Yet the most resonant aspect of that play today is how differently our twenty-first-century world treats religious fundamentalism than did the world in 1955, when the play was written. The play was in part a parable about McCarthyism. The playwrights, Jerome Lawrence and Robert Edwin Lee, were protesting the injustices of the McCarthy era through the metaphor of the Scopes Trial. They were speaking out for intellectual freedom. An oversimplified summary of the play’s message might be: “We shall rise above 1950s McCarthyism just as America rose above antiscientific 1920s fundamentalism.”
But something funny happened on the way to progress. What was perceived in 1955 as a largely settled issue in mainstream American society (Darwin right, creationism wrong) has today become a controversy as strong as, in many ways stronger than, that which existed in the 1920s—in the America of spats and speakeasies. That controversy has spread beyond the single issue of creationism to pervade vast reaches of American public discourse. America, the nation of progress, has slipped backward in a way that, as we shall see, endangers the very nature of our Republic.
America changed, and dramatically so, as I moved into adulthood. My father, whose religion was more the Fighting Irish football team than the Roman Catholic Church, encouraged me to go to the University of Notre Dame. I did, and I’m glad I did. Despite my love of Darrow and his views, I saw that religion in general, and Catholicism in particular, could sometimes embody some very positive values.
Maryknoll nuns and priests fought for social justice in Latin America. I remember the brave sisters killed by the right-wing death squads in El Salvador (killed after being raped and tortured). Mario Cuomo and Robert Kennedy remain my heroes. Catholicism was different then—and was perceived differently then. The pedophilia scandals had yet to make headlines. Though I was not a Mass-going Catholic even at Notre Dame, I felt some cultural allegiance to Catholicism. Even today, I continue to harbor many positive feelings about it, particularly regarding my Irish-Catholic cultural heritage.
In 2009 there was a strong movement among conservative Catholics, including the president of the U.S. Conference of Catholic Bishops, to shun President Barack Obama as a commencement speaker at Notre Dame. This vocal affront to a sitting president, because he is prochoice, would never have occurred in earlier decades. For example, at my own Notre Dame graduation, Canadian prime minister Pierre Trudeau, who was prochoice and whose wife led a bohemian lifestyle, was welcomed to speak with very little controversy. Things were different then.
After college I joined the Jesuit Volunteer Corps in Alaska, another positive experience involving Catholicism. The organization specifically told us volunteers not to proselytize. The work was truly focused on social service. The idea of a twenty-two-year-old kid serving as a “house parent” for Native American teen boys who faced very serious personal issues (several of these boys were victims and, in some cases, perpetrators of dangerous crimes) was something for which I was completely unqualified. I learned a lot. The poverty and social strife I saw affected me for life. I thank the sense of mission within some elements of the Catholic Church for this valuable education, an experience that strengthened my commitment to social justice.
After law school I entered private practice and then served briefly as a state assistant attorney general in Maine, handling child-protection litigation cases, among others. In that position, I was exposed to even more social problems and injustice. I saw hideous cases of abuse, including child sexual abuse photos that made you hide your eyes. I eventually left the attorney general’s office to run successfully for the Maine legislature.
During my years as an elected official, I started to witness the significant influence of fundamentalist and conservative religion on American law. I served ten years in the legislature, three of them on the judiciary committee, before which fundamentalist Christian and Catholic groups often testified. They lobbied the judiciary committee because they cared deeply about many of the issues within the committee’s purview. The media often prominently covered the desires of these groups to deny a woman’s right to choose and to discriminate based on sexual orientation, but I found that their interests were much wider than that. I did not agree with most of their positions on issues, though there were exceptions. I respected some of the social justice positions taken by some religious leaders, and I remember one brave priest from Bangor speaking out for equal rights for gay citizens, but I found many fundamentalist policy viewpoints to be disturbing.
I once took a call from a fundamentalist preacher regarding so-called parental consent. Some states have a law requiring all minor girls to get parental permission before they can have an abortion, and he advocated for such a law in Maine. I told the minister that I was confident most parents would be very caring if their minor daughter became pregnant but that some parents might react in a physically abusive way. I told the minister that for those girls who feared an abusive reaction to their pregnancy, the option of a consultation with a trained counselor would be an appropriate alternative.
I’ll never forget the minister’s response: “Well, sometimes the rod must be applied.” And he, with accuracy, referenced a biblical passage to support his point. I felt stunned by the calm and, indeed, casual way with which he—a minister who preached to a congregation every Sunday—advocated hitting a pregnant child—a position fully consistent with his reading of scripture and his own religious “values.”
This was a dramatic moment for me in two ways. First, I saw that my worldview, still strongly informed by the values of people like Darrow, was diametrically opposed to the values of this brand of religion. Second, it sank in how strong and confident this brand of religion was, even in a New England state like Maine. I wondered to myself, if fundamentalism could be so extremely vocal, organized, and visible in the halls of my state legislature, what must it be like in Alabama?
I was later appointed to the appropriations committee and elected Majority Whip by my party colleagues. Between these two positions, which dealt with purse strings and leadership, respectively, I was again involved with the legislative issues important to the Christian fundamentalists. During these years, I became increasingly convinced that the views and positions of the fundamentalist Protestants from whom I heard, as well as the views and positions stemming from certain quarters within the Catholic Church, represented a fundamental rejection of the values that I—and the majority of Americans—held most dear. As a state legislator, I passionately advocated different policies, and I felt a desire to espouse the philosophy that drove them. At one point, I took an opportunity to strike a small blow for secular values—and to have some fun while doing so.
The Maine legislature, like most legislatures in America, opens with a prayer. This usually involves legislators scheduling clergy from their home districts to open the session. It’s perceived as an honor and it gives clergy something to mention to their congregation at services (“I want to thank Representative Jones who asked me to open the session last Tuesday”). When things got too hectic or busy to extend formal invitations to clergy, legislators often asked one of their own to offer a quick prayer. I decided I’d put in my name for when the legislature needed someone to pinch hit. The day I was called, I offered a “prayer” that I liked: I quoted Walt Whitman and Susan Jacoby from her book Freethinkers. I heard a couple of grumbles from one or two people on the other side of the aisle, but I suffered no particular negative political consequence. Although offering the “prayer” was a hoot, at the time I knew of no organization, no strong lobbying force whatsoever for the secular values that I had communicated—Jeffersonian and Madisonian values.
In 2009, I read an article about the Secular Coalition for America. I’d never heard of it, but this organization, which lobbies, advocates, and organizes under the banner of our secular founding principles and our Constitution, seemed to embody the voice I wanted to see working in Washington, DC, on behalf of my own values. Learning that it was looking for an executive director, I applied for the posi
tion and was lucky to be chosen. I had lobbied for my state bar association years earlier and enjoyed it, but I’m particularly happy to do what I’m doing now. I’m glad to get up in the morning and look forward every day to working on issues that I care deeply about. I enjoy working for a cause rooted in our nation’s proud heritage and very creation, when Americans boldly broke free from the stranglehold of theocratic government. It is an exciting job, encompassing both lobbying in Washington and coalition building throughout America.
I’m deeply passionate about our Coalition because its mission aligns fully with my personal vision of where our nation must go if we are to be true to the values of our Founders. Herb Silverman, founder and president of the Secular Coalition for America, had a historic vision in initiating and creating the Coalition (see appendix). We are a nonpartisan organization and we specifically seek participation from all those who support our mission—no matter their political stripes. Indeed, the Secular Coalition for America has not only many Democratic supporters but also Libertarian and Republican supporters. Given the fundamentalist tenor of the Republican Party today, the number of Republicans in our Coalition is smaller than I would like. We are determined to welcome as many people as are willing to join us.
In the most specific sense, the Secular Coalition for America fights for the separation of church and state, as well as for the acceptance and inclusion of Secular Americans in civic life. Those who hold the naturalistic worldview of Deists like Jefferson or Madison, or of agnostics like the charitable Warren Buffett and Bill Gates, or of atheists like the humanitarians Brad Pitt and Angelina Jolie, are all Secular Americans. All these people share a philosophy worthy of full inclusion in American political life. The Secular Coalition for America serves an essential patriotic mission. At a time when theocratic attitudes are on the march in America like never before and the all-important wall of separation between church and state is crumbling, Herb Silverman’s brainchild strives to meet this pivotal moment in history and protect the secular nature of our government.
Despite this new, unified effort, the secular movement suffers from a noble flaw. Secular people tend to have an almost religious faith in statistics and dry arguments and abstractions as the proper method by which to carry the day. This has made it difficult to connect with the broader American public, particularly when many of our battles emphasize symbols—and not the numerous religious laws that harm real people.
Secular Americans remain a sleeping giant, a huge demographic that has thus far failed to flex its own muscle, much less galvanize the general population. We ignore people suffering under religious privilege while shaking our fist at a slapped-together manger with a plastic baby Jesus in the town square at Christmas time. While symbols are meaningful and these particular symbols on public grounds do violate Madison’s Constitution, Secular Americans must do better to reach all Americans. We must explain the human story—the human harm and the outright abuse of our tax dollars that result from religious privileging in law.
Theocratic fundamentalists love when the debate is about nativity scenes or “the war on Christmas,” because, meanwhile, that sideshow allows them the opportunity to quietly transform our government—and our laws—to their liking in ways that harm real people. If we are to be strategic, if we are to build a case to a broader audience—and we can—the secular movement must unite around the human harm caused by religious bias. A uniting call to compassion—and to moral outrage—makes smart strategy because it’s so deeply just, and because it appeals to the best of our nature. An energized reaction to our message—to our very human stories—is in itself unique and new within the secular movement. We must stir people’s emotions with a mission of justice and compassion, not merely for Secular American but for all Americans.
If our goal is to improve our world and serve our fellow human beings, then a savvier strategy, a more businesslike strategy, a strategy more accepting of the nature of human emotions, is imperative. Religious special rights are about real people and real harm. Secular Americans must offer sound arguments, but we must do so in a way that connects with the hearts of our fellow Americans. Now is the time to step forward and take moral responsibility for our nation through social action. After reading this book, I hope you will see the imperative of doing just that—and a clear course of action for us to return America to its secular roots.
1 Introduction
The Crumbled Wall between Church and State
I believe that God wants me to be president.
—George W. Bush
I contemplate with sovereign reverence that act of the whole American people which declared that their legislature should “make no law respecting establishment of religion or prohibiting the free exercise thereof,” thus building a wall of separation between church and state.
—Thomas Jefferson
I was twelve, riding in the backseat of the family car on a vacation in the American West. I’d been given The Children’s Bible as a gift. With time on my hands, I decided to read the Holy Scripture. The trip sure felt pretty biblical, what with dad driving us through the desert and all. I got to the part where God tells Abraham to kill his son. If Abraham was willing to kill his son, then, in God’s eyes, Abraham was a moral person—a God-fearing person. I looked up at my dad in the driver’s seat and wondered to myself how God fearing he might be out here in the desert.
This was the first time I remember having real questions about the Bible. Would a truly moral person obey such a command? Would a moral God issue such a command—even as a test of loyalty? Would it be moral to treat a child as something to be used as property—an object to be used as a religious sacrifice?
The story of Abraham is an ancient one. And we’re living in what is often called the modern age. Surely the invocation of religion today would never place children at risk, right? Well, let’s consider a true story from the twenty-first century.
Amiyah White, age two, attended a child-care center in Alabama. The center’s staff lost track of Amiyah and she was left alone, trapped in a van. After two hours in that van under the Alabama sun, Amiyah’s two-year-old heart gave out, and she died alone in that van. On the outside of the van were painted the words “Holy Church.” Amiyah attended a religious child-care center. Now, you might say, Amiyah’s death was an accident that also could have happened in a secular child-care center. True, but such an event would be less likely to happen—because under Alabama law, health and safety statutes that apply to secular child-care centers do not apply to religious child-care centers. As the head of the Alabama Christian Coalition said, “The pastors and the congregations are our quality control.”
Let’s consider for a moment this “quality control.” Under Alabama law, (1) secular child-care centers must keep medications locked up, while religious child-care centers are exempt from medication-safety regulations; (2) secular child-care centers must follow food-safety regulations, while religious child-care centers are exempt from food-safety regulations; (3) secular child-care centers must submit to unannounced state inspections, while religious child-care centers are exempt from such inspections; (4) secular child-care centers must obey child-staff ratio laws, while religious child-care centers need not obey child-staff ratio laws; (5) secular child-care providers must participate in safety training that, for example, covers proper child tracking, while providers at religious child-care centers are exempt from such training.
Was Amiyah’s death an anomaly? Perhaps. And yet a three-year-old named DeMyreon Lindley, who attended a different religious child-care center in Alabama, was left alone in his center’s van for ten hours before he died.
No politician, in the context of Alabama child-care laws, has argued that it is a positive characteristic to actually consider killing a child at the behest of a deity. But Alabama law is similar to the story of Abraham in this respect: they both share the concept that religion justifies a separate moral code. Put another way, by providing an exemption to a basic code of safety simply b
ecause a business invokes religion, modern Alabama law stands united with the tribal Abrahamic code in its willingness to endanger children in the name of religion. While Alabama law is particularly extreme, there are more than ten states that provide for some form of religious exemption from laws governing child-care centers.
Now consider a religious practice of the Incas from five hundred years ago. The Incas would take children to the mountains, drug them, then kill them as a sacrifice to their gods. That was part of their Pre-Columbian religion. Primitive? Perhaps. Brutal? No doubt. But at least they tried to anesthetize the children and killed them swiftly. Contrast that with what happens in twenty-first-century America.
Jessica Crank was fifteen when a tumor began to grow on her shoulder. The tumor was treatable with modern medical science, but Jessica’s mother did not believe in modern medical science. She treated her child with the Epistle of James. Had a secular parent neglected his or her child’s medical needs, the law would have unequivocally authorized the government to remove the endangered child for proper medical care. Jessica’s mother and her pastor could correctly point to the “faith-healing” exemption in Tennessee’s child-protection law as providing their actions with wider latitude. Jessica’s tumor grew and grew until it was the size of a basketball. Jessica suffered extended, agonizing pain—then she died.
In so-called faith-healing homes, children with otherwise treatable maladies have needlessly vomited fecal matter, bled from giant eye tumors, and gasped for water as a result of untreated diabetes. And, yes, children have died and continue to die in agonizing torture. It is unconscionable that, in most states, there are so-called faith-healing exemptions to basic child-protection law.
Many Americans, including perhaps readers of this book, protested or spoke out against the U.S government’s use of waterboarding. As bad as waterboarding is, waterboarding usually does not lead to permanent injury and is rarely fatal. Compare waterboarding to what happened to—and what continues to happen to—these innocent children: Vomiting fecal matter? Bleeding from eyes? Tumors on children so festering and large that people, even at a distance, gag from the smell? All this needless and pointless suffering, often followed by death?
Attack of the Theocrats!: How the Religious Right Harms Us All—and What We Can Do About It Page 2