, and which is frequently attributed to innate drives, may express 23 Monroe, Ethics in an Age of Terror and Genocide. 24 See Glifford Geertz (“‘Life among the Anthros’: Book Review of Patrick Tierney’s Darkness in El Dorado: How Scientists and Journalists Devastated the Amazon.” New York Review of Books 48 [2] [2001]: 18–21) on the debate over observer contamination and fabricated data in anthropology. The 2010 investigation into the reliability of Marc Hauser’s empirical work is one illustration of the general criticisms of this work but should not call into question the reliability of the entire field. 25 Moral sense theory, as generally construed, assumes it is grounded in sentiments or emotions. Hence, our basic sense of what is good or bad is neither inferred from nor based upon any propositions. Such non-inferential moral knowledge is based on a priori nonempirical knowledge such as mathematical truth. What is often referred to as “ethical intuitionism” is distinguished from moral sense theory and is said to model the acquisition of such non-inferential knowledge about right and wrong on empirical grounds, in the manner that we acquire knowledge of the color of objects. Since our interest here is not in constructing an extended discussion of the concept of morality, we define it simply as

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itself through religion, at least for some people. For others, it may express itself in concepts such as spirituality or even common sense, a favorite term of my Midwestern mother. Work linking technical neuroscience26 and religion may be of great value in detecting the neuroscientific route through which such impulses exert their influence on behavior. 6 Conclusion So what is the importance of religion for morality? While my own empirical work has not yet detected any significant and consistent influence from religion—at least as traditionally defined—on morality as conceptualized and tested via altruism, my non-findings do not mean that this is the final answer. Certainly, taken as a whole, my theory of moral choice and the empirical work on which it is based shows us an alternative way of viewing one’s self. The existing dichotomy, so dominant in social science, in which the individual is posed in juxtaposition to the group and the individual’s self-interest is set adjacent to or versus the common interest, may not reflect the basic way our brains work. It raises interesting questions for us concerning our ties to others and what we need to flourish as individuals. Looking at the question of identity in this manner encourages us to rethink our basic need for human connection and human flourishing. Analyzing the cognitive frameworks of rescuers in particular suggests that the need for others is more than our need for their cooperation in our own individualistic enterprises or even for their help in ensuring our individual survival. It is a fundamental part of our human nature to crave acceptance, validation and affirmation from others. Ethically, the critical point from a cognitive analysis of behavior during genocide is simple: We can find self-esteem and self- respect only when others help us claim it. We can claim it in ourselves, only when we grant it to others. This finding is fully consistent with the basic tenets of the world’s major religions. Theologians and social scientists attuned to the nuances in discussing religion’s influence on behavior may be uniquely situated to produce pathbreaking scientific work in this important area. Further dialogue among scholars of religion, social scientists concerned with altruism and ethical behavior,

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behavior designed to further the well-being of others. See Monroe, The Hand of Compassion, for fuller discussion. Michael Spezio and Ralph Adolphs, “Emotional Processing and Decision Neuroscience,” url: http://www.emotion.caltech.edu/papers/spezioadolphs2007emotional.pdf (accessed May 28, 2012), 2007; Monroe, Ethics in an Age of Terror and Genocide.

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and neuroscientists beginning to plum the mysteries of the human brain and how our interactions with others may feedback into our own sense of self and well-being are in order. Acknowledgments My thanks to Princeton University Press for letting me draw on my work published with them. My gratitude to Rose McDermott and Michael Spezio for alerting me to the fascinating work being done in neuroscience. An earlier draft of this paper was presented at the University of Helsinki, where I received numerous helpful comments from members of the audience, including the editors of this volume. Sections of this paper were presented as the 2010 Ithiel DeSola Pool Lecture at the 2010 Annual Meeting of the American Political Science Association and will appear in print in both ps: Political Science and Politics and in Ethics in an Age of Terror and Genocide. I am grateful to the apsa and to Princeton University Press for allowing me to reproduce them here. References Bonnie, Kristin E., and Frans B.M. de Waal. “Primate Social Reciprocity and the Origin of Gratitude.” Pages 213–29 in The Psychology of Gratitude. Edited by R.A. Emmons and M.E. McCullough. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2004. Bowles, Samuel, and Herbert Gintis. “Pro-Social Emotions.” Santa Fe Institute. Working Paper, 2002. Friedman, Milton. Essays in Positive Economics. Chicago: Chicago University Press, 1953. Geertz, Glifford. “’Life among the Anthros’: Book Review of Patrick Tierney’s Darkness in El Dorado: How Scientists and Journalists Devastated the Amazon.” New York Review of Books 48 (2) (2001): 18–21. Goodall, Jane. The Chimpanzees of Gombe: Patterns of Behavior. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1986. Haidt, Jonathan. “The Emotional Dog and Its Rational Tail: A Social Intuitionist Approach to Moral Judgment,” Psychological Review 108 (4) (2001): 814–34. Hutcheson, Francis. A System of Moral Philosophy. New York: A.M. Kelley, 1968 [1755]. Kagan, Jerome. The Second Year: The Emergence of Self-Awareness. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1981. Kagan, Jerome. Three Seductive Ideas. Cambridge, MA: Harvard U Press, 1998. Kahneman D., P. Slovic, and A. Tversky, eds. Judgment Under Uncertainty: Heuristics and Biases. New York: Cambridge University Press, 1982.

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Lakoff, George. Women, Fire, and Dangerous Things: What Categories Reveal About the Mind. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1987. Levi, Primo. The Reawakening. New York: Collier Books, 1965/1993. Monroe, Kristen Renwick. The Heart of Altruism: Perceptions of a Common Humanity. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1994. Monroe, Kristen Renwick. The Hand of Compassion: Portraits of Moral Choice during the Holocaust. Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 2004. Monroe, Kristen Renwick. Ethics in an Age of Terror and Genocide: Identity and Moral Choice. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 2012. Monroe, Kristen Renwick, Adam Martin, and Priyanka Ghosh. “Politics and an Innate Moral Sense: Scientific Evidence for an Old Theory?” Political Research Quarterly 62 (2009): 614–34. Rittner, Carol, and Sondra Myers, eds. The Courage to Care. New York: New York University Press, 1989. Sapolsky, Robert. A Primate’s Memoir. NY: Touchstone Books, 2002. Shaftsbury, Third Earl, Anthony Ashley Cooper. An Inquiry Concerning Virtue, or Merit. Edited by David Walford. 1714 edition with Tolland’s 1799 edition and bibliography. Manchester: Manchester University Press, 1977. Simon, Herbert A. Models of Bounded Rationality. Vol 1 & 2. Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1982. Spezio, Michael, and Ralph Adolphs. “Emotional Processing and Decision Neuroscience.” URL: http://www.emotion.caltech.edu/papers/spezioadolphs2007emotional .pdf (accessed May 28, 2012), 2007. Waal, Frans de. Chimpanzee Politics: Politics and Sex among Apes. Baltimore: Johns Hopkins University Press, 1982. Waal, Frans de. Good Natured: The Origins of Right and Wrong in Humans and Other Animals. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1996.

Religion and Morality: Empirical Illustrations Anne Birgitta Pessi 1 Introduction This article1 empirically explores the link between religiosity and altruism, a link that is often taken for granted. The link is both obvious and problematic— both theoretically and according to the research. Furthermore, such new views are crucial to understanding human existence, particularly the phenomenon of happiness. In religious frameworks such as the Christian understanding of life, “living well” and “good life” are inseparable; an individual can neither be happy nor lead a good life without morally good actions.2 In other words, religiosity and altruism are classically considered inseparable, a link which is thought to promote happiness. Views emphasizing altruism are not just typical of Christianity; there is also a strong obligation to give and to help in Jewish tradition, Islam, and various Asian religions. In fact, altruism is strongly present in all the acts and teachings 1 This article builds particularly on these previous texts of mine: Anne Birgitta Pessi, “Religion and Social Problems: Individual and Institutional Responses,” in The Oxford Handbook of the Sociology of Religion, ed. P. Clark (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2008), 941–61; eadem, “Spirit of Altruism? On the Role of the Finnish Church as a Promoter of Altruism of Individuals and of Society,” in On Behalf of Others: The Morality of Care in a Global World, ed. S. Scuzzarello, C. Kinnvall, and K. Renwick Monroe (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009), 184–210; eadem, “Religiosity and Altruism: Exploring the Link and Its Relation to Happiness,” Journal of Contemporary Religion 26(1) (2011): 1–18; Anne Birgitta Pessi and Juho Saari, Hyvä tahto: Auttamisen asenteet ja rakenteet Suomessa (Good Will: Attitudes and Structures of Helping in Finland) (Helsinki: STKL, 2008); Anne Birgitta Yeung, Altruism and Civil Society. In Search of a Good Society: Introduction to Altruism Theories and Their Links to Civil Society. CSWP Series, 25 (London School of Economics, 2006); eadem, “A Trusted Institution of Altruism: The Social Engagement of the Scandinavian Churches,” in The Practice of Altruism: Caring and Religion in Global Perspective, ed. R.L.F. Habito and K. Inaba (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2006); Anne Birgitta Yeung, ed., Ninna Edgardh Beckman, and Per Pettersson, co-eds. Churches in Europe as Agents of Welfare. Working paper 2:1 and 2:2 from the Project Welfare and Religion in a European Perspective (Uppsala: Uppsala Institute for Diaconal and Social Studies, 2006). The author wishes to warmly thank Mette Ranta for her most valuable research assistance. 2 Jaana Hallamaa, “Ihmisen elämän tarkoitus ja Jumalan valtakunta” (The Meaning of Life and the Kingdom of God), in Rahan teologia ja Euroopan kirkot: Lopun ajan sosiaalietiikka (The Theology of Money and Churches in Europe: Apocalyptical Social Ethics), ed. J. Hallamaa (Jyväskylä: Atena, 1999), 155–78. © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi 10.1163/9789004343535_017

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and norms and ethics of the main religious traditions.3 The charity tradition of the Middle East, the emphasis on hospitality in the Greek culture of antiquity, and the Jewish tradition of love for one’s neighbor underlie the Christian doctrine of loving one’s neighbor.4 Nevertheless, it is quite usual in studies by theologians to present Christianity as “the main source of the modern altruism concept.”5 Thus, while the link between religion and altruism is self-evident, it is nevertheless a very problematic one. Larger religious institutions surely play a role in the promotion of altruism, yet at least six dilemmas can be identified.6 First, does religion promote altruism or self-interest? In other words, religious institutions are particularly challenging in relation to the “pureness of the gift.” In all major religions, selfless action for others produces benefits for the actor; for instance, in Christianity a place in heaven, or in Hinduism rewards in the karmic system. Conversely, all religions are major forces for altruistic human behavior in their teachings, what they demand from their adherents, their norms and ethics, and their actions. Second, does religion promote violence or welfare, that is, solidarity or conflict? In fact, religions promote both. While religion has the capacity to encourage and enable selflessness and altruism, which most religious institutions strongly support, religion can also encourage attitudes and acts of animosity and violence. As Habito and Inaba have noted,7 religion has indeed a doubleedged thrust in human life: religiosity can bring out the worst and the best in human beings. Religion often serves to aggravate the problem of violence rather than provide pathways to resolution, but it also has the capacity to draw human beings toward generosity and magnanimity. Third, who should be helped? Religious institutions vary in their objectives; altruism may be universal or particularistic. Do religious institutions promote inclusion or exclusion? 3 Jacob Neusner and Bruce D. Chilton, ed., Altruism in World Religions (Washington, dc: Georgetown University Press, 2005). 4 Virpi Mäkinen, “Lasaruksesta leipäjonoihin” (From Lazarus to Bread Queues), in Lasaruksesta leipäjonoihin: Köyhyys kirkon kysymyksenä (From Lazarus to Bread Queues: Poverty as a Church Question), ed. V. Mäkinen (Jyväskylä: Atena, 2002), 10. 5 E.g., Colin Grant, Altruism and Christian Ethics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000), 167. 6 See, e.g., William Scott Green, “Introduction: Altruism and the Study of Religion,” in Altruism in World Religions, ed. J. Neusner and B.D. Chilton (Washington, dc: Georgetown University Press, 2005), ix–xiv; “Epilogue,” in Altruism in World Religions, ed. J. Neusner and B.D. Chilton (Washington, dc: Georgetown University Press, 2005), 191–94. 7 Ruben L.F. Habito and Keishin Inaba, ed., The Practice of Altruism: Caring and Religion in Global Perspective (Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2006), vii.

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Fourth, the question of altruism and welfare may also be divisive within religious institutions. For instance, recent European research from Finland8 has indicated that even though survey findings show that a clear majority of church personnel value the welfare activities of the church highly, interview material reveals that the ideals of this welfare activity vary. Is it less or more important than evangelism? Furthermore, how visible should the church be, for instance, in the media? Fifth, Susan Blackmore has suggested in The Meme Machine that religious institutions may use altruism as a gimmick; people respect individuals and institutions­that help, and at the same time spread their cultural memes; people believe in their dogmas, and spread their teachings. Thus, altruism may be used to spread the religious word. Blackmore sees Christianity as utilizing the human genetic-cultural inclination for altruistic acts and attitudes and as being one of “the viruses of the mind” which spread as the “parasite” is carried from one generation to another and from country to country by the altruism practiced by the religious communities.9 Sixth, religions also pose theological dilemmas for altruism. For instance, the concept of good deeds is especially problematic in Lutheran theology. The individual should not recognize/identify his/her act as a “good deed” since otherwise there is a danger of acting for inappropriate, selfish motives. It would indeed be best for “Lutheran altruism” to take place anonymously, which applies to the receivers as well. Such thinking has also had a strong effect on Nordic welfare models of high taxation and extensive benefits. All in all, as many researchers have concluded, the connection between religiosity and altruism is empirically very complex.10 Concerning morality, this article focuses on altruism, on pro-sociality. But what is altruism overall really about? Altruism usually refers to actions that take other human beings into consideration, action concerned with the well-being of others. The concept, deriving from the Latin “alter,” “other,” was brought into the social sciences by Auguste Comte (1798–1857) in the mid-19th century as the antonym of selfishness. The concept was quickly established 8

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Anne Birgitta Yeung, “A Trusted Institution of Altruism: The Social Engagement of the Scandinavian Churches,” in The Practice of Altruism: Caring and Religion in Global Perspective, ed. R.L.F. Habito and K. Inaba (Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2006), 99–124. Susan Blackmore, The Meme Machine (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999); see also Oliver R. Goodenough, “Mind Viruses: Culture, Evolution, and the Puzzle of Altruism,” Social Science Information 34 (1995): 287–320. See Monroe above; Stephen G. Post et al., Research on Altruism and Love: An Annotated Bibliography of Major Studies in Psychology, Sociology, Evolutionary Biology, and Theology (Philadelphia: Templeton Foundation Press, 2003).

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and is first recorded by the Oxford English Dictionary in 1853.11 The concept has since remained part of the social and natural science vocabulary. In Comte’s often restated view, altruism is the most important sociological question. In his view, individuals have two distinct motives, egoism and altruism, and although most behavior in his view concerns self-serving motives, the unselfish desire to help others is also a true motive of behavior. Altruism in general is about behavior that takes others into consideration, demanding something from the actor (time, money, etc.).12 One of the currently­most prominent altruism scholars, Kristen Monroe,13 who also writes in this collection defines altruism as “action for the benefit of the other, even though action includes a risk of reducing the welfare of the actor.” Monroe has further outlined six critical perspectives on his definition: (1) Altruism is action, (2) Action is to be goal oriented (either at a conscious or a reflexive level), (3) The goal is to pertain to the welfare of another person, (4) The goal has more significance than the consequences, (5) The action is to include a risk of reducing the actor’s welfare, and (6) The action is not to have conditions or the expectation of a reward. Monroe also emphasizes—which I think is deeply insightful—that human behavior is located in between the pure pursuit of personal advantage and pure altruism.14 Thus, we are neither pure altruists nor pure egoists. Human thinking, acting, and behaving is almost always motivated by elements of both—indeed, by mixed motives. Man is a being oriented to its own welfare, but also interested in the good of other individuals—or at least capable of this. This viewpoint is familiar to all of us from everyday life; a person can do things to further his own and someone else’s, our mutual or perhaps a “your-and-thus-mine” type of interest. In reality, these four motivational directions intersect. A good example is friendship. Amongst friends good comes back: you help a friend in need and she will help you when you need it. A good friend also cares about the welfare 11 12

See Garrett Hardin, Living Within the Limits (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993), 225. But it must still be noted that there is a remarkable amount of disagreement regarding the understanding of altruism. For the definition, contemplations of philosophers, see, e.g., Kristen Renwick Monroe, The Heart of Altruism: Perceptions of a Common Humanity (Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996/1998); Elliott Sober, “The ABCs of Altruism,” in Altruism and Altruistic Love: Science, Philosophy, and Religion in Dialogue, ed. S.G. Post et al., (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 17–28; Edith Wyschogrod, “Pythagorean Bodies and the Body of Altruism,” in Altruism and Altruistic Love: Science, Philosophy, and Religion in Dialogue, ed. S.G. Post et al., (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002), 29–39. 13 Monroe, The Heart of Altruism, 6. 14 Monroe, The Heart of Altruism, 6–7; Hardin, Living Within the Limits, 225–36; Ervin Staub, “Altruistic and Moral Motivations for Helping and Their Translation into Action,” Psychological Inquiry 2(2) (1991): 150–53.

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of a friend for other reasons than predicting upcoming reciprocity. In a friendship or a love relationship, the whole division into altruism and egoism disappears. Perspectives merge. 2

Altruism—Illustrations from the Individuals

Even if altruism is a genuine option for all of us, some individuals are more altruistic than others, or at least seem to be. Why are some people more attuned to altruism, more ready to help, and more sensitive to others’ needs? What differentiates a more altruistic individual from a less altruistic one? The economist Elias L. Khalil,15 for instance, has compiled answers to such questions under six theories, building on the perspective of various areas of altruism research: (1) egoistic theory: people help to get benefits, (2) egocentric theory: to help someone in need is to help oneself, (3) alter-centric theory: sociality explains sincerity, (4) the theory of the Kantian ethics of duty: respect for morality, (5) socialization theory: certain cultures favor sincerity in values, norms, and the upbringing leading to them, and (6) “the warm glow” theory: sincerity brings a good feeling. The three first theories focus on the area of reason, while the last three focus on morality. In the former, it is typical to doubt sincerity, while in the latter—the normative theories—sincerity is seen as a sincere endeavor emerging from values, or at least the possibility of an endeavor. Khalil himself is most convinced that in the end sincerity is explained primarily through the goal of the wholeness of the self. The core is in sympathy: the ability to put oneself in the position of the one in need of help. Overall, looking at the (relative) consensus in the altruism studies genre in general, helping behavior is the sum of the individual’s internal and external factors. Studies in different fields16 emphasize especially the following factors at the individual level:

15 16

Elias L. Khalil, “Pure Theory of Altruism,” (University of Chicago, 2007). url: http:// eliaskhalil.com. E.g., in philosophy Victor J. Seidler, “Rescue, Righteousness, and Morality,” in Embracing the Other: Philosophical, Psychological, and Historical Perspectives to Altruism, ed. P.M. Oliner et al., (New York: New York University Press, 1992), 48–65; in evolutionary research and anthropology Ronald Cohen, “Altruism and the Evolution of Civil Society,” in Embracing the Other, ed. P.M. Oliner et al., 104–29.; in psychology Maria Jarymowicz, “Self, We and Other(s): Schemata, Distinctiveness, and Altruism,” in Embracing the Other, ed. P.M. Oliner et al., 194–212; in political science Monroe, The Heart of Altruism.

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– Factors related to the environment: e.g., the helping norms are stronger in small rural communities. – Factors related to interaction: the more similar people are to each other, the readier they are to help each other. These criteria for similarity include religion, language and culture. – Perspective in relation to other people and an inclusive concept of man: not to make distinctions between people based on any factor/factors. Empathy in relation to humanity and individual people. – The individual’s state of mind: the happier the individual is, the better mood the individual is in and the more compassion the individual experiences, the more likely he is to help. – The features of the individual: among other things, a healthy self-esteem and self-image and social interaction skills (and, according to some studies, religiosity and upbringing emphasizing feminine traits) contribute to helping. In the background of all these broad components, and within them, the individual’s values and morals (formed in a communal context) exert great influence. Such elements also include the role of religion, as indicated in the section above. For instance, personal religiosity may have an effect as a feature of the individual, or even promote a particular state of mind. Similarly, religiosity and participation in religious institutions may be associated with factors related to the environment and interaction. An integral component of values incorporates a concept of social justice, including inequality, and a relationship to the “otherness” of other individuals. Values, morals, and religiosity are of course an essential part of such elements. It is also noteworthy that the five-item list above is not straightforward— and that things always have a nested influence. The list also inspires several additional questions; for example, the role of feelings as a source of motivation for pro-social behavior has been stressed in psychological and social psychological research.17 These studies underscore the awakening of the feeling of empathy. Nonetheless, it can be asked what the nature of this feeling really is, and what makes a feeling transmute into a factor motivating action. Indeed, feelings such as sadness have been reported as underlying acts of empathy,18 17

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Mark H. Davis, Empathy: A Social Psychological Approach (Madison: Brown Benchmark, 1994); Nancy Eisenberg and Richard A. Fabes, “Prosocial Behavior and Empathy: A Multimethod Developmental Perspective,” in Review of Personality and Social Psychology, ed. M.S. Clark (Newbury Park, ca: Sage, 1991). Robert B. Cialdini et al., “Empathy-based Helping: Is it Selflessly or Selfishly Motivated?” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 52(4) (1987): 749–58.

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shock or anxiety,19 as well as cognitive factors such as the ability to put oneself in the place of another.20 This last mentioned element, which is also emphasized by Khalil, actually gets at the core of the contemporary conception of altruism; if altruistic individuals were characterized in one word, it would be “perspective,” that is, how an individual sees himself and above all his relationship to the rest of the world. This so-called perspective theory of altruism was developed by Monroe, who claims that the altruistic perspective is a construct consisting of a diverse set of elements: cognition, world-view, expectation in relation to self and others, empathy and sympathy, and self-image. By cognition, Monroe means the process of forming meanings concerning the world of experience. World-view includes group membership and connection with others. By expectation Monroe refers to norms in particular. Empathy and sympathy include learned and affective aspects. Self-image, or perceptions of the self, means identity and reacting to others. An altruistic perspective is a sense of connection with other people that the helper often finds difficult to describe. According to Monroe, people in general usually divide people into us and them, whereas altruists see all people, all others, as part of a general humanity. Many people who have committed an altruistic act that is considered heroic have said in the studies: “I could not have done anything else. They are people, just like me.” Altruists are described as “ordinary people” who do not perceive they have done or are doing anything special or heroic. They do not perceive helping as empathy or as an especially moral act, or a choice; helping is a natural follow-up from their world-view and concept of man. They see humanity as shared, as something that cannot be given up. They see the world and people in their own way as one human family.21 The outline by the Oliner couple22 comes very close to this idea of perspective; they talk about the core of altruism being extensivity, which refers to the feeling of commitment, empathy, and the feeling of duty among very different people and groups of people. The Oliners’ data consisted of people who had saved Jews while risking their own safety. Extensivity explained this form of heroic altruism more precisely than any other single factor (e.g., age, gender, or religion). A view presented by Callero, Howard, and Piliavin23 is also close 19 20

Jane Allyn Piliavin et al., Emergency Intervention (New York: Academic, 1981). C. Daniel Batson and Tecia Moran, “Empathy-induced Altruism in a Prisoner’s Dilemma,” European Journal of Social Psychology 29(7) (1999): 909–24. 21 Monroe, The Heart of Altruism. 22 Samuel P. Oliner and Pearl M. Oliner, The Altruistic Personality: Rescuers of Jews in Nazi Europe (New York: Free Press, 1988). 23 Peter L. Callero, Judith A. Howard, and Jane A. Piliavin, “Helping Behavior as Role Behavior: Disclosing Social Structure and History in the Analysis of Prosocial Action,” Social Psychology Quarterly 50(3) (1987): 247–56.

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to the perspective theory, albeit attracting little attention. They proposed an emphasis on helping as a role; it is precisely the role and the viewpoint of roles that brings long-term perspectives to attitudes, which explains behavior over situational factors. All in all, the core of altruism thus seems to be the capacity for sympathy, the ability to put oneself in the position of another. Most empirical studies, particularly on religion and altruism,24 find a positive correlation in contexts such as donating money25 and blood donation.26 These studies come close to our findings above. As regards individual actions, if we take volunteerism as an example, various studies indicate a positive correlation between volunteering and religiousness27 although a few others have found no connection.28 Furthermore, American studies by Nancy Ammerman, who also writes in this book, have identified three orientations in how churchgoers describe what it means to live a Christian life: the activist, the golden rule, and the evangelical orientation can be detected,29 and the idea of moral action plays a central role in all orientations. However, there are also researchers (such as Monroe) whose studies have questioned the centrality of the role of religion in pro-social actions (more on her studies later in this article). Indeed, it is fascinating to reflect on Ammerman’s and Monroe’s contributions to this collection in relation to each other. 24

25 26 27 28

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E.g., Virginia A. Hodgkinson, Murray S. Weitzman, and Arthur D. Kirsch, “From Commitment to Action: How Religious Involvement Affects Giving and Volunteering,” in Faith and Philanthropy in America: Exploring the Role of Religion in America’s Voluntary Sector, ed. V.A. Hodgkinson (San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1990); John Lunn, Robin Klay, and Andrea Douglass, “Relationships Among Giving, Church Attendance, and Religious Belief: The Case of the Presbyterian Church (usa),” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 40 (2001): 765–75; Michael M. Morgan, H. Wallace Goddard, and Sherri Newton Givens, “Factors That Influence Willingness to Help the Homeless,” Journal of Social Distress and the Homeless 6 (1997): 45–56. E.g., Suzanne Clain and Charles E. Zech, “A Household Production Analysis of Religion and Charitable Activity,” American Journal of Economics and Sociology 58 (1999): 923–46. E.g., Kieran Healy, “Embedded Altruism: Blood Collection Regimes and the European Union’s Donor Population,” American Journal of Sociology 105 (2000): 1633–57. E.g., Pui-Yan Lam, “As the Flocks Gather: How Religion Affects Voluntary Association Participation,” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 41(33) (2002): 405–22. E.g., K.I. Hunter and Margaret W. Linn, “Psychosocial Differences between Elderly Volunteers and Non-volunteers,” International Journal of Aging and Human Development 12 (1980): 205–13. Nancy T. Ammerman, “Religious Narratives, Community Service, and Everyday Public Life,” in Taking Faith Seriously, ed. M.J. Bane, B. Coffin, and R. Higgins (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2005), 146–74; eadem, “Studying Everyday Religion: Challenges for the Future,” in Everyday Religion: Observing Modern Religious Lives, ed. N.T. Ammerman (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007), 219–38.

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3 Altruism—The Institutional Perspective The findings concerning religious institutions are also more multifaceted than one might expect; for instance, empirical studies on the welfare activities of the Nordic churches30 have indicated that church representatives’ views of the relationship between and relative importance of preaching and evangelizing as against helping and offering welfare vary. Questions such as whether or not assisting in social problems is more important than evangelism arise. In other words, what is the actual mission of the church institution: is it primarily or even entirely preaching dogma and evangelizing, or is it rather concentration on putting the dogma into action, giving the holy words flesh? Furthermore, how visible should the church be in the media in debating social issues? That is, what is the ideal for the church’s societal visibility—to be in the middle of the social action, acting and commenting loudly and clearly or behaving as a silent, reliable background agent? I will next discuss two studies that have explored the religion-altruism link in Finland from the institutional perspective. A third empirical illustration explores the views of individual Finns on this connection. First, a qualitative study concerning the role of the Evangelical Lutheran church of Finland as an institution resembling an agent of welfare, examined the societal expectations of present-day welfare activities placed on the church by various elements of society, as well as the nature of the institution, that is, what these expectations reflect concerning views of an ideal church. The data for this study was compiled in the middle-sized Finnish city of Lahti.31 30

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E.g., Olav Helge Angell and Anne Birgitta Pessi, “Co-Operation in Welfare? InterOrganizational­Relationships between Church-Based Welfare Agents and the Welfare State at the Local Level in Norway and Finland,” Diaconia 1(1) (2010): 62–81; Yeung, Altruism and Civil Society; Anders Bäckström and Grace Davie, with Ninna Edgardh and Per Petterson, ed., Welfare and Religion in 21st Century Europe: Vol 1. Configuring the Connections (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011). See, Anne Birgitta Yeung, “Servant of Solidarity, Institution of Authenticity: The Dilemma of Welfare in the Church of Finland,” Nordic Journal of Religion and Society 21(1) (2007): 1–19. With its population of approximately 100,000 (2004), Lahti is a regional capital and a young city of entrepreneurship. The recession of the early 1990s had a substantial impact on its industries. During the peak of the recession, more than a quarter of its inhabitants were unemployed. With its economic challenges, Lahti poses an interesting and challenging case for welfare research. The study builds on three-fold data. First, the expectations of local social authorities with regard to social services offered by the Lahti parish union and its parishes­as part of the welfare system were explored (10 + 2 interviews). Second, the attitudes of the local population on the church’s role as a social agent and as a

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The expectations concerning the church and welfare were diverse. The study showed that the local public authorities clearly considered that the church in Lahti had a crucial role to play in the construction of welfare and combating social problems, both in providing services and reminding people of their responsibilities for the well-being of others: “The church should keep up the voice of the weaker as well as the shared spirit of ‘not leaving your pal who is in need behind.’”32 It was also considered that the welfare work of the church would be needed in the near future. Outsourcing contracts with the church were, interestingly, not really considered outsourcing of welfare. This seems to reflect a particular “church-state” image, which according to law no longer is the case. However, providing what is considered “basic services” is clearly seen as a responsibility of the local municipality. The services considered were the “special, practical social welfare services,” such as psychosocial services, crisis help, and work with special groups such as the elderly. Why these fields of welfare precisely? The public authorities considered that the church representatives had special welfare know-how related to: (1) spirituality and values (especially caring and communality), (2) the ability to encounter people more meaningfully than other agents, and (3) free-will membership. In the responses, there even seemed to be a sense of idealism in the way that the welfare services of the church were pictured, social problem activities by the church being seen as being motivated by “spirituality, love, and free will.” This idealism was evident in the views emphasizing that when the municipality and church offer similar services (such as counseling), “the church encounters individuals better.” Furthermore, the municipal representatives thought that the church should adopt a firm stance in public welfare debates, even over municipal services, by maintaining the values of caring and the spirit of solidarity as an expert in this field. In the areas of well-being and welfare, where the church’s activities are strong, the resources of municipal social work could be reduced since overlapping­ activities are viewed as unnecessary and avoidable. The representatives also

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normative or ethical voice in welfare debates was studied (6 group interviews, altogether 79 individuals, and observation of media and three public discussion events). Third, the viewpoints of the representatives of the Lahti church concerning its local welfare role, both as a producer of welfare services and as an opinion-forming actor, were explored (a small survey, N = 100, and 29 interviews, of which most were with priests and social workers). Similar voices can be heard throughout Europe (Per Pettersson, Welfare and Religion in Europe: Sociological Analysis at Three Levels [manuscript], 2007; idem, “The Role of Religion as an Agent of Welfare in Modern Europe: A Sociological Analysis,” Presentation at the xiv isa World Congress of Sociology, Durban, July 2006), which, in relation to the history of the welfare state, is rather surprising and novel.

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noted that the church may lose its distance and critical voice on other welfare agents in close, active co-operation which may thus be a double-edged sword in this sense. The views of the church representatives on the role of the church in welfare and people’s well-being were varied in the findings; some emphasized evangelizing and spirituality, thinking that the church should ideally incorporate fewer welfare activities, while many others—most in fact—were much more positive on welfare activities but considered that the practical social work of the church should only be temporary and not long-term. Still others emphasized that the church must incorporate both spiritual and social work equally and a few even noted that in some instances the social work should be more important than the spiritual activities. Overall, the church representatives considered that the church should be responsible for the weakest in society and provide resources for unexpected needs.33 Interestingly, the church representatives saw their welfare activities as qualitatively different—better, encountering the individual more—even if they offer similar forms of activities as other agents.34 Such idealism raises the 33

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As in Anne Birgitta Pessi, Olav H. Angell, and Per Petterson, “Nordic Majority Churches as Agents in the Welfare State: Critical Voices and/or Complementary Providers?” Temenos 45 (2) (2009): 207–34, esp. p. 222, where many noted that “the invisible misery which the society and municipal aid channels do not reach, that is our field.” This all reflects expectations that Margaret Harris (Organizing God’s Work: Challenges for Churches and Synagogues. [London: Macmillan, 1998], 156, 159) has called the “care catalyst” function of churches: being able to identify people in need of care and to disseminate the information. Here too, a similar picture emerges from various European case studies, both concerning church representatives and public authorities pondering the role of the church. There is an interesting tension between the spiritual identity and the public social role of the churches in that spirituality should be kept hidden when acting as a social agent providing welfare services (Pettersson, Welfare and Religion in Europe; idem, “The Role of Religion as an Agent of Welfare in Modern Europe”). Such a dualism also naturally informs the relation between a religious institution and the larger society; as Hadden has put it, the greater the variance between the religious institution’s transcendental precepts and the values and ideals of society (which in the third millennium are in themselves hugely varied), the greater the resources that must be invested in protection of transcendence— protection in either a defensive or offensive manner (Jeffrey K. Hadden, “Religion and the Construction of Social Problems,” Sociological Analysis 41[2] [1980]: 104). Similarly, Smith (Greg Smith, “Implicit Religion and Faith Based Urban Regeneration,” Implicit Religion 7[2] [2004]: 152–82), has concluded from a uk study that in faith-based organizations there are values and theologies which contradict the values of social work and social inclusion, an implicit dualism separating the spiritual and material realms.

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question of whether help from the church is easier or more difficult to accept. All gifts are binding according to classical sociological studies on altruism and gift-giving. Along these lines, a usa-based study has concluded that welfare services provided by a public agency may be easier to receive than those from faith-based agents since they are provided under professional aegis and people do not have to feel obliged. According to this American study, congregations may send the message “please reform your ways and demonstrate values and attitudes that are in line with social responsibility” through their social work.35 The findings in Finland, however, in part contradict this view. People see the church work as based on free will; as a middle-aged woman who was interviewed put it: “The help is very easy to accept—They help me simply because they want to. They are not obliged.” The ideal means of encountering people varied significantly, however, as some considered that the church should participate in everyday life as much as possible, while others considered that the church should encounter people through ways involving spirituality or mental help. Simply being close to people is not sufficient, and is perhaps even harmful. In line with the public authorities, the church representatives also saw that it was the church’s responsibility to remind people of their personal social responsibilities of caring and communality, also seen as “encountering.” The public debates on welfare and ethical issues were seen as the church’s social responsibility along with welfare activities, which was similar to the views of the municipal authorities, although a few were more against public visibility, or at least further visibility. All in all, the ideal seems to be that the church should be a reactive, flexible part of society providing resources for unexpected needs. According to this study,36 in the city of Lahti what local citizens thought about church welfare activities also varied, as some considered welfare activities an integral part of the church while the majority felt that the Church’s role was in actual social work, and others thought it should not have to be. Particularly the elderly thought that social work was the responsibility of the municipality. However, the overall impression was that the church had helped in filling in the gaps in welfare for those in need through arranging social networks and meeting places, and improving overall psychological well-being and the needs of special groups. The majority considered that the church’s ideal role was in maintaining societal and individual morality and ethics through such things as the spirit of caring for one’s neighbors. The citizenry are very much in agreement with the public representatives on this. Furthermore, contributing 35 36

Ram Cnaan, The Invisible Caring Hand: American Congregations and the Provision of Welfare (New York: New York University Press, 2002), 292–93. Yeung, “Servant of Solidarity, Institution of Authenticity.”

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to the public welfare debate is seen as the heart of the church’s social welfare responsibility and people seemed very satisfied with its recent nation-wide statements as well as its public visibility and voice. Additionally, local people perceived that the church had taken the right direction in coming closer to the everyday lives of ordinary people and their needs and concerns, and offering its services without asking about people’s faith or level of religiousness while assisting and caring for everyone equally. The church aims, in their view, to assist everyone in their experiences of a good life; the church cares. Second, in another survey study on Finns’ expectations for church-based welfare provision and the role of the Finnish Evangelical Lutheran Church in public debates,37 the wishes and expectations placed on the church concerning its provision of help as well as its advocacy of the shared values relating to help were extremely high. When respondents were asked to give their views on the statements “The Church should take an active part in the public debate on such issues as fairness” and “The Church should not play a visible role in public debates,” 80 percent chose the first option. Similarly, the choice between “The Church should engage in spiritual work and also help such groups as the elderly, providing help may sometimes have to be given first priority” and “The Church should primarily focus on spiritual work, and not on services provided for such groups as the elderly and children” was equally clear, nine out of ten respondents subscribing to the first statement. Furthermore, three out of four respondents agreed with the claim that “The Church should uphold help as a value in our society.” The circumstances in which people rely on the church were also of interest and provided interesting results. This was assessed through the following question: “To which institutions, in your opinion, should the individual look for help and support in the following life situations? Indicate the main three providers of help for each category of need.” Twelve categories were identified, including people suffering from mental problems, lonely old people, and young drug addicts. The respondents were asked to choose from a list of six potential sources of help: the public sector, civil associations, the church, the immediate social network, the neighborhood of the individual and socially 37

See Anne Birgitta Pessi and Henrietta Grönlund, “The Place of the Church: Public Sector or Civil Society? Welfare Provision of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland,” Journal of Church and State (2011), doi: 10.1093/jcs/csr087. The data includes a total of five surveys: two random sample surveys of Finns, saat 2006 data (N = 1040) and RAY:n juhlavuosi data (N = 2500), both concerning attitudes and actions of altruism and three church social work barometer surveys of participants in the annual meetings of the Union of Diaconal Workers in Finland from 2005 (N = 212), 2007 (N = 289), and 2009 (N = 194).

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responsible businesses. The results showed that in addition to the public sector and the immediate social networks, Finns greatly value help provided by the parishes and the church given especially to destitute people, victims of disasters, beggars, and the homeless. The highest expectations for church-based help were among women, people from eastern and northern Finland, people over 35 years old, low-skilled people, and agricultural entrepreneurs. The third study to be introduced here is one in which the possible link between religiosity and altruism was investigated and, more specifically, how this link is individually experienced and its relation to the classical expectation of religiosity and altruism being pivotal to happiness.38 Here the word “how” refers to elements that may construct, promote, and maintain the connection; in other words, the study utilized new empirical findings on individual experience to both question the often assumed link between religiosity and altruism and explore the nature of the link, particularly from the perspective of individual experiences. The study used both statistical analysis of survey data and phenomenological analysis of interview material. The descriptive background analysis indicated that the connection between Christian personal values and attitudes towards altruism was statistically significant. According to the study, Finns also clearly appreciate the doctrines and teachings of Christianity at a more communal level, as nearly two out of three (63.9%) Finns support Christian love as a valuable resource for social life and this notion of “loving one’s neighbor” had a statistically significant relation with personal religious identity and Christian values. However, no connection was found between the importance of Christian values and acts of altruism (measured by helping one’s family members and friends during the previous two years), indicating that these modes of altruism at the individual level are not connected with religiosity. More demanding and distant acts of helping (operationalized by donating money, participating in volunteer work, being committed to some longer-term aid project, readiness to help in the future) did 38

See Anne Birgitta Pessi, “Religiosity and Altruism: Exploring the Link and Its Relation to Happiness,” Journal of Contemporary Religion 26(1) (2011): 1–18. The data includes both a postal survey (collected in spring 2006, N = 1051, broadly representative of the Finnish society with various age groups, 65% women and 35% men, response rate 30%) and interview data (collected a few months after the survey, 25 survey respondents, 15 women and 10 men, of various ages (7 aged 19–30, 8 aged 31–40, one aged 41–50, six aged 51–60, and three aged 61–78). The majority of participants belonged to the Evangelical Lutheran Church, four were Pentecostals, one belonged to a very small free church, and six were not religiously affiliated). The questionnaire included questions on altruism, religiosity, and happiness, concentrating on the first mentioned, and the interviews included multifaceted material on all three themes as well as their interconnections.

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have a statistically significant relation to Christian values, however. When offered an alternative motive for helping behavior relating to Christian teachings of “demonstrating Christian love for one’s neighbor,” a third of respondents agreed on this statement to some extent and this opinion was most typical amongst the most religious individuals. The experiences of the overall link between religiosity and altruism were explored in more depth in this study through a qualitative thematic analysis which yielded five components of individual experiences of the religiosityaltruism link. These five components, which were closely interrelated and intertwined in individual experiences, bring depth to our understanding of this multifaceted and complex link. The most crucial element was putting faith and values into action and practice, in that loving one’s neighbor is an essential part of Christianity, since it is evident in various experiences of religiosity not only as a norm and way of life through free will but also as a “duty” and “requirement.” These experiences of the link between faith and action were present not only in traditional belief systems but also in more individually-oriented spirituality. Second, a personal relation with God was also a strong motivator for altruism, meaning that the personal basis for altruistic acts comes from God as a gift which is to be spread since receiving love motivates as well as demands loving others. This is based on the promise of God’s help and the security He offers, which are fundamental elements of religiosity and altruism. Third, the role of institutions was also apparent in the link between religiosity and altruism, including home and the upbringing of children in values and way of life, and congregations and the church institution in maintaining and supporting altruism and setting the example of helping acts. The fourth element concerned communal support in congregations, meaning the social networks of the church and congregations as communities, in which individuals know each other and social and intellectual distances are short. Lastly, the teachings of the Bible were also strongly related to the link between religiosity and altruism with its basic values of caring and helping. All in all, these three empirical studies—as with most of the studies discussed above—paint a picture of the religion–altruism link that is both multifaceted and debated and firmly grounded in empirical reality; one that truly exists. 4 Discussion Considering the future of social problems in the sketchy manner of academic visions, two matters seem highly relevant. First, a sense of solidarity. Whether we conduct sociological analysis in relation to the concepts of social capital

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or altruism, or put our efforts into analyzing matters such as migration, identity, cohesion, cultural change, or the future of European politics, the notion of solidarity is at the heart of the debate. In terms of both praxis and its analysis, solidarities are transformative. To take just one example, the informal care produced by families and associational communities has become the target of political thinking.39 This scenario is fragile, however, as there is no certainty that the networks of individuals and communities are going to shoulder the task of increasing care. Possible sources of conflict, inequality, and exclusion may be increasing. Second, the horizons of significance. Charles Taylor’s insightful analysis of our times40 discusses the “three malaises” of modernity: individualism, the primacy of “instrumental reason” (including a focus on efficiency), and the rise of industrial-technological bureaucracy. Together these produce consequences such as moral subjectivism and an extreme emphasis on subjective seeking of authenticity. Taylor is not an advocate or a critic of individualism. His point is that after extreme freedom, all choices remain relativistic; we lack the meaningful moral horizons that self-choice always needs. Ideals cannot stand alone.41 Where are such horizons to be found—horizons to be “used” as a perspective into which we place our own choices (or compare, link, or even just separate ourselves from, et cetera)? I would argue strongly that religious institutions, particularly through their role in combating social problems, may offer such “institutions of authenticity.” Through their words and deeds, they may offer trustworthy horizons of significance at which words and deeds speak the same language, even in the context of privatized faith and ideological frames. This is not to say that some other agents (such as the human rights movement) may not do the same job. The religious institutions always have an asset of their own in spirituality, however, offering the horizon that exceeds the limits of transcendence. There are also still strong empirical indications that religious institutions may indeed be playing an enhanced role in promoting the values of solidarity, for instance, through their welfare activities and media

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40 41

Raija Julkunen, Kuka vastaa? Hyvinvointivaltion rajat ja julkinen vastuu (Who Takes Responsibility? The Limits of the Welfare State and Public Responsibility) (Helsinki: Gummerus, 2006), 259. Charles Taylor, Ethics of Authenticity (Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 1992). Taylor formulates this beautifully: “Only if I exist in a world in which history, or the demands of nature, or the needs of my fellow human beings, or the duties of citizenship, or the call of God, or something else of this order matters crucially, can I define an identity for myself that is not trivial” (Taylor, Ethics, 40–41).

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visibility on the issues of care and equality throughout Europe, values which people still seem to expect them to fight for.42 Interestingly, this signifies a positive cycle for religious institutions in that the more they speak about and act to improve social problems, the more they are trusted and viewed positively. Such trust, then, constructs their image further. The culture of trust always needs its moral institutional frame(s). Such a frame may be constructed by solidarity, a sense of loyalty, as well as principles of fairness, keeping one´s word, and keeping one’s faith.43 Furthermore, trust needs “points of touch”—and this the welfare activities of the church can indeed offer. As institutions are becoming increasingly fragmented, fluid and porous, the societal weight of the welfare activities of religious institutions may actually increase. A cynic may say here that in moving towards social problems and welfare, religious institutions may be moving away from their “pure communication” function, to use Luhmannian terminology. Are they becoming internally secularized? The answer depends on perspective—both that of the analyst and of the religious institutions themselves. Are the activities that confront social problems intrinsically linked to theological positions and other church activities?44 Overall, the way a religious institution faces contemporary social problems is precisely where the teachings of the institution are given flesh and blood as a lived reality. They are the way in which the teaching of the institution may become familiar, even to people who do not participate in church activities—the group that expands in the era of privatized religion. Still, the situation challenges religious institutions. They are both at the cross-roads in relation to their agendas and visions and on the “borderline” of today’s societal structure; they are no longer majority institutions shared by most, but neither are they just an institution among many. Most European majority churches still seem to find their place between the public and private and/or third sectors45 and in relation to the expectations of both the people and public authorities. European majority churches still today function as an 42 43

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For empirical illustrations and analysis of Western Europe, see Pettersson, Welfare and Religion in Europe; idem, “The Role of Religion as an Agent of Welfare in Modern Europe.” Claus Offe, “How Can We Trust our Fellow Citizens?” in Democracy and Trust, ed. M. Warren (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999); Kai Ilmonen and Kimmo Jokinen, Luottamus modernissa maailmassa (Trust in the Modern World) (Jyväskylä: Sophi, 2002). For most observers they certainly seem to be; just to mention one example, the most important reasons for belonging to the Lutheran Church for Finns are church ceremonies and church welfare activities. See José Casanova, Public Religion in the Modern World (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994).

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intermediate structure between individual and collective levels of society, especially through their welfare activities. Religion thus may be seen as a “public good” even in contemporary Europe; a thriving civil society also needs its religious agents. A healthy civil society is one with diversity. Critical notions remain, however; for instance, are churches used to let the European public sectors off the hook? Are churches’ welfare activities used to “reduce taxes and tax benefits”? All in all, we see the development of an enhanced social role for the majority churches in the public sphere as simultaneous with their decreasing role in the privatized sphere.46 Might these processes even enhance each other? To return to the point noted by Blackmore, do churches use welfare as a “gimmick” to retain power and popularity? Other questions too remain to be researched. To what extent do religious characteristics account for a changing and transformative support for solidarity? Whose solidarity are the churches aiming to contribute to? Are they an agent of shared societal cohesion, or of the cohesion of a smaller group (and thus an agent of possible conflict)? Furthermore, especially since Islam is the rising religion of Europe, the potential for a religious source of solidarity seems to re-emerge in the secularized public domains of European societies. Additionally, are the present-day churches reactive or independent institutions, servants or free-spirited pioneers? Will the approach to social problems by religious institutions in the future be more in a contesting, prophetic role or a radical one aiming for structural change? Will it rather be one of the comforting, supporting, assisting agents? Moreover, who precisely advocates the role, and how is it decided? What if religious institutions no longer wish to cooperate­with other agents? Do they dare to oppose the public sector? What really happens if and when they take ideological and theological positions which are further from the prevailing political opinions? The ever-increasingly colorful religious scenarios throughout the world only make these questions more and more fascinating. All in all, from the empirical standpoint, and particularly the perspective of altruism, this article has aimed to emphasize that the link between religion and morality seems obvious and relatively strong. Two methodological points, however, must be made—and even more could be pondered. First, both religiosity and altruism are very abstract notions, and especially the latter also produces socially desirable answers for researchers, both from institutional and individual representatives. Second, more religious individuals have more 46 Pettersson, Welfare and Religion in Europe; Yeung, “A Trusted Institution of Altruism”; Yeung, “Servant of Solidarity, Institution of Authenticity.”

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experience of the subject matter; for instance, they participate more in religious communities and thus might receive more help from the social networks of these communities. Even if the altruism-religion relation seems a strong one, it also seems to provoke a never-ending debate. For instance, in today’s Finland, the most important reason for membership in the national Lutheran Church of Finland (still almost 80% of Finns) is its helping activities, the social work. At the same time, however, some of the bishops of the Church see a concern in this and would prefer the reason for membership to be more spiritual. Still, one can ask whether it is not precisely in morality in which the spirituality and belief and the teachings of the Church may become flesh, and turn into deeds? For religious institutions, can morality and actions such as helping others ever truly be separated? What motivates our moral actions overall? These will be pressing questions for religious institutions and individuals in the future. These indeed are crucial questions—particularly in today’s late-modern sprit of “Anything goes.” A Harvard professor, Howard Garner, has recently concluded in his excellent book Truth, Beauty, and Goodness Reframed47 that today’s relativism teaches us to understand various phenomena (e.g., why did Hitler act as he acted?) but has taken from us the ability to make moral choices. Today’s media particularly (e.g., various open discussion forums) promotes our negatives aspects, not goodness. For Gardner, we are in need of novel citizenship; shared national, and hopefully even global, views and considerations on joint good and goodness. Altruism, I think, would be a true fruit of such an endeavor. Today’s late-modern societal context also creates an especially interesting framework for the study of morality and altruism. While individuals are less dependent on social ties and traditions than ever before, we are increasingly tied to other types of network, including global ones. In today’s Western societies, individuals live in the midst of multiple novel networks in several senses. As the networks of individuals and what could be called “personal groups of good life” are changing, so too is altruism. The changes in the forms of altruism and helping behavior might even be playing a role in the transformation of social networks. Even if altruism is transforming, we still lack up-to-date studies and discussions on it, specifically in the European context. As pointed out by Wuthnow,48 47 48

Howard Gardner, Truth, Beauty, and Goodness Reframed: Educating for the Virtues in the Twenty-first Century (New York: Basic Books, 2011). Robert Wuthnow, “Altruism and Sociological Theory,” Social Service Review 67(3) (1993): 345.

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theoretical and empirical work in sociology since the 1960s has shown “a decided reluctance to employ the idea of altruism as such.” Altruism relates to several currently topical academic issues, including happiness, experiences of the good life, trust, social capital, citizen activity, participation, empowerment, and so forth. These cannot be fully understood without considering and exploring altruism. Current discourses both in the scholarly community and the media tend to generalize, however: while people seem worried and concerned over the image of the decline of caring and communality, helping behavior and altruistic values in such tasks as marketing and value studies, are seen as miscellaneous, uninteresting and/or too general. We do not even really know what elements late modern altruism includes and to what it relates. Altruism, both as a practical societal issue and as a theoretical dilemma, should be pivotal to much of sociological, theological, and social policy discussion and research. References Ammerman, Nancy T. “Religious Narratives, Community Service, and Everyday Public Life.” Pages 146–74 in Taking Faith Seriously. Edited by M.J. Bane, B. Coffin, and R. Higgins. Cambridge: Harvard University Press, 2005. Ammerman, Nancy T. “Studying Everyday Religion: Challenges for the Future.” Pages 219–38 in Everyday Religion: Observing Modern Religious Lives. Edited by N.T. Ammerman. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007. Angell, Olav Helge, and Anne Birgitta Pessi. “Co-Operation in Welfare? InterOrganizational­Relationships between Church-Based Welfare Agents and the Welfare State at the Local Level in Norway and Finland.” Diaconia 1(1) (2010): 62–81. Batson, C. Daniel, and Tecia Moran. “Empathy-induced Altruism in a Prisoner’s Dilemma.” European Journal of Social Psychology 29(7) (1999): 909–24. Blackmore, Susan. The Meme Machine. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1999. Bäckström, Anders, and Grace Davie, with Ninna Edgardh and Per Petterson, eds. Welfare and Religion in 21st Century Europe: Vol 1. Configuring the Connections. Farnham: Ashgate, 2011. Callero Peter L., Judith A. Howard, and Jane A. Piliavin. “Helping Behavior as Role Behavior: Disclosing Social Structure and History in the Analysis of Prosocial Action.” Social Psychology Quarterly 50(3) (1987): 247–56. Casanova, José. Public Religion in the Modern World. Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1994. Cialdini Robert B., Mark Schaller, Donald Houlihan, Kevin Arps, Jim Fultz, and Arthur L. Beaman. “Empathy-based helping: Is it Selflessly or Selfishly Motivated?” Journal of Personality and Social Psychology 52(4) (1987): 749–58.

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Clain, Suzanne Heller, and Charles E. Zech. “A Household Production Analysis of Religion and Charitable Activity.” American Journal of Economics and Sociology 58 (1999): 923–46. Cnaan, Ram. The Invisible Caring Hand: American Congregations and the Provision of Welfare. New York: New York University Press, 2002. Cohen, Ronald. “Altruism and the Evolution of Civil Society.” Pages 104–29 in Embracing the Other: Philosophical, Psychological, and Historical Perspectives to Altruism. Edited by P.M. Oliner, S.P. Oliner, L. Baron, L.A. Blum, D.L. Krebs and Z.M. Smolenska. New York: New York University Press, 1992. Davis, Mark H. Empathy: A Social Psychological Approach. Madison: Brown Benchmark, 1994. Eisenberg Nancy, and Richard A. Fabes. “Prosocial Behavior and Empathy: a Multimethod Developmental Perspective.” Pages 34–61 in Review of Personality and Social Psychology. Edited by M.S. Clark. Newbury Park, CA: Sage, 1991. Gardner, Howard. Truth, Beauty, and Goodness Reframed: Educating for the Virtues in the Twenty-first Century. New York, Basic Books, 2011. Goodenough, Oliver R. “Mind Viruses: Culture, Evolution, and the Puzzle of Altruism.” Social Science Information 34 (1995): 287–320. Grant, Colin. Altruism and Christian Ethics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2000. Habito, Ruben L.F., and Keishin Inaba, eds. The Practice of Altruism: Caring and Religion in Global Perspective. Cambridge: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2006. Hadden, Jeffrey K. “Religion and the Construction of Social Problems.” Sociological Analysis 41(2) (1980): 99–108. Hallamaa, Jaana. “Ihmisen elämän tarkoitus ja Jumalan valtakunta.” Pages 155–78 in Rahan teologia ja Euroopan kirkot: Lopun ajan sosiaalietiikka [The Theology of Money and Churches in Europe: Apocalyptical Social Ethics]. Edited by J. Hallamaa. Jyväskylä: Atena, 1999. Hardin, Garrett. Living Within the Limits. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 1993. Harris, Margaret. Organizing God’s Work: Challenges for Churches and Synagogues. London: Macmillan, 1998. Healy, Kieran. “Embedded Altruism: Blood Collection Regimes and the European Union’s Donor Population.” American Journal of Sociology 105 (2000): 1633–57. Hodgkinson, Virginia A., Murray S. Weitzman, and Arthur D. Kirsch. “From Commitment to Action: How Religious Involvement Affects Giving and Volunteering.” Pages 93–114 in Faith and Philanthropy in America: Exploring the Role of Religion in America’s Voluntary Sector. Edited by V.A. Hodgkinson. San Francisco: Jossey-Bass, 1990. Hunter, K.I., and Margaret W. Linn. “Psychosocial Differences Between Elderly Volunteers and Non-volunteers.” International Journal of Aging and Human Development 12 (1980): 205–13.

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Ilmonen, Kaj, and Kimmo Jokinen. Luottamus modernissa maailmassa [Trust in the Modern World]. Jyväskylä: Sophi, 2002. Jarymowicz, Maria. “Self, We and Other(s): Schemata, Distinctiveness, and Altruism.” Pages 194–212 in Embracing the Other: Philosophical, Psychological, and Historical Perspectives to Altruism. Edited by P.M. Oliner, S.P. Oliner, L. Baron, L.A. Blum, D.L. Krebs, and Z.M. Smolenska. New York: New York University Press, 1992. Julkunen, Raija. Kuka vastaa? Hyvinvointivaltion rajat ja julkinen vastuu [Who Takes Responsibility? The Limits of the Welfare State and Public Responsibility]. Helsinki: Gummerus, 2006. Khalil, Elias L. “Pure Theory of Altruism.” University of Chicago, 2007. (URL: http:// eliaskhalil.com). Lam, Pui-Yan. “As the Flocks Gather: How Religion Affects Voluntary Association Participation.” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 2002 41(33): 405–22. Lunn, John, Robin Klay and Andrea Douglass. “Relationships Among Giving, Church Attendance, and Religious Belief: The Case of the Presbyterian Church (USA).” Journal for the Scientific Study of Religion 40 (2001): 765–75. Monroe, Kristen Renwick. The Heart of Altruism: Perceptions of a Common Humanity. Princeton: Princeton University Press, 1996/1998. Morgan, Michael M., H. Wallace Goddard and Sherri Newton Givens. “Factors That Influence Willingness to Help the Homeless.” Journal of Social Distress and the Homeless 6 (1997): 45–56. Mäkinen, Virpi. “Lasaruksesta leipäjonoihin [From Lazarus to Bread Queues].” Pages 7–20 in Lasaruksesta leipäjonoihin: Köyhyys kirkon kysymyksenä [From Lazarus to Bread Queues: Poverty as a Church Question]. Edited by V. Mäkinen. Jyväskylä: Atena, 2002. Neusner, Jacob, and Bruce D. Chilton, eds. Altruism in World Religions. Washington, DC: Georgetown University Press, 2005. Offe, Claus. “How Can We Trust Our Fellow Citizens?” Pages 42–87 in Democracy and Trust. Edited by M. Warren. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Oliner, Samuel P., and Perl M. Oliner. The Altruistic Personality: Rescuers of Jews in Nazi Europe. New York: Free Press, 1988. Pessi, Anne Birgitta. “Religion and Social Problems: Individual and Institutional Responses.” Pages 941–61 in The Oxford Handbook of the Sociology of Religion. Edited by P. Clark. Oxford: Oxford University Press. 2008. Pessi, Anne Birgitta. “Spirit of Altruism? On the Role of the Finnish Church as a Promoter of Altruism of Individuals and of Society.” Pages 184–210 in On behalf of Others: The Morality of Care in a Global World. Edited by S. Scuzzarello, C. Kinnvall, and K. Renwick Monroe. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2009. Pessi, Anne Birgitta. “Religiosity and Altruism: Exploring the Link and Its Relation to Happiness.” Journal of Contemporary Religion 26(1) (2011): 1–18.

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Pessi, Anne Birgitta, Olav H. Angell, and Per Petterson. “Nordic Majority Churches as Agents in the Welfare State: Critical Voices and/or Complementary Providers?” Temenos 45 (2) (2009): 207–34. Pessi, Anne Birgitta, and Henrietta Grönlund. “The Place of the Church: Public Sector or Civil Society? Welfare provision of the Evangelical Lutheran Church of Finland.” Journal of Church and State, 2011. (doi: 10.1093/jcs/csr087). Pessi, Anne Birgitta, and Juho Saari. Hyvä tahto: Auttamisen asenteet ja rakenteet Suomessa (Good Will: Attitudes and Structures of Helping in Finland). Helsinki: STKL, 2008. Pettersson, Per. “The Role of Religion as an Agent of Welfare in Modern Europe: a Sociological Analysis.” Presentation at the XVI ISA World Congress of Sociology, Durban, July 2006. Pettersson, Per. Welfare and Religion in Europe: Sociological analysis at three levels [Manuscript]. 2007. Piliavin, Jane Allyn et al., Emergency Intervention. New York: Academic, 1981. Post, Stephen G., Byron Johnson, Michael E. McCullough and Jeffrey P. Schloss. Research on Altruism and Love: An Annotated Bibliography of Major Studies in Psychology, Sociology, Evolutionary Biology and Theology. Philadelphia: Templeton Foundation Press, 2003. Scott Green, William. “Introduction: Altruism and the Study of Religion.” Pages ix–xiv in Altruism in World Religions. Edited by J. Neusner and B.D. Chilton. Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press, 2005. Scott Green, William. “Epilogue.” Pages 191–94 in Altruism in World Religions. Edited by J. Neusner and B.D. Chilton. Washington, D.C.: Georgetown University Press, 2005. Seidler, Victor J. “Rescue, Righteousness, and Morality.” Pages 48–65 in Embracing the Other: Philosophical, Psychological, and Historical Perspectives to Altruism. Edited by P.M. Oliner, S.P. Oliner, L. Baron, L.A. Blum, D.L. Krebs and Z.M. Smolenska. New York: New York University Press, 1992. Smith, Greg. “Implicit Religion and Faith Based Urban Regeneration.” Implicit Religion 7(2) (2004): 152–82. Sober, Elliott. “The ABCs of Altruism.” Pages 17–28 in Altruism and Altruistic Love: Science, Philosophy, and Religion in Dialogue. Edited by S.G. Post et al., Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002. Staub Ervin. “Altruistic and Moral Motivations for Helping and Their Translation into Action.” Psychological Inquiry 2(2) (1991): 150–53. Taylor, Charles. Ethics of Authenticity. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1992. Wuthnow, Robert. “Altruism and Sociological Theory.” Social Service Review 67(3) (1993): 344–57. Wyschogrod, Edith. “Pythagorean Bodies and the Body of Altruism.” Pages 29–39 in Altruism and Altruistic Love: Science, Philosophy, and Religion in Dialogue. Edited by S.G. Post et al., Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2002.

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Yeung, Anne Birgitta. Altruism and Civil Society. In Search of a Good Society: Introduction to Altruism Theories and Their Links to Civil Society. CSWP Series, 25. London School of Economics (LSE), 2006. Yeung, Anne Birgitta. “A Trusted Institution of Altruism: The Social Engagement of the Scandinavian Churches.” Pages 99–124 in The Practice of Altruism: Caring and Religion in Global Perspective. Edited by R.L.F. Habito and K. Inaba. Newcastle: Cambridge Scholars Press, 2006. Yeung, Anne Birgitta. “Servant of Solidarity, Institution of Authenticity: The Dilemma of Welfare in the Church of Finland.” Nordic Journal of Religion and Society 21(1) (2007): 1–19. Yeung, Anne Birgitta, ed.; Ninna Edgardh Beckman, and Per Pettersson, co-eds. Churches in Europe as Agents of Welfare. Working paper 2:1 and 2:2 from the Project Welfare and Religion in a European Perspective. Uppsala: Uppsala Institute for Diaconal and Social Studies, 2006.

Comment 1: A Theologian’s Response to Ammerman, Monroe, and Pessi Risto Saarinen Many traditional theologies do not consider it possible to prove empirically that a person’s moral behavior results from his or her faith. At the same time these theologies postulate that faith brings forth love, so that religious conviction (faith) and moral behavior (love) relate to each other as cause and effect. The impossibility of empirical proof follows from the rules of logic: the postulate of causal relationship and the presence of the effect are not sufficient to prove the presence of the cause. In this case, the observed presence of love may result from causes other than faith. Martin Luther, for instance, follows this logical rule in his explanation of why ethics cannot be a proper “mark of the church,” that is, a certain proof that this community has genuine faith. Both Christians and non-Christians can build loving communities, and when allegedly Christian communities manifest love, one cannot prove whether this love results from faith or from some other motivating cause.1 Augustine’s doctrine of corpus permixtum, that is, the view that the holiness of the Catholic Church is not ultimately dependent on the moral quality of its members,2 can also be interpreted as an instance of this rule. On the other hand, the same logical rule says that a complete lack of love is compelling evidence for the lack of faith. If a cause necessarily brings about an effect, and there is no effect to be observed, the cause does not exist. In this manner you can falsify a religious conviction through proving a gross lack of morality, but you cannot verify it by proving that it coexists with a considerable amount of morality. The postulated causal relationship from faith to love is, obviously, a theological rather than empirical statement.

1 Martin Luther, Von den Konziliis und Kirchen, Luthers Werke, Weimarer Ausgabe (Vol. 50; Weimar: Böhlau 1883–2009), 643. 2 See, e.g., T.J. van Bavel, “The Church” in Augustine through the Ages, ed. A.D. Fitzgerald (Grand Rapids: Eerdmans 1999), 169–76, esp. p. 172.

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The Invisibility of Convictions

The logical and theological rule discussed here presupposes that we cannot observe faith in the same empirical manner with which we can observe love or morality. It considers that while morality can be observed and even measured, faith remains hidden and non-measureable. An empirical scholar may object to this and claim that both faith as phenomenon and morality as phenomenon can be equally observed. To this objection a theologian would say that, although we may observe the phenomenon of human faith, we cannot distinguish empirically between true and false faith. According to the theologian’s postulate, true faith brings forth love. A heretical community may well manifest love, but in that case their observable love stems from some source other than true faith. Therefore, when you observe a loving community, you cannot really prove empirically whether their love stems from true faith or not. At this point our theological description may be somewhat outdated. The empirical sociologists are not very interested in the truth of religious conviction per se. They focus on proving a correlation between religious conviction and moral behavior without much regard to the truth-claims of a conviction. For sociological purposes, the proof that a mistaken conviction guides moral behavior is as valuable as the proof that a true conviction guides it. Granting this, I nevertheless think as a systematic theologian that the invisibility of religious convictions is a major problem and obstacle in the attempt to prove a link between religion and morality. An individual introspection may still be able to produce a causal description between the individual conviction and action, although even this could be debated. But when we deal with group beliefs and group agency3 which extend over large space and long time, the problem becomes virulent since in such cases there is no overall introspection to establish the link between conviction and practice. We may consider, for instance, the following two historical narratives: 1. Lutheranism in Scandinavian countries has contributed significantly to the emergence of the welfare state. The social responsibility preached by Lutheran Reformers created an idea of responsibility and neighborly love which was later transformed to the policies of the welfare state.

3 For these notions, see, e.g., Raimo Tuomela, The Philosophy of Sociality (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2007).

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2. Lutheranism in Scandinavian countries supported a hierarchical society and opposed the secular ideologies of Socialism and Social D ­ emocracy which introduced the principles of the welfare state in the early 20th century. Only after the Lutheran churches had lost their long battles against social democracy, did they slowly adapt themselves to the policies of the welfare state. These two narratives give very different accounts of the relationship between religion and morality. At the same time, they both proceed from similar observable facts, that is, the contemporary reality of the welfare state and the prominence of Lutheranism in this area. But they spell out completely opposite claims with roughly the same degree of credibility. A systematic theologian would probably say that one cannot verify either narrative since the role of religious conviction—claimed as group belief and stated in terms of group agency—in the historical process remains mere guesswork. In order to verify either one of the narratives, the scholar would need to grasp the inner forces and causal effects of the group belief, a task which is clearly impossible. An additional problem is connected with the very complex nature of such concepts as “group agency” and “group belief.” If people helped their neighbors in theScandinavian countryside a century ago, how can the historian know, for instance, that they were doing this “as Lutherans”? Each helper might have had very particular causes for his or her actions, and since these motivational convictions remain invisible and unreachable, there is no reliable way to proceed to well-founded claims concerning group agency and group belief. 2

Reasons, Causes, and Idealism

Reading the papers of Nancy T. Ammerman and Anne Birgitta Pessi, I have mixed feelings about their observations. On the one hand, they are well aware of the theoretical and empirical challenges in proving the link between religion and morality. On the other hand, they are confident that religious people who exercise moral agency and say that it stems from their faith are right in saying so. From this evidence they draw the conclusion that religion promotes morality. A theologian like myself thinks that one should keep the distinction between reasons and causes in mind when reading interview-based conclusions. Religious people obviously give religious reasons for their moral actions when asked about them. But how do we know whether the actual causes of these ­actions were religious in the first place? Analogically, non-religious people

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most likely give non-religious reasons for their moral actions, but this proves nothing more and nothing less than that they want to give coherent narratives of their life stories when being interviewed. Interestingly, Ammerman offers some findings concerning people outside traditional religious communities. These people are also moral, but they are less likely to engage in “voluntary service activities” than the religious people and are more likely to feel a sense of powerlessness. The concept of “voluntary” is highlighted by both Pessi and Ammerman to distinguish religious motivation from other motivational backgrounds. “Voluntary” may mean different things, but in this context I take it to mean actions and services that are not required by the law or provided by the public sector. As Pessi notes, such a notion of voluntary may be connected with idealism or the view that Christian welfare activities are somehow “better” than those provided by the public sector. A possible problem may then be that “religion,” “morality,” and “voluntary help” are all instances of the same idealistic world-view. But if this is the case, then religion and morality do not relate to one another as cause and effect; rather they are both reasons given for establishing an idealistic world-view. Given this, when people exercise “voluntary” service, the cause of their acting is by definition their individual will, which has been informed by an overall idealistic project. There may be a further psychological cause behind this ­idealism, such as a need for personal recognition, but religion need not be considered as the underlying cause of this project. In such a case we come to the disturbing conclusion that although the person is religious and gives religious reasons for his or her idealistic moral behavior, there is no final causal relationship between religion and morality. 3

Trusting Introspection

At this point the reader may have some justification for thinking that my comments are much too skeptical. We may grant that convictions remain invisible or that only God knows the human heart, but nevertheless at the same time consider that the social sciences exercise sound common sense when they interview people and trust that the speaker’s introspection is trustworthy. If a speaker says that her religious conviction prompts her morality, why should we speculate about the distinction between reasons and causes or about the overall idealism of religious people? As stated above, my skepticism is deeper when scholars extrapolate their findings to group beliefs and group agency, that is, what religious (or non-­ religious) people think and do as a group. Introspection is by definition an

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i­ ndividual phenomenon. We cannot speak of the introspection of a group, but the scholar is always making a generalized projection when the intentional contents of a group belief and group action are being formulated. At the individual level, however, I am more willing to concede that a person understands the causes of his or her particular actions. Kristen Monroe’s paper offers some fine examples of this kind. Particularly revealing is her claim that the individual agents understand their action best when they are not trying to give reasons or elaborate considerations, but realize that they act fairly spontaneously. I am not altogether convinced by her postulate of moral sense, but I find the individual introspections of her informants in many ways convincing. I also find her negative answer in the end—no empirical influence from religion on morality—quite revealing. This answer concurs with my skeptical comment that the reasons provided by religion need not be operative as causes for action. The informants may realize this themselves when they practice honest introspection. Although Monroe’s results go against Ammerman’s conclusions, the two can probably to some extent be reconciled with one another. Such a reconciliation needs, however, to deconstruct Ammerman’s conclusions in the manner described above. In other words, although many people and larger groups claim an influence from their religion on their morality, this claim represents, on closer examination, an idealized—and perhaps also idealistic—reason for their group belief and group agency rather than a strict introspection of the real causes of their individual actions. This proposal allows for trusting the use of introspection in social sciences, while it also remains critical of overall empirical generalizations regarding the challenging relationship between religion and morality. References Bavel, T.J. van. “The Church.” Pages 160–76 in Augustine through the Ages. Edited by A.D Fitzgerald. Grand Rapids: Eerdmans, 1999. Luther, Martin. Von den Konziliis und Kirchen, Luthers Werke, Weimarer Ausgabe. Vol. 50. Weimar: Böhlau, 1883–2009. Tuomela, Raimo. The Philosophy of Sociality. Oxford: Oxford University Press 2007.

Comment 2: Religion, Altruism, and Everyday Life: Some Reflections Grace Davie In responding to the preceding papers, I feel that I should to nail my colours to the mast from the outset—in other words to declare not only where my preferences lie but where my skills and training have given me insight. My expertise is in sociology, meaning that I respond readily to ways of working that link the individual to society. Psychologists start from a different position; they are more concerned with the behaviour and mental processes of individual people. In no way do I wish to imply that one is better than the other; it is simply that I am familiar with the former rather than the latter, and—in so far as I am able to judge—better at it. A second point follows from this. I am relatively well-acquainted with the work of Nancy Ammerman and Anne-Birgitta Pessi and know them both personally. I can therefore “fill in the gaps” in some places. I cannot do the same for Kristen Monroe, which means that I have to rely exclusively on the material that has been sent to me. I trust that I have interpreted her argument correctly. That said, my plan is to begin by taking the chapters one by one, indicating my reactions to each. Increasingly however connections are made between them. As Nancy Ammerman makes clear in her introduction, her work on the links between religion and morality has spanned three research projects and almost 20 years. She is therefore drawing on an extensive body of empirical data and has had ample opportunity to reflect on her findings. Two points emerge very clearly from her writing: that religious organizations of many different kinds are carriers of a distinctive body of teaching and that they offer ample possibilities to put these precepts into action. It would be a mistake to idealize such communities, but—at their best—they introduce their members to an ethic of care, reinforcing this in their activities. Central to the latter are the extensive welfare networks associated with religious organizations at least in the American case. As Ammerman argues, congregations are “critical players in mobilizing collective energies”1 in a society which relies heavily on non-governmental agencies to meet very basic needs. The work of two rather different authors came to mind as I read this chapter. The first is a British scholar trained in both theology and sociology. In 1992, 1 See page 228.

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Robin Gill published a series of lectures delivered in my own University in a short book entitled Moral Communities,2 in which he argued a very similar case to Ammerman. Most interesting is the stress in both authors on a body of teaching per se and on the grounding of this teaching in a community. Hence the significance of both theological and sociological explanations: the first concerns the ethic; the second relates to the organization that sustains this. Since 1992, Gill has developed this line of thinking further. Specifically, in Churchgoing and Christian Ethics,3 he gathers evidence from social attitude surveys about church communities, looking in particular at their views on a wide range of moral issues. As before, he discovers that churchgoers are distinctive in their attitudes and behaviour, including their approaches to morality and altruism. The methodology is different to that of Ammerman, but a similar picture emerges. Interestingly, neither scholar wishes to exaggerate the differences between active and less active churchgoers, including those who do not go to church at all. Right thinking is in no way the preserve of the former; nor is it the case that non churchgoers lack a moral compass. There is, however, a qualitative difference between the two groups—one that is worth pondering as we seek to understand better the origins and practices of morality in late modern societies. The second author is rather different. Alain de Botton is a well-known journalist of Swiss origin, now resident in Britain. In 2012 he published Religion for Atheists: A Non-Believer’s Guide to the Uses of Religion,4 a book that generated considerable public debate. De Botton is up front about his own position: he is not a believer. He wishes, however, to distance himself from those atheists (meaning essentially those who have become known as “new” atheists) who can see nothing good at all in religion. Instead De Botton draws inspiration from many aspects of religion and religious life—for example wisdom, community, kindness, education and so on—and asks how these might be replicated in secular living. His aim is to find substitutes for religion in order to maintain the wisdom and indeed the practical virtues that are evident in many world faiths. I find this an attractive idea, but is it a plausible one? The immediate question that comes to mind is whether or not it is possible to create and to sustain the thinking and activities that are associated with religion without the teaching and disciplines that lie behind them. Personally I doubt it. The many 2 Robin Gill, Moral Communities (Exeter: Exeter University Press, 1992). 3 Robin Gill, Churchgoing and Christian Ethics (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999). 4 Alain De Botton, Religion for Atheists: A Non-Believer’s Guide to the Uses of Religion (London: Hamish Hamilton, 2012).

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reviewers of this widely-selling book are divided: some are scornful, rejecting the notion that you can have your cake and eat it; others are more persuaded. Among the former is Terry Eagleton, who argues as follows: “What the book does, in short, is hijack other people’s beliefs, empty them of content and redeploy them in the name of moral order, social consensus and aesthetic pleasure. It is an astonishingly impudent enterprise. It is also strikingly unoriginal.”5 Among the latter is Richard Holloway, who takes a different view: “The purpose of de Botton’s book is to identify and retain some of the values that religion can teach us. Among these values he counts the generation of the feeling of community; the promotion and inculcation of kindness; the development of habits of self-discipline which will moderate our greed and cupidity; and the need to identify people of virtue we can look up to.”6 Interestingly Terry Eagleton is a Marxist whose recent writing reveals an increasing interest in theological themes. Richard Holloway—the former Bishop of Edinburgh in the Episcopal Church of Scotland—has moved in the opposite direction and now describes himself as an “after-religionist.” Either way, the presumed link between religion and morality remains central to the debate. Kristen Monroe argues differently from her equally extensive research in this field. For her the key lies not in the links between religion and altruism which do not emerge with any clarity from her findings. She is concerned rather with the ways in which people see themselves and the effect that this has on their behaviour towards “the other”—in this case, those in extreme need. Her data are fascinating and derive from extended interviews with a series of individuals who were in occupied Europe at the time of the holocaust: these people include rescuers, bystanders and Nazi supporters. Monroe’s analysis suggests that moral choices are to a large extent spontaneous; they are not the result of conscious or rational deliberation, within which religious precepts might figure. The core argument is clearly summarized in the following sentence: It was the speakers’ cognitive categorization system that established a critical relationship between “the other,” moving individuals in need into a classification of someone “just like us” or reducing them to strangers 5 Terry Eagleton, review of Religion for Atheists: A Non-Believer’s Guide to the Uses of Religion by Alain de Botton, The Guardian, 12 January 2012. url: http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2012/ jan/12/religion-for-atheists-de-botton-review (accessed 3 August 2012). 6 Richard Holloway, “‘Paradise Regained,” review of Religion for Atheists: A Non-Believer’s Guide to the Uses of Religion, by Alain de Botton, Literary Review, July 2012. url: http://alaindebotton.com/religion/reviews/literary-review (accessed 31 January 2017).

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perceived as different, threatening, or even people considered beyond the boundaries of the community of concern.7 Those who saw “the other” as a fellow human being did their best to help, regardless of the personal cost. Those who saw “the other” as a stranger found reasons to justify their restraint. I find this entirely plausible as an explanation: identity (my understanding of myself) determines moral choice. But—as night follows day—a second question follows from this: why is it that some individuals perceive those who are in need as fellow human beings while others do not? If identity determines choice, what is it that determines identity? Is this simply innate as Monroe seems to imply or is this, at least in part, learned behavior? And once the latter is admitted, it seems likely that a range of factors beyond the individual him- or herself might have made a difference. It is important to note that Monroe’s work is concerned with an extreme situation—namely the persecution of Jews in Europe before and during World War ii. Is this a special case? In other words, is it or is it not legitimate to generalize from occupied Europe to what might be termed “normal” living? Is it the case, for example, that those who show compassion to a persecuted minority will feel similarly towards—say—the homeless or destitute in the late modern city? Will the same logic lead to action: i.e. that the fellow-feeling of one human being for another will result in the practical expression of compassion? Alternatively, will the construction of the homeless person as a stranger (or worse still a danger) prompt a rather different reaction? It is at least plausible in this case that the reactions will be less polarized, implying that the promptings of “identity” may be less spontaneous and more equivocal. At the very least, questions may be asked about the reasons for being homeless in the first place and about the range of resources that are available to those who find themselves in this position. It is at this point that we find a link between this chapter and the other two that are presented in this section: Ammerman’s data are quintessentially American and reveal the importance of both private altruism and the churches in a society where public welfare is limited. Anne Birgitta Pessi’s work, conversely, draws from the European case—specifically from a part of Europe where the welfare state is not only highly developed, but strongly affirmed by the society as a whole. Attitudes vary accordingly: in the United States, the idea of self-help dominates; in Finland, as indeed in Europe as a whole, there is a stronger sense of shared responsibility, channeled through the state. 7 See, page 241.

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Philip Manow, interestingly, identifies a religious reason for these differences, highlighting amongst other things the significance of theological ideas in the formative period of the European welfare state from the nineteenth century onwards.8 Specifically, the Lutheran countries of Northern Europe (including Germany) were the first to develop systems of welfare and social insurance. Catholic and “reformed” countries adopted these ideas somewhat later. The explanation for these differences in timing can be found in the religious factor. Driven by the notion of “two kingdoms,” the Lutheran churches welcomed the welfare state, or—at the very least—offered little resistance to its creation and development. The Catholic Church, conversely, actively hindered the intrusion of the state into the aspects of society which had long been regarded as central to its self-understanding (notably the family). Hence the state-church cleavage that can still be felt in much of southern Europe, where the welfare system remains rudimentary. Much less predictably, rather similar hesitations can be found in countries influenced by “reformed” as opposed to Lutheran theology (the Netherlands, Switzerland and, to some extent, England), but for different reasons. Once again, there was resistance to state welfare, but this time in the name of theological as well as political individualism. Self-reliance, rather than social care, became the supreme virtue—an approach that found its fullest expression in the United States. In short, religion can influence attitudes to care at the institutional as well as the individual level, but these in turn have an effect (a complex on) on how we view those who find themselves on the street.9 To substantiate her argument, Anne-Birgitta Pessi introduces a number of empirical enquiries which explore the links between religion and altruism in the Finnish case. I would like to comment on one of these in particular: the project known as “Welfare and Religion in a European Perspective” (or wrep for short) in which the Finnish study was but one of eight national case studies.10 wrep aimed to do two things: firstly to discover exactly what happens 8

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Philip Manow, “‘The Good, the Bad and the Ugly’: Esping-Andersen’s Welfare State Typology and the Religious Roots of the Western Welfare State,” Working paper 04/03, MaxPlanck-Institut für Gesellschaftsforschung, Cologne, 2004; Kees Van Kersbergen and Philip Manow, ed., Religion, Class Coalitions, and Welfare State Regimes (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009). Thomas Ekstrand, “Thinking Theologically About Welfare and Religion,” in Welfare and Religion in 21st Century Europe (Volume 2): Gendered, Religious and Social Change, ed. A. Bäckström, G. Davie, N. Edgardh, and P. Pettersson (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011), 107–50. The “Welfare and Religion in a European Perspective” archive is located on http://www. crs.uu.se/Research/former-research-projects/WREP/ (accessed 31 January 2017). The published material from wrep can be found in Anders Bäckström and Grace Davie, with

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on an everyday basis in the fields of welfare and religion in Europe in the first decade of the twenty-first century, and secondly to document the attitudes of different groups of Europeans (in this case Finns) to this situation. As Pessi makes clear in her chapter, there were three groups of interviewees: representatives of the local authorities (the state), representatives of the local churches and lastly members of the general public. She summarizes the responses of all three. The comparative perspective central to wrep adds a further dimension. Both in terms of activities and in terms of attitudes there is considerable commonality across Europe. There is for example a shared expectation that the state should be responsible for welfare in all European societies. This is the ideal. It is, however, an expectation tempered with realism—an awareness that this is unlikely to happen to the degree that most Europeans would like. The shortfall, moreover, is almost certain to increase in the foreseeable future in that the economic situation is deteriorating (dramatically so in some parts of Europe), and the demand for welfare is growing—a principal reason being the changing demography of advanced industrial societies leading to an unprecedented growth in the number and proportion of elderly people. The principal findings of the wrep project should be seen in this context. They can be summarized as follows: notwithstanding a continuing process of secularization, the role of the churches in Europe with regard to welfare is growing rather than shrinking and that most (if not all) Europeans think that this is a good thing. That said there was considerable debate regarding the relative merits of different providers. State-delivered care, it was agreed, was carefully monitored, moderately efficient and underpinned by professional codes. It was, however, relatively impersonal and increasingly beset by bureaucracy. Church-based welfare, on the other hand, was considered less efficient but less bureaucratic, and was almost always associated with altruism and personal warmth. A rather different but very interesting point emerges from the discussion section of Pessi’s chapter. It draws from Charles Taylor’s notion of “horizons of significance,” asking where the latter are to be found in late modern societies. Both in this chapter and in her work more generally Pessi argues that, amongst other places, these “horizons” can be found in religious institutions—not least Ninna Edgardh and Per Pettersson, ed., Welfare and Religion in 21st Century Europe (Volume 1): Configuring the Connections (Farnham: Ashgate, 2010); and Anders Bäckström, Grace Davie, Ninna Edgardh, and Per Pettersson, ed., Welfare and Religion in 21st Century Europe (Volume 2): Gendered, Religious, and Social Change (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011); and in the collected working papers of the project listed on the website. I was the co-director of wrep.

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in their prophetic as well as their provider role. In many respects this links very directly with my own work on “vicarious religion,” a concept defined as follows: the idea of religion performed by an active minority but on behalf of a much larger number, who implicitly at least not only understand, but approve of what the minority is doing.11 The finer points of this way of working need not concern us here, but one very clear illustration can be found in the churches’ insistence on certain standards of care, underpinning this approach by a careful articulation of theological values—notably the intrinsic worth of the human person. The ways in which this aspect of vicarious religion is implemented vary across Europe, but it can be discovered in each of the wrep case studies. One final point concludes this discussion. I am surprised that none of the chapters that I have read paid specific attention to gender as a variable in their respective analyses. I say this as the importance of gender in both religion and welfare turned out to be paramount in wrep. An extremely large proportion of the social care that is delivered in Europe is, and always has been, dispensed by women. An awareness that this is done in different ways in different countries does not detract from the significance of this statement; it simply contextualizes the debate. Equally noticeable is the disproportionate presence of women in the religious life of modern Europe, as indeed throughout the Christian west. Why, then, have so few commentators noticed the very marked similarities between welfare and religion in Europe, and why is it that so many respondents—when challenged—simply regarded the dominance of women in both spheres as “natural”? From Finland to Greece, the answer was always the same: women do the caring because they are better at it, just as women do the praying—on behalf of everyone else (i.e. vicariously). The case studies in wrep sought both to unpick and explain these widespread and largely unquestioned assumptions.12 This taken for taken-for-grantedness returns me to the chapters in this section. Each of them aims both to uncover and to explain aspects of human and social living that all too often are simply assumed. Unless we understand better 11

12

For more information on vicarious religion, see Grace Davie, Religion in Modern Europe: A Memory Mutates (Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000); and Grace Davie, “Vicarious Religion: A Methodological Challenge,” in Everyday Religion: Observing Modern Religious Lives, ed. N. Ammerman (New York: Oxford University Press, 2007), 21–37. See in particular Ninna Edgardh, “A Gendered Perspective on Welfare and Religion in Europe,” in Welfare and Religion in 21st Century Europe (Volume 2): Gendered, Religious and Social Change, ed. A. Bäckström, G. Davie, N. Edgardh and P. Pettersson; (Farnham: Ashgate, 2011), 61–106.

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the motives for morality, altruism and its expression in social care, we may find that these activities are beginning to erode without anyone noticing until it is too late. It is ironic, for example, that the taken-for granted presence of women in both the churches and the welfare systems of Europe only became apparent when the women themselves were no longer present. It is this that has fuelled the current debate surrounding the “deficit of care” in late modern societies. The deficit in care derives very directly from the changing role of women—an entirely positive feature, but one which implies their concomitant withdrawal from what have long been considered “traditional” roles.13 We need to know more about these. References Bäckström, Anders, and Grace Davie, with Ninna Edgardh and Per Pettersson, eds. Welfare and Religion in 21st Century Europe (Volume 1): Configuring the Connections. Farnham: Ashgate, 2010. Bäckström, Anders, and Grace Davie, Ninna Edgardh and Per Pettersson, eds. Welfare and Religion in 21st Century Europe (Volume 2): Gendered, Religious and Social Change. Farnham: Ashgate, 2011. Davie, Grace. Religion in Modern Europe: A Memory Mutates. Oxford: Oxford University Press, 2000. Davie, Grace. “Vicarious Religion: A Methodological Challenge.” Pages 21–37 in Everyday Religion: Observing Modern Religious Lives. Edited by N. Ammerman. New York: OUP, 2007. De Botton, Alain. Religion for Atheists: A Non-Believer’s Guide to the Uses of Religion. London: Hamish Hamilton, 2012. Eagleton, Terry. Review of Religion for Atheists: A Non-Believer’s Guide to the Uses of Religion, by Alain de Botton. The Guardian, 12 January 2012. URL: http://www.guardian.co.uk/books/2012/jan/12/religion-for-atheists-de-botton-review (accessed 3 August 2012). Edgardh, Ninna. “A Gendered Perspective on Welfare and Religion in Europe.” Pages 61–106 in Welfare and Religion in 21st Century Europe (Volume 2): Gendered, Religious and Social Change. Edited by A. Bäckström, G. Davie, N. Edgardh, and P. Pettersson. Farnham: Ashgate, 2011.

13

Alison Wolf, “Working Girls,” Prospect Magazine 121, 23 April 2006. url: http://www .prospectmagazine.co.uk/magazine/rise-of-professional-women-decline-female -altriusm/ (accessed 6 August 2012).

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Ekstrand, Thomas. “Thinking Theologically About Welfare and Religion.” Pages 107–50 in Welfare and Religion in 21st Century Europe (Volume 2): Gendered, Religious and Social Change. Edited by A. Bäckström, G. Davie, N. Edgardh, and P. Pettersson. Farnham: Ashgate, 2011. Van Kersbergen, Kees, and Philip Manow, eds. Religion, Class Coalitions and Welfare State Regimes. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 2009. Gill, Robin. Moral Communities. Exeter: Exeter University Press, 1992. Gill, Robin. Churchgoing and Christian Ethics. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press, 1999. Holloway, Richard. “‘Paradise Regained’,” review of Religion for Atheists: A Non-­ Believer’s Guide to the Uses of Religion, by Alain de Botton. Literary Review, July 2012. URL: http://alaindebotton.com/religion/reviews/literaryreview/ (accessed 31 ­January 2017). Manow, Philip. “‘The Good, the Bad and The Ugly’: Esping-Andersen’s Welfare State Typology and the Religious Roots of the Western Welfare State.” Working paper 04/03, Max-Planck-Institut für Gesellschaftsforschung, Cologne, 2004. Wolf, Alison. “Working Girls.” Prospect Magazine 121, 23 April 2006. URL: http://www .prospectmagazine.co.uk/magazine/rise-of-professional-women-decline-female -altriusm/ (accessed 6 August 2012).

Synthesis for Further Discussion Petri Luomanen The commentaries at the end of the three main parts of the book have already provided cross-disciplinary summaries and reviews. There is no need to summarize those discussions here. As an overall conclusion it is more appropriate to try to summarize how the book answers the core question that was raised in the introduction: What, if any, is the role of religion, especially Christianity, in morality, pro-social behavior, and altruism? Furthermore, when all the articles and commentaries are viewed together, some recurrent themes and interesting links across the main parts emerge. In practice, contributions in this volume mostly deal with religion and religious communities in the Judeo-Christian religious tradition. Thus, the ­results cannot necessarily be generalized to cover all religions. However, there are some cross-cultural aspects in the discussion, especially when it includes cognitive considerations. Therefore, I am occasionally speaking of “religion” in the following, but the reader is advised to keep in mind the restricted perspective of the volume. Although the contributors and commentators approach the topic from ­diverse disciplinary areas with their own specific methodological traditions and discourses typical of their disciplines, they are practically unanimous in maintaining that morality does not necessarily require religion. Religiously unaffiliated persons or atheists are also capable of solving moral problems and pursuing moral goals. In some areas they may be even better tuned for s­ eeing moral obligations or perceiving injustice than members of religious communities. In Nancy Ammerman’s research religious toleration and concern for ­nature came up as examples of that kind of orientation. Heikki Räisänen takes up the case of Stoics as a possible example of ethical universalism that exceeds the ethical universalism in early Christian sources where universalism seems to be restricted by in-group concerns. However, this does not mean that morality and pro-social behavior could not benefit from religion. Several articles in the volume argue for ways in which this could happen and some even bring forth cases where this seems to be empirically verifiable. Ammerman’s research shows that in the North-American cultural c­ ontext those who participate in religious activities (informants included Christians, Jews, and Mormons), “have a fuller vocabulary of moral concerns and a more a­ ctive engagement in pursuing those concerns, as compared to ­non-participants.” Persons un- or disaffiliated with North-American religious © koninklijke brill nv, leiden, ���7 | doi 10.1163/9789004343535_020

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communities also have moral concerns but they are more likely to appoach moral problems from a more general structural and political point of view. They are also more likely to feel powerless in the face of moral problems, lacking the kind of infrastructure for voluntary service activities that members of religious congregations possess. Grace Davie cites in her commentary article similar results from Robin Gill’s research in British context. These empirical studies bring us to the first possible effect of religion on morality: (1) The significance of religion, or better, religious communities for morality is their ability to cultivate moral thinking and to enable voluntary pro-social service. If Ammerman’s conclusion about the “fuller vocabulary of moral concerns” of members of religious communities is valid, the result reinforces the role Ilkka Pyysiäinen attributes to religion in moral considerations: “Religion only provides a cognitively effective way of explaining our moral intuitions to ourselves and to expressing them.” However, Ammerman’s conclusions go even further because religion also seems to boost pro-social activity. This brings to mind James’ pragmatism, as presented in Pihlström’s article, the “energizing of moral life” which would provide a practical justification for theism—although the kind of energizing that is exemplified in Ammerman’s research data probably has more to do with social interaction than preoccupation with theistic beliefs, which actually brings us closer to Deweyan pragmatism. In any case, because religion is not a prerequisite for morality, empirical data leaves room for the kind of pragmatist philosophical solutions discussed in Pihlström’s article. The reasonable philosophical solution that takes into account empirical evidence has to be sought in moral religion or ethical theology rather than religious morality or theological ethics—or in “mutual holistic adjustment, with no one-way grounding either way” as Philström suggests. The idea of natural moral law that appears in different forms in traditional Catholic and Protestant theologies is, of course, also compatible with this, as is also pointed out in the commentaries of Knuuttila and Saarinen. In my view, John Dewey’s naturalized pragmatism and even Richard Rorty’s neopragmatist philosophy partly accord with Gerd Theissen whose delineation of evolutionary theology I discuss in my own article. Theissen defines ­evolutionary epistemology, which also covers religious knowledge, as follows: Evolutionary epistemology regards the hypothesis of human knowledge as a continuation of that comprehensive process of adaptation of life to reality which governs all organic structures. Knowledge is the adaptation of cognitive structures to reality, the accommodation of thought to experience. Conversely: life forms knowledge.1 1 See above pp. 124–25.

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This obviously accords with Dewey’s goal of bringing religion “down to earth” as Pihlström puts it. Theissen also agrees with the Deweyan position in his understanding of experience. Theissen’s evolutionary epistemology entails a notion about “existential experience of resonance” that is qualitatively the same in religious and in other spheres of life: in nature, art, music, and in interaction with other human beings. Pihlström’s discussion of Rorty’s neopragmatism takes up Rorty’s example of what to say to totalitarian secret police when they come. In Rorty’s neopragmatic world there is nothing to say. Pihlström challenges this, arguing that it is precisely in pragmatist perspective that theological ideas should be evaluated on the basis of their ability to help people live ethically, and if ethically responsible theology or metaphysics does this, it should be justified. In this discussion, and in Pihlström’s concluding considerations, the reality of evil is taken seriously. This is also what Theissen does in his evolutionary theorizing. Theissen’s solution is to put cultural evolution to counteract harsh biological natural evolution. This sounds like an inherently contradictory solution—to put evolution into play against evolution—and Theissen may not have managed to solve all the theoretical problems related to this. He seems to be aiming at humans taking their responsibility as entrepreneurs in guided cultural evolution seriously. Whether this solution actually means stepping away from the evolutionary paradigm cannot be decided here. Be that as it may, these considerations have brought us to the second possible moral benefit from religion: (2) Religion, and especially Christianity in Theissen’s model, helps fight evil. Rorty’s neopragmatism addresses the existential condition of humans left totally alone with their ethical considerations and solutions to moral problems. There are no theistic excuses available. This existential condition is also addressed in Ojakangas’ article. His consideration of the problem of theodicy leads him to conclude: “If the ethical is exhausted in the notion of responsibility, then the atheist position is certainly more ethical. For the atheist position entails, not only that I am responsible for that evil I do, but also and more fundamentally that I am responsible for the very definition of evil.” However, Ojakangas offers a way out for the religious position that makes it possible for religion to have a positive impact on morality, and this leads us to the third possible positive effect. If ethics is not about responsibility but about happiness, as it was for the ancient Greeks then: (3) “Religion is a means to alleviate the pain of man who walks here on earth under the burden of responsibility.” As we have seen above, the good side in Theissen’s highly abstract evolutionary analysis is that it makes possible comparison with some moral philosophical positions. However, the downside of the abstract discussion is, as I point

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out in my own article, that it leaves open many questions about evolutionary processes on the grassroots level. My contribution is an attempt to develop some tools for more detailed analysis, taking into account the development of early Christian traditions, as they can be detected in the literary sources available to us, and their reception among early Christian communities. Analyses of the earliest layers of Jesus traditions in Q reveal that from very early on moral exhortation was motivated both by referring to God’s benevolence observable in the way he takes care of “birds and flowers” and by referring to future judgment. When Q traditions were elaborated by the editor(s) of Matthew’s gospel, the themes of final judgment and community control became even more pronounced. Altruistic ideals were more prominent in the early phases of the Jesus movement but they became balanced with more means of controlling free riders. One of the “strategies” was to emphasize final judgment (there were also other means, rituals for instance). Or to express the same in an evolutionary framework: traditions and communities that were able to balance altruism survived better. Although the idea of final judgment may not be to the taste of modern liberal Christians, historical evidence shows that there is no doubt about its force. Cognitive experiments confirm this: When people imagine themselves to be watched by human or supernatural agents their sensitivity to act according to their cultural moral norms is heightened. Thus the fourth possible way that religion supports morality is: (4) A belief in supernatural surveillance and punishment (ssp) supports morality. However, it is important to keep in mind that this mechanism is not specific to religion. It is rather one example of the hybridity of religion. Cognitive mechanisms that appear in human behavior and culture in general also make their way into the religious sphere of life. Moreover, as Petri Ylikoski shows in his article, the hypothesis that ssp was an important factor in the evolution of human cooperation is false (in the case of the early ssp hypothesis) and ungrounded (in the case of the late hypothesis). Because the norms of Christian morality are generally thought to be quite similar to Jewish and Greco-Roman moral teaching, Lauri Thurén focuses in his article on the motivation of morals by applying modern argumentation analysis to the First Letter of Peter and Paul’s Letter to the Romans. According to Thurén, the motivating factors are Christians’ “novel status as God’s chosen people” (1 Peter) and “life in the Spirit” or “in Christ” (Romans). As Thurén notes, this kind of motivation seems to reflect Monroe’s thesis that people’s self-image and identity motivate their altruistic behavior. As far as I can see, Räisänen agrees with the idea that Christians’ new i­ dentity “in Christ” could—or at least according to Paul it should—result in an ethically

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responsible way of life. However, Räisänen’s examples of the ­downsides of heightened in-group identity are a healthy reminder that it is difficult to strike a balance. Heightened in-group identity may turn into hatred towards outsiders as well. Universality always grows from particularity as Syreeni argues in his article. Matthew may have come close to an optimal balance (but not harmony!) between universalism and particularism when developing the literary and thematic composition of the Sermon on the Mount, at least if judged on the basis of its reception. Monroe’s empirical research has not verified any causal effect between religion and altruism. In this regard it differs from Ammerman’s results that reveal at least a positive correlation between religion and morality (a causal relation is more difficult to prove, especially on a general level, as Saarinen points out in his commentary). However, Monroe’s theory about moral choice that she has developed on the basis of her research does leave room for religion to affect moral behavior if religion is able to shape identity. This leads us to the fifth possible positive impact of religion on morality: (5) Religion may support moral behavior by creating and cultivating social identity on the basis of which people make spontaneous moral judgments, acting accordingly. The results of experimental research that Anne Birgitta Pessi discusses in her article show clearly that the general public and actors in the public sector see a clear link between Christianity and morality and expect Christian churches to be active in supporting welfare. Although professional theologians and philosophers disagree, this may indicate that in the mind of the general public it is the job of religion, and especially Christianity, to make ethics possible and to act accordingly. Furthermore, taking her lead from Taylor, Pessi contends: I would argue strongly that religious institutions, particularly through their role in combating social problems, may offer such “institutions of authenticity.” Through their words and deeds, they may offer trustworthy horizons of significance at which words and deeds speak the same language, even in the context of privatized faith and ideological frames. This brings us to the sixth possible impact (which is closely related to points 1 and 5): (6) Religion may enhance solidarity and trust in society by acting as a “trustworthy horizon of significance.” The colleagues who have contributed to this volume, and my co-editors, are free to disagree (or agree) with the above considerations. This cooperation with colleagues from different fields—which first led to a conference and has now produced this volume—has been most rewarding. The main reason

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is that different methodological perspectives and scholarly discourses have introduced new concepts and opened new ways to look at themes that many of us have discussed only within our own disciplines. While the connections and similarities I have traced above may give a too harmonious picture of the overall undertaking, I trust that these considerations will be put into the correct perspective. Let the discussion continue.

Index of Modern Authors Abrams, Dominic 117, 136 Adolphs, Ralph 255, 257 Agamben, Giorgio 93, 96, 98 Alcorta, C. 31–2, 41, 43 Ammerman, Nancy T. 17–19, 217–19, 221, 225, 227–28, 230, 236–37, 265, 277, 284–88, 290, 293–94, 296–97, 300 Anderson, A.K. 56, 61 Andersson, Gerhard 63 Angell, Olav Helge 266, 268, 277, 280 Annas, Julia 103, 194 Apicella, C.L. 33, 41 Aquinas, Thomas 44, 89, 101, 103 Arendt, Hannah 78, 84 Arps, Kevin 277 Atkinson, Quentin D. 34–35, 42, 51–52, 59 Atran, Scott 3, 19, 45, 51–52, 56–59 Auerbach, Randy P. 63 Axelrod, Robert 49, 59 Bäckström, Anders 17, 19, 266, 277, 291–95 Backus, I. 101, 104 Bainbridge, William Sims 118, 123, 136, 138 Barclay, John M.G. 183, 196 Barnes, Michael Horace 34, 42 Barr, Abigail 62 Barrett, C.K. 188, 196 Barrett, Clark 62 Barrett, Justin L. 53, 56, 58–59, 121, 136 Bateson, Melissa 30, 42, 51, 59 Batson, C. Daniel 13, 19, 264, 277 Bauckham, Richard 122, 136 Baumard, N. 29, 42 Baur, Ferdinand Christian 116, 136 Bavel, T.J. van 282, 286 Beaman, Arthur L. 277 Beare, F.W. 190, 196 Beauvoir, Simone de 87, 90, 93, 98 Beekman, John 166, 179 Beiser, Frederick C. 68, 84 Bergin, Allen E. 45, 59 Bergstrom, Brian 49, 60 Bering, Jesse M. 26–27, 29, 31, 37, 42–43, 50–51, 60, 62–63 Bernstein, Richard J. 80, 85 Bigda-Peyton, Joseph 63

Björgvinsson, Thörstur 63 Blackmore, Susan 260, 275, 277 Blaker, Kimberly 45, 60 Bloom, Paul 51, 60, 100, 102, 104 Boddie, Stephanie C. 19, 236 Boehm, Christopher 33, 42 Bolyanatz, Alexander 62 Bonnie, Kristin E. 252, 256 Bottéro, Jean 36, 42 Bourrat, Pierrick 34–35, 42, 51 Bowles, Samuel 252, 256 Boyd, Robert 58, 60, 62, 118, 126, 129–30, 138, 203, 206 Boyer, Pascal 4, 19, 44, 46, 48–49, 52, 55, 60, 115, 118, 120, 136–37 Božičević, M. 42 Brady, Henry E. 238 Breggin, Peter R. 14, 19 Brink, Gijsbert van den 88, 99 Buccellati, Giorgio 109, 111 Bulbulia, Joseph 49, 50, 60, 102, 104, 204–05 Byrne, Peter 68, 85 Callero, Peter L. 264, 277 Callow, John 166, 179 Calvin, Jean 101, 104 Campbell, David E. 230, 234, 237 Campbell, D.T. 126 Caputo, John D. 98–99 Casanova, José 274, 277 Chapman, H.A. 56, 61 Chaves, Mark 228, 236 Chilton, Bruce D. 259, 279 Christakis, N.A. 41 Churchland, Paul M. 3, 19, 56–57, 61 Cialdini Robert B. 263, 277 Claidière, Nicolas 58, 60 Clain, Suzanne Heller 265, 278 Clark, Andy 20, 56, 62 Clark, P. 258 Cnaan, Ram A. 17, 19, 228, 236, 269, 278 Cohen, Ronald 262, 278 Cooper, Jerrold S. 39, 42 Cosmides, Leda 121, 137, 139 Czachesz, István 12, 129–30, 137, 199, 202–05

304 Davie, Grace 18, 230, 237, 266, 277, 291–94, 297 Davies, W.D. 140, 159 Davis, Mark H. 263, 278 Dawkins, Richard 115, 118, 120, 137, 198–99, 205 Day, Matthew 52, 61 De Botton, Alain 288–89, 294 Dennett, Daniel 115, 118, 137 Derrida, Jacques 97, 99 Descartes, René 66, 101, 104 Dewey, John 65, 71–77, 79–80, 83, 85, 297–98 Dodd, C.H. 188, 196 Dooley, Mark 98–99 Douglass, Andrea 265, 279 Dubreuil, Benoît 26, 42 Dunbar, Robin I.M. 34–35, 42 Dunn, James D.G. 174–75, 179, 183–84, 189–90, 196 Dupoux, Emmanuel 55, 61 Durkheim, Émile 14, 19, 122 Eagleton, Terry 289, 294 Earle, Timothy 42 Ebaugh, Helen Rose 228, 237 Eder, J. 42 Edgardh Beckman, Ninna 20, 22, 258, 266, 277, 281, 291–94 Eemeren, F.H. van 167, 179 Eisenberg, Nancy 13, 263, 278 Ekstrand, Thomas 291, 294 Ekström, M. 30, 42 Eldridge, Michael 72, 85 Elliott, John H. 169, 179 Ellison, Christopher G. 46, 61 Elqayam, Shira 58, 61 Emmons, Robert A. 45, 61, 252 Engberg-Pedersen, Troels 185, 194, 196 Ensminger, Jean 62 Ernest-Jones, M. 30, 42 Ervast, Pekka 140, 159 Evans, Elizabeth 232 Evans, Jonathan St. B.T. 58, 61 Fabes, Richard A. 263, 278 Farnsley ii, Arthur Emery 228, 237 Fee, Gordon D. 191, 196 Ferrari, Pier Francesco 53, 64 Field, Alexander J. 13, 19 Fields, Karen E. 227, 237

Index of modern authors Fischer, Claude 220, 237 Fitzmyer, Joseph A. 188, 196 Fleck, Robert K. 49, 52, 61 Fowler, J.H. 41 Friedman, Marilyn 20, 56, 62 Friedman, Milton 252, 256 Fultz, Jim 277 Galen, L.W. 30, 32, 42 Galston, William A. 13 Gammie, John G. 164, 180 Gardner, Cynthia 223 Gardner, Howard 276, 278 Gartner, John 45–46, 61 Geertz, Armin 115, 137 Geertz, Glifford 254, 256 Gensler, Harry J. 208, 214 George, Linda K. 14, 61 Gerstenberger, Erhard S. 109, 111 Gervais, Will M. 44, 54, 61 Ghosh, Priyanka 253, 257 Gill, Robin 288, 295, 297 Gintis, Herbert 252, 256 Girotto, V. 100, 104 Givens, Sherri Newton 265, 279 Gnilka, Joachim 6, 19 Goddard, H. Wallace 265, 279 Goodall, Jane 252, 256 Goodenough, Oliver R. 260, 278 Gordon, Mary 13, 19, 178 Granovetter, Mark S. 202–03, 205 Grant, Colin 259, 278 Grönlund, Henrietta 270, 280 Grootendorst, Rob 179 Habito, Ruben L.F. 13, 19, 258–60, 278, 281 Hacking, Ian 141, 160 Hadden, Jeffrey K. 268, 278 Haidt, Jonathan 47, 53, 56, 61, 253, 256 Hall, Peter Dobkin 228, 237 Hallamaa, Jaana 258, 278 Hamilton, William D. 109, 111 Handy, Femida 19, 236 Hardin, Garrett 261, 278 Hare, John 109, 111 Harris, Margaret 268, 278 Hauser, Marc D. 3, 21, 47–49, 52, 55, 61–63, 102–04, 254 Headland, T. 42 Healy, Kieran 265, 278

305

Index of modern authors Hedström, Peter 123, 137 Henrich, Joseph 3, 19, 27–28, 43, 49–50, 54, 58, 61–62, 199, 206 Henrich, Natalie 58, 62 Hewlett, B. 42 Hill, K.R. 33, 42 Hoche, Hans-Ulrich 208, 214 Hodgkinson, Virginia A. 265, 278 Hogg, Michael A. 117, 136 Holloway, Richard 289, 295 Houlihan, Donald 277 Hout, Michael 220, 237 Howard, Judith A. 264, 277 Howson, Colin 54, 62 Hume, David 90, 99 Hunter, K.I. 265, 279 Hurtado, A. M. 42 Hutcheson, Francis 253, 256 Huttunen, Niko 189, 196

Keil, Frank 58–59 Kennedy, George 165, 180 Khalil, Elias L. 262, 264, 279 Kierkegaard, Soren 95–96, 99 Kinnvall, C. 258 Kirkpatrick, Lee A. 48, 62 Kirsch, Arthur D. 265, 278 Kitcher, Philip 13, 20, 27, 43, 53, 62 Klay, Robin 265, 279 Kloppenborg Verbin, John 8, 20 Kokkonen, Tomi 122, 139 Korsgaard, M.A. 13, 20 Kottler, Jeffrey 14, 20 Krebs, Dennis 47, 62 Krumrei, Elizabeth J. 63 Krüger, Oliver 26, 43, 49, 62 Krymkowski, Daniel H. 46, 62 Kundt, Radek 199, 206 Kuula, Kari 190, 196

Ilmonen, Kaj 274, 279 Inaba, Keishin 13, 19, 22, 258–60, 278, 281 Ingram, Gordon 51, 63 Irons, William 204–05

Laato, Timo 184, 197 Lakoff, George 253, 257 Lam, Pui-Yan 265, 279 Lane Fox, Robin 188, 197 Langermann, Y. Tzvi 109, 111 Larson, David B. 46, 61 Leis-Peters, Annette 16–17, 20 Levi, Primo 244, 257 Lincoln, C. Eric 228, 237 Linn, Margaret W. 265, 279 Lohse, Eduard 169, 180 Lunn, John 265, 279 Luomanen, Petri 9, 11–12, 20, 84, 117–19, 129–33, 137, 146, 160, 198, 200–05 Luther, Martin 94, 99, 101, 104, 209, 213, 282, 286 Luz, Ulrich 188, 197

Jacob, Pierre 55, 61 James, William 4, 65, 69–71, 74, 76–82, 85, 297 Janicki, Maria 47, 62 Janik, Allan 167, 181 Jarymowicz, Maria 262, 279 Jewett, Robert 184, 189, 196 John Paul ii 101, 104 Johnson, Allen W. 42 Johnson, Byron 280 Johnson, Dominic D.P. 26–29, 34, 42–43, 49–51, 60, 62 Johnson, Luke Timothy 192, 195–96 Johnson, Mark L. 56, 62 Johnson, Ralph H. 179 Jokinen, Kimmo 274, 279 Julkunen, Raija 273, 279 Kagan, Jerome 158, 252, 256 Kahneman, Daniel 252, 256 Kainulainen, Sakari 15, 21 Kant, Immanuel 4, 65–71, 77–85, 92–93, 97, 99, 102–03, 157, 239, 253, 262 Kaufmann, Walter 151, 160 Kearns, Laurel 234, 237

Macedo, Stephen 3, 13, 20, 53, 63 Mahoney, Andrew 50, 60 Mäkinen, Virpi 259, 279 Mamiya, Lawrence H. 228, 237 Manow, Philip 291, 295 Mäntysaari, Mikko 15, 20 Marlowe, F.W. 33–35, 41, 43 Martin, Adam 253, 257 Martin, Luther H. 46, 62 May, Larry 3, 20, 56, 62 McConkey Robinson, James 8, 20 McCullough, Michael E. 252, 280

306

Index of modern authors

McElreath, Richard 62, 199, 206 McKnight, Scot 178, 180 McRoberts, Omar Maurice 228, 237 Medin, Douglas 57, 59 Meeks, Wayne 5, 20, 192, 197 Melton, J. Gordon 237 Middlemiss, Martha 16, 20 Milbank, John 97–99 Miller Jr., F.D. 13, 19, 21 Miller, Donald E. 237 Mitchell, Margaret M. 153, 160 Mohrlang, Roger 154, 160 Monroe, Kristen Renwick 1, 13, 16, 18, 20–21, 136, 162, 178, 239–40, 248, 251–55, 257–58, 260–65, 279, 286–87, 289–90, 299–300 Montefiore, C.G. 193, 197 Moody, Michael 234, 237 Moore, G.E. 54, 62 Moran, Tecia 264 Morgan, Michael M. 265, 279 Murray, Michael 3, 22, 29, 43, 49–51, 63 Mustakallio, Antti 174, 180 Myers, Sondra 241, 257

Perdue, Leo 164, 180 Pessi, Anne Birgitta 13, 18, 21, 84, 258, 266, 268, 270–71, 277, 280, 284–87, 290–92, 300 Pettersson, Per 20, 22, 258, 267–68, 274–75, 280–81, 292–94 Piazza, Jared 51, 63 Pievani, T. 100, 104 Pihlström, Sami 4, 66, 71–72, 76, 81–83, 85, 105–06, 297–98 Piliavin, Jane Allyn 15, 264, 277, 280 Piper, John 153, 160, 164, 169, 180 Pipes, Paula F. 228, 237 Pirutinsky, Steven 63 Plantin, Christian 179 Post, Stephen G. 13, 17, 261, 280 Preisker, Herbert 166, 170, 180 Putnam, Hilary 71, 76–77, 85–86 Putnam, Robert D. 225, 230, 234, 237 Pyysiäinen, Ilkka 3, 21, 34, 43–45, 47–50, 52, 57, 60, 63, 65, 84, 100, 102–03, 105–07, 138, 297

Nelson, Timothy J. 227, 237 Nettle, Daniel 30, 42, 51, 59 Neusner, Jacob 259, 279–80 Nichols, Shaun 53, 56, 63 Nietzsche, Friedrich 90, 99, 156, 158–60 Norenzayan, Ara 27–30, 43–45, 55, 61, 63–64, 100, 104

Räisänen, Heikki 12, 46, 155, 160, 182, 190, 197, 207, 210–11, 296, 299, 300 Ranta, Metle 258 Rashkow, Ilona 149, 160 Raunio, Antti 12, 208–09, 214 Raymond, M. 34–35, 43 Reiner, Hans 208, 214 Resnick, Irven Michael 88, 99 Reumann, John 190, 197 Richerson, Peter J. 118, 126, 129, 130, 138, 203, 206 Ricoeur, Paul 210, 213–14 Rieke, Richard 167, 181 Rittner, Carol 241, 257 Roberts, Gilbert 30, 42, 51, 59 Roberts, Wesley W. 3, 21, 34–35, 37, 43, 51, 63 Robinson, T.H. 140, 160 Rockefeller, Stephen C. 72, 74, 86 Roes, F.L. 34–35, 43 Rogerson, John 110–11 Roof, Wade Clark 237 Rorty, Richard 66, 77–81, 83, 86, 105–06, 297–98 Rosmarin, David H. 45, 63

Ober, Josiah 3, 18, 20, 22, 53, 62–64, 281 Offe, Claus 274, 279 Okasha, Samir 120, 138 Oliner, Perl M. 262, 264, 280 Oliner, Samuel P. 264, 280 Olsson, H. 101, 104 Orr, John B. 230, 237 Pagels, Elaine 121, 138 Paloutzian, Raymond F. 45, 61 Panksepp, Jaak 53, 55, 63 Pargament, Kenneth. I. 46, 63 Pattillo-McCoy, Mary 228, 237 Paul, E.F. 13, 21 Paul, J. 13, 21 Peoples, H.C. 34–35, 43

Quinn, Philip L. 2, 21, 54, 63

307

Index of modern authors Runciman, W.G. 118–19, 129, 138 Runehov, Anne 102, 104 Runesson, Anders 115, 138 Ruse, Michael 120, 138 Rushton, J. Philippe 13, 21 Saari, Juho 15, 21, 258, 280 Saarinen, Risto 13, 18, 21, 297, 300 Saldarini, A.J. 144, 160 Saler, Benson 48, 63 Sanders, E.P. 10, 21, 155, 160, 188–89, 197 Sanderson, Stephen K. 3, 21, 34–35, 37, 43, 51, 63 Sapolsky, Robert 252, 257 Sartre, Jean-Paul 90–91, 93, 99 Scanlon, Michael J. 98–99 Schaller, Mark 27, 43, 47, 277 Schjoedt, Uffe 49–50, 60, 102, 104 Schloss, Jeffrey P. 3, 22, 29, 43, 49, 50–51, 63, 280 Schlozman, Kay Lehman 238 Schneider, Richard 19, 236 Schüssler Fiorenza, Elisabeth 187, 197 Schweizer, Eduard 212, 214 Scott Green, William 259, 280 Scuzzarello, S. 258 Seidler, Victor J. 262, 280 Selwyn, Edward G. 177, 180 Shariff, Azim F. 3, 22, 27–30, 43–44, 51, 55, 61, 64 Shaw, Graham 188, 197 Sherman, Amy 17, 22 Simon, Herbert A. 252, 257 Singer, P. 13, 22 Sinnott-Armstrong, Walter 2, 22, 44–46, 53–54, 56, 64, 102 Skinner Keller, Rosemary 234, 237 Slone, Donald Jason 57, 64 Slovic, P. 252, 256 Smith, Adam 2, 53–54, 56, 64 Smith, Greg 268, 281 Smith, John Maynard 14, 22 Smith, Mark S. 109, 111 Snarey, J. 34–35, 43 Sober, Elliott 13–14, 22, 261, 281 Soneson, Jerome Paul 72, 86 Sorokin, Pitirim A. 14, 22 Sosis, Richard 31–32, 41, 43, 50, 64, 204–05 Sperber, Dan 58, 60, 64, 131, 138, 199–203, 206

Spezio, Michael 255–57 Stark, Rodney 10–11, 22, 117–19, 128–29, 135–36, 138, 193, 197 Staub, Ervin 261, 281 Stowers, Stanley 121–22, 130–31, 138 Suskind, D.A. 56, 61 Swedberg, Richard 123, 137 Syreeni, Kari 12, 143, 146, 148, 160, 207–08, 210, 213, 300 Taylor, Charles 18, 273, 281, 292 Taylor, Richard 44, 64 Terry, Q.C. 158, 160 Theissen, Gerd 11–12, 119, 124–29, 135–36, 139, 150, 152–53, 158–59, 161, 199, 297–98 Thorsteinsson, Runar M. 194–95, 197 Thurén, Lauri 12, 163–64, 166–70, 172–74, 176–77, 179–80, 207–08, 210–11, 299 Tooby, John 121, 137, 139 Toorn, K. van der 109, 111 Toulmin, Stephen E. 167–70, 172, 181 Trigger, Bruce G. 36, 43 Trilling, Wolfgang 146, 161 Trivers, Robert L. 14, 22, 64 Tuomela, Raimo 283, 286 Turner, Bryan S. 218, 238 Turner, John 117 Turner, Victor 227, 238 Tversky, A. 252, 256 Tyndale, William 90, 99 Udehn, Lars 123, 137 Unnik, Willem C. 169, 181 Uro, Risto 117, 130, 138 Vallortigara, G. 100, 104 Van Kersbergen, Kees 291, 295 Veijola, Timo 107, 111 Verba, Sidney 224, 238 Waal, Frans B.M. de 13, 22, 53, 64, 252–53, 256–57, 281 Walker, R.S. 42 Waller, Willard 281 Wattles, Jeffrey 158, 161 Weischedel, W. 104 Weitzman, Murray S. 265, 278 Whitehouse, Harvey 50, 52, 59, 64, 135, 139 Wilken, R.L. 154, 161 Willard, Charles A. 179

308 Williams, Roman R. 219, 236, 238 Wilson, David Sloan 13–14, 22, 50, 64, 115, 118–24, 128, 130, 135, 139, 200, 206 Winter, Dagmar 158, 161 Wischmeyer, Oda 122, 139 Wisse, Frederik 192, 197 Wolf, Alison 294–95 Woodburn, J. 33, 43 Wright, Georg Henrik von 54, 64, 103–04 Wright, Robert 41, 43 Wuellner, Wilhelm 175, 181

Index of modern authors Wuthnow, Robert 228, 231, 238, 276, 281 Wyschogrod, Edith 261, 281 Yancey, Gaynor I. 19 Yeung, Anne Birgitta 13, 15–16, 21, 258, 260, 266, 269, 275, 281 Ylikoski, Petri 3, 105, 107–08, 110, 122, 139, 299 Zech, Charles E. 265, 278 Zetterholm, Magnus 10, 22 Zimmermann, Ruben 166, 181 Zuckerman, Phil 44–45, 64

Subject Index abortion 45–46, 57, 222, 231 Abraham 44, 89, 102, 106–07, 109 Adam 96, 101, 107, 175 adapt 120, 136, 284 adaptation 28–29, 35, 49–50, 52, 107–08, 115, 123–25, 128, 297 adaptationism 122 adaptationist 118, 120 adaptive 100, 115–16, 121, 130, 200 advantage 15, 27–28, 115, 128, 132–33, 149, 199, 210, 261 advantageous, disadvantageous 199, 201 affiliated, disaffiliated, un-affiliated 17, 218, 220–21, 223, 226, 232–33, 235, 271, 296 afterlife 25, 27, 33–34, 38–41, 50–51, 108, 110 agency 17, 34, 37–38, 51, 100, 108, 223–24, 226, 233, 241–42, 249, 269, 283–86 altruism 1, 3, 11–16, 18, 25, 53, 116, 123, 128–29, 182, 185, 187, 193–94, 196, 239–40, 255, 258–66, 269–77, 287–92, 294, 296, 299–300 altruist 13, 15, 261, 264 altruistic 15, 18, 26, 40, 52, 123, 136, 182, 185, 193, 196, 199, 204, 232, 239, 259–62, 264, 272, 277, 299 Aristotel(-ian) 56, 103, 140–42, 159, 249 argumentation analysis 12, 162–63, 166–67, 172, 299 Asclepius 203 atheism 69, 72, 75, 78, 90 atheist 4, 30, 42, 44, 46–48, 55–56, 71, 90–91, 94, 105, 182, 220, 288–89, 296, 298 atheistic 71, 105 attractive 11, 130, 133, 135, 200, 288 attractiveness 131, 201 attractor 58, 199 Augustine 68, 88, 96, 140, 153, 154, 184, 284 Bacon, Francis 92 benevolence 8, 30, 108, 129, 133–36, 299 Bible 89, 122, 126, 141, 163, 221, 233, 272 Hebrew Bible 106, 109–10 big god(s) 51

Buddhism, Buddhist 199, 218 by-product 11, 52, 55, 100, 102, 115, 120 bystander 240–49, 289 Calvin, Jean 101 Catholic 16, 116, 154, 168, 218, 222, 225, 231–32, 234, 282, 291, 297 Catholicism 9 charitable 17, 187, 228, 236 charity 11, 203, 222, 224, 235, 259 cheater 49, 115, 200 cheating 27, 49, 51, 55 Christ 1, 5, 10, 95, 144, 146, 154, 169, 172–73, 175, 178–79, 183–91, 194–95, 203, 212, 222, 299 Church of England 16 coalition(al) 52, 228 coevolution 116, 123, 126, 136 cognition 26, 28, 33, 66, 117, 252, 264 social cognition 53 cognitive, cognitively 1, 3, 16, 28, 30, 37, 39–40, 45, 48, 50, 52–53, 55–67, 100, 105, 121, 125, 135, 150–51, 153, 241, 250, 255, 264, 296–97, 299 categorization 241, 289 domains 141 mechanisms 52, 55, 299 models 241, 246, 249–50 prototypes 130–31 science, scientists 1, 2, 115, 120 science of religion 4, 59, 100, 105, 117, 121 commandment(s) 6, 44, 54, 147, 162–66, 169, 173–77, 211–12, 223 divine commandment theory 2, 54 Double Commandment of Love 6–7, 212 conversion 45, 186 cooperate 50, 229, 275 cooperation 187, 195, 199, 250, 255, 268, 300 cooperative 49, 74 costly signaling (theory) 31, 50, 204 credence 131, 201 cultural evolution 11, 28, 49, 116–17, 119–32, 198–201 see also evolution

310 demiurge 88 Devil 159 Dionysus 203 doctrine, doctrinal 1, 11, 32, 37, 39, 41, 55, 71–72, 93, 119, 136, 192, 195, 259, 271, 282 Dostoyevsky 44, 87 egoism 14, 182, 261–62 emotion(al) 18, 26, 50, 52–53, 55–57, 102, 131, 134, 204, 220, 247, 249–50, 252–54 enemy love 8, 12, 140, 150, 152–53, 157–59, 164, 178, 210, 213 epidemiology (of beliefs, Sperberian) 58, 201, 203 eschatology, eschatological 5, 8, 156, 174 ethical(ly) 2, 4, 6–7, 12, 53, 65, 68–71, 76–84, 91–94, 97–98, 105–106, 133, 135, 140–41, 144–45, 148, 150, 153–54, 157, 162–66, 169–70, 173, 190, 194, 208, 220, 231, 240, 249–55, 257, 269, 296–99 ethics 2–4, 7, 9, 12, 52–53, 65–66, 70–71, 77, 79–84, 91–94, 97–98, 102–06, 110, 140, 162–67, 170, 179, 207–08, 210–11, 239, 249, 251, 253, 259, 262, 269, 282, 288, 297–98, 300 virtue ethics 56, 103, 247 stoic ethics 194 Lutheran 15, 18, 90, 210, 260, 266, 270–71, 274, 276, 283, 284, 291 Episcopal 223, 289 Eve 101 evil 4, 6, 66, 81–84, 87–92, 96, 106–07, 117, 143, 145, 149, 152, 183, 186, 189–90, 211, 231, 242, 298 evildoer 147, 186–87 evolution(-ary) 1, 3, 11–12, 25–29, 32, 37, 40–41, 48–49, 53–54, 56, 58, 102–03, 105, 109, 115, 117–29, 134–36, 157–59, 198–201, 217, 240, 262, 297–99 biology, biologists 1, 16, 115, 118, 120–23, 252 psychology 13, 100, 121 epistemology 124–25, 297–98 see also coevolution, cultural evolution exile 126, 170 existential (-ism, -ists) 92–93, 125, 227, 298 fair(ness) 157, 159, 210, 253, 270, 274 fair play 159, 210, 213 unfair 39, 188

subject Index fear 26, 27, 40, 49, 107, 170, 172–73, 191, 195, 243 forgive(ness) 123, 159, 210, 213, 249 free-rider 50, 128–29, 131, 135, 201, 299 fundamentalist 56 game theory 29, 128 Gandhi, Mahatma 155 gay 44, 223, 231 genocide 107, 241, 248, 255 Gentile 7, 9–10, 144, 147–48, 150, 164, 173, 175, 186–89, 190, 192 Golden Rule 7, 8, 10, 12, 17, 140, 143, 145, 148, 150–52, 155, 157–59, 193, 207–13, 217, 235, 251, 265 good life 110, 152, 246–47, 249, 258, 270, 276–77 grace 94–95 group agency 283–84, 285–86 belief 283–84, 285–86 guilt(y) 4, 26, 78, 81, 83, 90, 94–98 happiness 4, 66, 68, 93, 94, 98, 102, 106, 246–48, 258, 271, 277, 298 hard-to-fake signals 49–50 health 45–46, 102, 222, 228, 232 Hellenistic 6, 12, 148, 182 high god 34–36, 38, 108 Hillel, Rabbi 150 Hindu(ism) 155, 218, 259 Holocaust 18, 239, 240, 246–47, 289 Homer(ic) 87–89 homosexual(ity) 222, 231 horizons of significance 18, 273, 292, 300 hunter-gatherer 28–29, 32–33, 35, 37–38, 40–41, 107–08, 115, 129 hypocrite 9, 146 identity 5, 7, 18, 110, 117, 128–31, 135–36, 144–47, 149, 192, 202–04, 240–42, 247, 249, 250–51, 253, 255, 264, 268, 271, 273, 290, 299–300 markers (symbolic) 110, 128–29, 131, 134, 203–04 see also social identity theory/approach immoral(ity) 38, 45–46, 55, 106, 183, 188, 191, 204, 231 imperative 2, 9, 12, 15, 66, 176, 229, 230, 239, 241, 249, 251

subject Index indicative 9–10, 12, 17 individualistic, individualism 224–25, 255, 273, 291 in-group 28, 52, 115, 117, 120, 134, 145, 147, 186, 192, 195, 296, 300 innocence, innocent 9, 27, 78, 89–90, 92, 95–97 intelligent design 11, 118–19 intolerance 45, 234 intra-group 2, 3, 50 introspection 283, 285–86 intuition 1–3, 18, 47, 53–58, 67, 102–03, 105, 108, 250, 254, 297 Isaac (Abraham’s son) 44, 89, 102, 106–07 Jesus 1, 5–10, 107, 117, 124, 127–28, 132–36, 140–48, 150–59, 165, 173, 178, 185–86, 193, 203, 208, 212, 223, 233, 299 Jewish 6–7, 9–10, 12, 17, 77, 116, 119, 144, 146–150, 155, 162, 164, 173, 175, 177–78, 182, 186, 190, 192, 203, 205, 217–18, 225, 242, 244, 246, 258–59, 299 Job 107 joy 94, 173, 175, 178, 185, 191 Judaism 5–6, 9–11, 116, 118, 144, 147–48, 184–85, 217 judgment 8–9, 18, 25, 55, 57, 140, 187 moral 16, 47–48, 56–57, 105, 300 last, eschatological 7–8, 33, 39, 101, 172, 193, 299 justice 87, 98, 101, 158, 187, 227, 232, 263 language 1, 33, 95–98, 185–86, 192, 254, 263, 273, 300 Latter-day Saints 222, 225 law 30, 93–98, 107–08, 119, 152, 158, 175–76, 184, 211, 248, 267, 285 moral law 66–68, 101, 127 natural law 44, 101, 107, 109, 207–08, 297 referring to the Torah or parts of it 7, 10, 89, 110, 142–43, 145–46, 148, 150–51, 163–64, 175, 184–85, 189–90, 210, 212, 223 lesbian 223 liberal 10, 47, 78, 116, 124, 127, 218, 299 linguistic(s) 38–39, 55, 96, 141, 253 meme 115, 198–200, 260 mercy 9, 11, 94, 158, 183, 210, 213

311 Messiah 5, 133 monotheism 109, 126, 148, 149, 152 moral 1, 4–5, 14–15, 17, 25, 38, 44, 51, 55–57, 65–67, 69–71, 73, 76, 79, 83, 91, 94, 97, 100–01, 105–07, 109, 140, 150, 153, 188, 191, 196, 204, 213, 220–22, 288 action 210–11, 213, 221, 236, 247–48, 250, 265 agency 223, 226, 284 argument 65, 67, 78 authority 102 behavior 2, 9–10, 18, 25, 30, 33–34, 38–40, 48, 56–57, 58, 109, 136, 182, 185, 211, 285, 300 choice, decision making, dilemmas, ­reasoning 2–3, 10, 18, 56–57, 107,   110, 157, 165, 184, 190, 289–90,   296–98, 300 codes, norms, principles, values 6, 8–9, 39, 76, 89, 140, 147, 152, 163, 165, 179, 195, 205, 207–11, 223, 289, 296, 299 cognition 26 concepts, ideas 44, 48, 54, 56, 59, 66, 81, 84, 101 emotions, feelings, intuitions, sense 1–3, 18, 26, 40, 47, 52–58, 102–03, 105, 189–90, 286, 297 exhortation, teaching 8–10, 100, 144, 151, 162, 164, 179, 194, 299 grammar 55, 103 judgments, reasoning 16, 26, 47–48, 53, 55–56, 66, 105, 208, 209, 210, 300 law, see law motivation (see also motivation) 101, 163, 165, 207, 208, 210 philosophy, philosophers 3, 15, 52–56, 58, 70, 76, 92, 107, 207, 298 psychology 2–3, 54, 58–59 realism 79 religion 40, 80, 106, 110, 297 sense test 47, 102 stories 220, 223, 225–26 theology 65, 70, 80, 82 theory 2 Moses 144, 149 Mosopotamia(n) 36, 39, 109 motivation 125, 162–63, 165–67, 172–75, 177–79, 207, 210–13, 285, 299 mutation 135, 200

312 narrative 5–7, 9, 44, 107, 132–34, 218, 240, 284 naturalism 77, 79 Nazi 240–43, 246–49, 252, 264, 289 norm (see also moral codes) 58, 79, 210, 272 pagan 148, 187, 188, 190 paraenesis, paraenetical 7, 165, 174–79 particularism 148, 153, 157, 300 Pentecostal 223, 227, 231, 271 Pharisee 7–9, 142, 146, 193 Philo of Alexandria 148, 185 philosophy 2, 4, 13, 56, 71, 78, 103, 106, 153, 157–58, 190, 262 pragmatist 4, 69, 71, 77, 84, 297 of religion 4–5, 65, 68–69, 74, 76–77, 81, 105 atheist 4, 94 moral philosophy, see moral Plato(nic), Platonist 88, 101, 195 polytheistic 109 practical reason 4, 65–67, 69, 71, 79 pragmatic pluralism 77 pragmatism 65–66, 69–72, 77, 79, 80–83, 297–98 pro-social(ity) 1, 15, 105, 107–08, 182, 196, 198, 204, 260, 263, 265, 296–97 Protagoras 101 Protestant(ism) 4, 9, 16, 94, 101, 218, 222, 229, 231, 297 prototype 130–31, 133 proximate explanations 120, 122 psychology evolutionary psychology, see evolutionary moral psychology, see moral punishment 49, 51, 58, 94, 166, 170, 176 see supernatural surveillance and punishment hypothesis reciprocity 160, 52, 129, 210, 251, 253, 262 responsibility 4, 90–96, 105–06, 222, 231–33, 247, 267, 269–70, 283, 290, 298 rhetoric(al) 9, 12, 78, 145, 147, 162–63, 165–67, 170, 172, 175–76, 183–84, 192–93, 196 righteous(ness) 8–10, 142, 143, 145–47, 151–153, 175–76

subject Index ritual 1, 10, 26, 31–33, 41, 50, 55, 103, 131, 134–35, 144, 163, 175, 191, 201–02, 204, 218, 235, 299 rule 2–3, 33, 38, 40, 48, 56–58, 89, 98, 109, 123, 133, 150–52, 167–68, 170, 176, 192, 201–03, 207, 211, 248, 282–83 Golden Rule, see Golden sacrifice 7, 14, 44, 49, 82, 89, 97, 106, 175 secular(-ism, -ists, -ization) 4, 30, 31, 44, 76, 78, 82, 83, 110, 218, 229, 233, 274–75, 284, 288, 292 selection (evolutionary) 49, 118, 125–28, 135–36, 158–59, 199–202, 240 group selection 16, 28, 49, 115, 118, 120–21, 123–24, 128, 198–99, 201–02, 240 selfish(ness) 14, 27, 29, 39, 123, 191, 227, 247, 260 unselfish(ness) 14–15, 27, 52, 247, 261 Sermon on the Mount 1, 7, 12, 117, 132–33, 140–161, 208, 210, 212–13, 300 Shammai 150 Shema 6 sin 94–96, 127, 175–78, 183–84, 188–89, 191 social identity (approach/theory) 117, 130–31, 133–34, 201, 300 Socrates 101 solidarity 11–12, 14, 110, 128, 131, 136, 158, 267, 272–75, 300 spiritual(-ity) 74–76, 80, 91, 175, 191, 218, 220–21, 226–34, 255, 267–70, 273, 276 spiritual narratives 218–21, 229, 231 spiritually serious 221– 26 ssp, see supernatural surveillance and punishment hypothesis stereotype, stereotypical 9, 130, 131 Stoic(-ism) 153, 189, 194–195, 296 supernatural surveillance and punishment hypothesis (ssp) 25–41, 105, 107–08, 299 survival, survive (evolutionary) 11–12, 28, 58, 73, 115, 117–18, 120–21, 125–26, 128–29, 132, 135–36, 153, 198, 201, 299 theism 4, 66, 69–71, 79, 297 theodicy 4, 81–83, 298 Tit-For-Tat-rule (tft) 123

313

subject Index tolerance 234–35 Tolstoy 155 Torah 110, 144, 147–48, 150, 192, 203 see also law transmission 28, 54, 58, 108, 121, 131, 134–35 ultimate explanations 120–23, 204 universalism 136, 140, 147–50, 153, 157, 296, 300 violence 223, 235, 241, 250, 259 virtue ethics, see ethics

voluntary 14, 16–18, 201–02, 223–25, 228, 235–36, 285, 297 welfare 16–18, 228, 259–61, 266–70, 273–75, 283–85, 287, 290–94, 300 well-being 44–45, 146, 249, 255–56, 260, 267–69 wisdom 8, 132–33, 140, 148–49, 150, 152, 155, 158, 183, 190, 207, 288 worry 45, 226