It is a truth universally acknowledged that modern society has lost its way. This can be traced, with remarkable precision, to the erosion of divinely sanctioned morality. In our misguided quest for “progress,” we have replaced the clarity of ancient commandments with the chaos of empathy, reason, and moral nuance. In so doing, we have mistakenly rewritten the rules of our ancestors, who knew to consult only the most reliable of sources: men who spoke to burning shrubs and heard voices on mountaintops.
Let’s take a minute to reminisce about a time when morality was carved in stone (and punishable by stoning).
Let us first recall the purity and precision of Jewish morality in the Tanakh. Here we find a dazzling array of ethical imperatives: one may not wear garments of mixed fabrics or eat shellfish. Undiluted by metaphor or historical context, these commandments are righteousness incarnate. Meanwhile, moral dilemmas of lesser consequence—like say, genocide—are far more debatable. Who could forget God’s moral clarity when He (in his benevolence) commands the Israelites to wipe out the Amalekites? “Put to death men and women, children and infants, oxen and sheep, camels and donkeys.” What modern moralists call “genocide,” our ancestors knew to be character-building. There is, after all, no better way to teach obedience than mass execution followed by livestock management.
Christianity, for its part, supplies a similarly infallible moral compass. Who among us has not drawn moral strength from the words of Paul, who gently reminds us that women should remain silent in church and ask their husbands if they wish to learn anything? This charming pedagogical method not only limits unnecessary chatter but also reinforces the sacred patriarchy (which is being tragically eroded by literacy and microphones). Then there is the divine clarity of Ephesians, which reminds us that slaves must obey their masters “with respect and fear, and with sincerity of heart, just as [they] would obey Christ.” It is truly a mark of Christian compassion that slaves obey their masters as if he were Jesus himself. How much better society would be if we all accepted our station in life with such grace and enthusiasm! These teachings are the unshakeable moral foundations we desperately need in an age obsessed with “dignity” and “freedom.”
Islam too, contributes generously to this system of sacred ethics. The Qur’an, the final and most complete revelation, is unparalleled in its moral virtue. From the correct way to beat your wife, to instructions on the treatment of slaves (mercifully, they should be fed and clothed), no point of importance goes unnoticed by divine decree. And while modern secularists quibble over “gender equality” and “consent,” Islamic jurisprudence gifts us a much more manageable framework: gender roles are divinely ordained and deviations from them are divinely punishable. Skeptics today may balk at these rules, insisting that morality should evolve with time—but how can one improve upon perfection? If we start revising the word of God, what’s next? Democracy?
Indeed, the genius of religious morality lies in its stubborn simplicity. Unlike secular ethics, which are mired in debate and reflection, religious morality remains firmly tethered to a time without indoor plumbing. This unyielding quality is its greatest strength. Where secular moral frameworks become entangled in frivolities like “human rights” and “universal dignity,” religion offers a much simpler algorithm: Obey—or else.
And let us not forget how modern secular morality, in its vainglory, extends moral consideration to the godless, the queer, the apostate, and (God forbid) the vegan. What nonsense! It suggests that moral worth ought to be measured by the impact of actions on others—a concept so alarmingly egalitarian that it risks making morality accessible to everyone. Religious morality, by contrast, wisely remains exclusive: it is a gated community of the righteous, with strict admission requirements and an eternal HOA fee payable in faith.
It is obvious then that religion is the only thing that gives us a moral grounding, provided we accept that the ground in question is not the firm soil of human decency but the scorched earth of religious tribalism. It is morality as revealed to herders and patriarchs, lovingly preserved in millennia-old texts, and defended with the solemn conviction of those who believe God speaks and edits poorly.
Beyond an unassailable moral blueprint, religion’s true genius is its ability to build community. Nothing creates interpersonal bonds quite like fearing a sky God that can convict you of thoughtcrime and bribe you with a paradise of eternal boredom. This model of communal cohesion is built on divine surveillance and spiritual blackmail; it is the bedrock of the world’s most heartwarming gatherings: holy wars.
Sociologists and theologians agree: when humans cluster together in tightly sealed echo chambers, the possibilities for social harmony are endless. After all, what could possibly go wrong when people believe they alone are divinely chosen? Faith-based community offers something secular civic life never can: the comforting knowledge that your neighbor shares your core values and closed-mindedness. Religious homogeneity also has a fantastic historical track record: when societies enforce one religion—or marginalize all others—the result is always glorious unity. And sure, sometimes that unity is enforced with swords or inquisitions or the occasional pogrom. But this is a small price to pay for a strong community fabric. It’s simply better to replace the messiness of pluralistic dialogue with a shared doctrine of peace, love, and excommunication of dissenters.
People say that communities built on fear of divine retribution and hostility toward outsiders are better described as cults than as cohesive. However, this is an unfair smear. Cults, after all, lack tax exemption.
Comments are closed.