This book is an attempt to solve the dilemma of our time,  moral relativism, the dilemma that has left us not so much struggling to live up to our ideals as wondering what those ideals are, and whether such things as ideals are even relevant in our world today. Moral relativism is a position in philosophy that simply says there is no basis in the factual, scientific world for any moral values. "Right" and "wrong" are words that may make sense in a particular society at a particular time, but they are only tastes that a lot of people hold all at once in that society. They change from era to era and place to place. In short, the only thing that one can say about morality, according to the moral relativists, is "when in Rome, do as the Romans do."

On the other hand, moral realism says that there must be a factual, scientific basis for moral values, and then its adherents set out, with varying degrees of success, to try to find that basis.

In this book, I will work out a solution to that dilemma, a solution based not on so-called "holy texts" or personal epiphanies, but on reason backed by replicable evidence. However, I admit that readers will have to give their full attention to following the arguments I present here. My arguments aim to fill a tall order; they can’t be explained in a line or two.

I will try very hard to make my overall case a rigorously logical one, but I know it is also very much a personal one. I don’t apologize for this admission. I will discuss matters I believe are profoundly important for us all. My case is both logical and anecdotal, and my tone has to be both rational and personal. As the philosopher David Hume said, feelings drive thoughts and actions, not vice versa.⁵

One way to ease into the moral relativism versus moral realism debate is to explain how I came to be obsessed with it.

When I was in Grade 9, I was fortunate enough to have had a fine teacher for science. He liked his subject, he liked kids, and he liked bringing the two together, which is all a good teacher ever really has to do. He impressed the thinking technique called the scientific method deeply into my mind. You get an idea or you imagine a model of how some part of the world around you works—how event A connects to event B. You think of a practical, real-world way to test the idea. You set up the apparatus you need, then you do the test. All the while, you keep careful records of what you observe.

Next, you analyze the data to see whether patterns exist that tend to support this theory or model of yours. You then develop further ideas for subtler theories, models, or tests, and you keep on researching. Sometimes you find a way to use your new insights about how the universe works to create technologies that enable humans to live in better health and happiness or in a little less pain. Once in a while, you find a way to formulate one of the basic laws of this universe.

I could see that by using this method, sharing their findings, and continuing their research, scientists had expanded human knowledge, created so many helpful technologies, and cured diseases—all in a steady march of progress. They had brought most of my way of life to its current state—one that was far safer, more comfortable, and more interesting than that known to any of my ancestors. Even at the youthful age of fourteen, I was filled with a rush of emotion each time I realized not only what had been accomplished but what might be still to come. It seemed to me then, and it seems to me now, that we are destined for the stars.

On the other hand, between the ages of six and eleven, I had spent most of my Sunday mornings attending Sunday school at St. Stephen’s United Church. I felt similar profound emotions when I learned about the Being who had created this universe and who loved everything in it. My six-year-old heart ached when I thought about how so many human beings had lost their relationship with God. The evidence was easy to see for myself. Humans are not very moral or even logical most of the time. Even as a boy, I could see this truth in events all around me, from the schoolyard to the Cold War.

But I was uplifted when I was told of one man who had explained to humans how they might strike a new deal: if they could learn to truly love one another—to follow his example—then they could regain their relationships with one another and, ultimately, their relationship with God. The key concept to grasp was that following Jesus’s way was what mattered, not whether he really was some kind of “divine“ being, and not whether the people I met belonged to one particular group or sect. Love one another. Really love one another. Then peace, progress, and prosperity will all come. All of this was six-year-old naïveté, I admit. But as I look back even now, it seems more profound than the beliefs of many adults because it was clear, heartfelt, and unabashed.

photo taken Oct. 13, 1917 of witnesses of miracle at Fatima, Portugal (credit: Wikipedia) 

Even as a child, I did not believe in “miracles”; that is, events that lie beyond all rational explanation. I still don’t. Nor do I believe in the divinity of Jesus. Or, to be exact, I believe he had a spark of the divine in him, but so do all living things. He just had a lot more than most of us. But he differed from us in degree, not type. And miracles? They turn out to have rational explanations in the end.

I knew even as a child that the important thing to understand was what the new deal Jesus offered humanity represented. The principles being represented in the stories were what mattered, and they seemed to me absolutely bang on. If we take into account all that we know at this point in history, and we relentlessly apply our powers of reason to this material, we can find a clear path to survival—that is, to humanity’s living with decency, sense, and love. In other words, once a critical mass of humans shares a model of reality that shows us how to fit into the natural world and to get long-term, survival-oriented results there, by a few more millions in each generation, humanity will choose to join the walk along that path. Decency, sense, and love will prove fitter than cruelty and folly. Rational persuasion will prevail.

My faith was not destroyed when I gained an understanding of the scientific method. Nor was my passion for science destroyed by my spiritual beliefs. The two clashed at times, my faith wavered for a while, but as a man, I gradually worked out a way to integrate the two and then to synthesize them into a new belief system—a single, unified, coherent one, whose power to guide, nourish, and inspire is greater than any power residing in our old science or our old religion alone could ever be.

The question in this Age of Science is “How?” How can a rational human being in the modern era feel full, confident allegiance to both of these ways of viewing our world and our place in it, these two ways that are currently considered, by most people, to be incompatible? The answer is that they are so far from incompatible that the plural pronoun “they” does not work in this context. Only a single concept is being discussed here. There is a way of understanding and reconciling all that we know, a way that integrates it all, from our observations of events around us to the memories stored in our brains to all the concepts we use as we strive to understand what we see and recall, and then design effective responses to all of it. In short, when correctly understood, science is religion.