I have read somewhere the disingenuous line that the separation between church and the state is "clearly meant to protect religious freedom and prevent government from attempting to take away our God-given unalienable rights."
Few liberals would begrudge this interpretation, but they rightly shudder at the way crusading fundamentalists in America regard this boundary as a license for the propagation of their views, agendas and priorities without limit and not having to cede an inch to the choices of individuals and groups who do not share their beliefs. Thus, they see every move or judgement to "prohibit religious activities in public settings" as a hellish affront to their "right" to practise their faith in a sphere occupied only in part by co-religionists. In the Land of the Free, this has meant battles to retain Mosaic inscriptions in courts of law to cries of divine wrath that creationism (creation science is no science at all) is ignored in school science classes.
Liberals are accused of using the judiciary, perverse readings of the constitution (in America, this paper ranks equal to the Bible in sacrosanct holiness) and the leftists-infiltrated media (Fox perchance?) to "justify their personal political and social agendas." Their methods may be misrepresented, but I don't deny this agenda. What choice have those who believe in the rights of individuals to decide what they do, freely and without causing injury to uninvolved parties, to themselves and with each other – rights won after centuries of struggle from the rule of princes and priests – when such freedoms face a tenuous future thanks to the efforts (hitherto private, but now blatantly public) of scripture-thumpers who seek to recast their nation upon "a foundation build on the existence of an almighty and loving Creator?" And in doing so, employing the force of law and machinations of state to enforce rigid and narrow definitions of social contracts and personal mores.
What's worse? These 'personal' agendas or those based on a declared mission to forge a nation under the rule of divine whims?
Closer to home, the debate rages at a much more subtle level, this being a culture that values harmony over honesty. As elucidated by Dr. Thio Li-ann in a recent Straits Times commentary, a fair number of thinking individuals are likely to have been misguided into believing that religion has no legitimate role in public policy debate in Singapore, owing to this nation's allegedly 'secular' constitution.
There are many fine lines in this tapestry of thought, and I hope I manage to tread with care without the risk of logical entanglements. Dr. Thio firstly paints a picture of two warring camps: radical secularists versus those who want both religious and secular arguments in democratic debate. This dichotomy fails from the onset to distinguish the first camp from those who 'merely' deny religion a seat in public life but adhere to the Franklinian principle of free debate. Dr. Thio's further depiction of secularists as deniers of "all public manifestation of religion" does little to clarify the distinction, and this extreme characterisation serves rather as a bogeyman for her subsequent effort to defend the right of faith-based persuasions to not only speak out but also to "influence public policy."
Few would contest Dr. Thio's disclaimer that violence, subversion and coercion to belief are abuses of religion. There is however a subtle delineation here; she sees these abuses as merely the risks of "allowing religion in public life", which are kept in check by existing legislation.
Statutes like the Maintenance of Religious Harmony Act seem to rely on the discretion and sensitivity of the relevant senior politicians, and it appears there is little to prevent an individual or group from gaining election and gubernatorial ascent on the strength of their unofficial endorsement by congregations who regard these leaders as those who would reshape the national polity to favour their moral and social priorities. And given that judicial review of the Act's enforcement (or lack thereof) if prohibited, who then could police the politicians who use the cover of democratic procedures to further narrow religious agendas?
A further note to this scenario is the viable assumption is that hardly any member of civil society that champions religious or 'family' values would raise a hue at any attempt by the state (be it individual leaders with a genuine faith-based vision or simply tyrants seeking a moral high ground) to tighten its grip on private mores and interactions between individuals, be it gays, 'deviants', gamblers, drinkers, or simply any who do not meet the official criteria or being a productive, upright citizen or family unit (for instance, should couples be deemed unworthy of subsidised public housing if they refuse to procreate within a certain period). Such enforced paternalism is unlikely to cause "feelings of enmity, hatred, ill-will or hostility between different religious groups." By simply remaining silent, an activist religious group would have effectively outsourced its agenda to leaders who would pursue their common goals under a majoritarian clock, which other religious forces and non-religious conservatives would be loathe to oppose, seeing little ground for dissent.
The voices of saints can at times offer a clarion call rallying peoples of all colours and beliefs to moral causes where the conscience of faith and logic of secular justice find common cause. Apartheid, national socialism, slavery, fascism and Jim Crow laws are some perversions of philosophy and religion that have had their 'moral' underpinnings shattered in part by clergymen who dared to defy the established consensus of their brethren.
However, Dr. Thio is likely to have overstated the case for religious values as overlapping with secular thought. She claims for faith-based views a rationality and general applicability that begs the question of how commandments that are unreasoned diktats of gods could be equated with arguments based on reason, notions of utility, common good and public interest. Why should the former be cited as valid grounds for shaping laws and national agendas that affect more than just the faithful, even if religious groups favour the policies in question?
Ultimately, a religious lobby derives its raison d'etre from the incontestable font of divine will, and nearly all religions, especially the monotheistic credos, claim universality for their worldviews and lawbooks. How then could efforts to mould public policy on the basis of appeals to an authority and moral-spiritual dictums that are not necessarily shared or even recognised by the population at large be regarded as democratic, or even plain just? Even if one simply accepts Dr. Thio's favoured definition of radical secularism, the call to reject godhead-based policies can hardly be called an anti-theistic, 'dangerous ideological bias.' Secularists need not deny the existence or value of morality, but merely demand that these value-laden precepts find an intellectual anchor based on reason, demonstrability of harm or benefit, and the non-unwarranted idea that in many aspects of life, individuals should make (and suffer for) their own choices. The 'common good' is too often cited, with little attempt to clarify correlations or even causal mechanisms, as the basis for policies favoured by moral guardians.
A more troublesome approach is to ask: if doctrine is to be accepted as a valid voice in policy, which God's view should be sought? Can a camp that favours monogamy be reconciled with one that permits polygamy? Should those who find all meat consumption abhorrent be given priority over the faithful who merely disdain beef or pork? It seems that Dr. Thio has an overconfident faith in the ability of even similar religions to find common ground in a polity that admits religious influence. Could one ably balance the oft conflicting dogmas and bitter rivalries that plague public life when appeals to spiritual leadership are little distinguished from national campaigns? Given the numerous examples of prolonged sectarian conflicts worldwide (which have proven to be more intractable than merely ideological or nationalistic movements), the interests and stability of a heterogeneous nation-state are surely better served by the withholding of political legitimacy from groups whose ideologies and policy prescriptions are rooted (whether overtly or disguised) in divine edicts.
Secular and religious goals may indeed overlap, as Dr. Thio notes. However, one could ask: religion may condemn practices such as homosexuality, pornography and promiscuity (essentially on doctrinal grounds or by divine fiat), but what 'common good' is there simply because religious activists share goals with campaigners who base their thinking on a spectrum of worldviews ranging from humanist and naturalist traditions to utilitarian and feminist calculations? On the one hand, such secular philosophies more often than not harbour assumptions deeply antipathetic to faith-based arguments (and indeed arose as alternatives), and on the other hand, they are open to evolution and osmosis as societies reassess their values and priorities and questions age-old maxims that associate private mores with public interest. The call to 'live and let live' in liberal democracies could be better construed as a recognition that the state can no longer serve general welfare by being a moral policer, unless it is prepared to employ legislative and enforcement resources to scrutinise every bedroom and bordello, or tolerate vigilantes such as Iran's Ansar-i Hizbullah.
[Case in point: one need not be a priest to see a link between promiscuity and HIV infections; the vital difference, as campaigns by faith-based groups such as Focus on the Family show, is that the non-doctrinaire have good reasons not to believe that telling people who do not even know the Son of God to live by the Book is sufficient to induce puritanical principles. Can common good be said to be served when complex social goals are hijacked and recast into missions of personal purity? Telling young people to simply abstain (on the discontinuous notion that revealing other options is tantamount to their endorsement) is neither responsible not tenable; one should then be willing and able to monitor every step and action between adolescents, or else suspend the principle that young men and women will somehow prove infallible in denying the most fundamental of fleshly drives.]
Within the Singapore context, it is strange that Dr. Thio should see any real threat to the shutting up religious opinions from public life. The views of full-time and lay believers alike have been sought on sensitive proposals such as the planned casino, and both supporters and vehement opponents of the idea have no reason to allege censorship, even if the final decision may not be to their liking.
Even in areas such as gay rights, sexual mores and family choices, I dare say faith-coloured views have been given prominent coverage and ample opportunities to declare their thoughts. But proponents who employ the force of divine censure and an assumption of morality that tallies only with their particular convictions should complain not when they receive equally passionate retorts to their assumptions and reasoned, substantiated rebuttals to their frequent allegations of an act or practice being detrimental to family values or public interest. Few, if any, of these opponents would deny the right of religionists to speak up, but it is no surprise that those who fear that the views and sensibilities of a so-called moral majority (Dr. Thio also seems to assume that the 80% of Singaporeans who profess a faith will undoubtedly oppose the expulsion of religious influences from public life) might be taken into undue account by lawmakers will strive to defend their choices and freedoms. These efforts will inevitably entail deconstructions of religious edifices, motivations and interpretations in ways that the elect may regard as offensive, and one may wonder in turn why the shield of statutory immunity and communal harmony should be invoked against any critique deemed too inflammatory. For religious lobbies, it seems free speech works only one way...
As political commentator Chua Mui Hoong has noted, religious bodies offered their frank views on issues such as the casino plan. But she observes that "none has actively mobilised its members to put pressure on the Government or MPs to scrap the proposal." Neither has any group "suggested that anyone who frequents a casino should be punished or otherwise shunned." On this and other contentious subjects such as homosexuals in public life, I doubt Dr. Thio finds much cause for complaints of gagging.
Attempts by clergymen to exploit their pulpits to propagate narrowly defined definitions of nationhood (Singapore is "to be a nation of righteous Christians without the contamination of the gay lifestyle," proclaims one pastor), however, cross the line between free speech and indirect incitements towards discrimination and persecution. If one accepts at face value that 'Christianity' sees homosexuality as a sin like any other which should be suppressed or treated with the countenance, if not aid, of the state, what bars the pursuit of further statutory convergences between what is sinful and what should not be tolerated at any cost?
In defending the right of religion to speak (and not merely that), Dr. Thio reveals a worrying indifference to the Pandora's box of giving clerical agendas license to influence policy to their liking, be it via their captive flocks or the grassroots programmes of para-church organisations such as Focus on the Family and Choices (a misnomer if there ever was one). But this should not be surprising, given her explicit endorsement of private choices between subject to a public moral basis, without the caveat that justifications from religious perspectives are likely to be non-universal, illiberal and intrusive in their prescriptions, and deeply divisive, and that vocal moral campaigns are usually spearheaded by a strident minority. Now, where's the neutrality in that?
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Hearing out religion in public debate
By Thio Li-ann (The Straits Times, 15 Dec 2004)
WHAT is the legitimate role of religion in public policy debate? The issue was highlighted recently during the presidential election in the United States, where the success of President George W. Bush's 'moral values' campaign was aided by the evangelical Christian vote.
There are two warring camps. On one side are radical secularists or 'exclusionists', who insist that religion has no place in public life and should be excluded from public debate. On the other side are 'inclusionists', who insist on free and open democratic debate, and welcome both religious and secular arguments in this. The former base their argument on a strict separation of state and religion, but I believe there is a critical difference between a healthy separation of religion and state, and an absolutist radical secularism that denies all public manifestation of religion.
The contempt of radical secularists for religion is demonstrated in excluding any reference to Europe's Christian heritage from the European Constitution's preamble while mentioning ancient Greece, Rome and the Enlightenment, which spawned secular humanism (a materialist worldview rejecting belief in God or a future life). Even Poland's self-proclaimed atheist President Alexander Kwasniewski denounced as shameful the Constitution's 'godless' tone.
To be sure, allowing religion in public life has risks: Religious entrepreneurs can abuse religious ideology to promote subversive causes. Laws like the Maintenance of Religious Harmony Act seek to prevent precisely this. Abusing religion to justify violence, subversion, or to coerce belief within a multiracial, multi-religious democracy cannot be condoned. On the other hand, a blanket exclusion of religious values from public life carries the serious risk of eroding constitutional guarantees of religious liberty, and censoring free speech, particularly that of the 80 per cent of Singaporeans professing religious faith.
Singapore's Constitution protects an individual's right to accept or reject religious belief. However, a secular state is not synonymous with an anti-theistic state, like the Communist model. 'Secularism' has various meanings, ranging from state hostility to indifference towards religion, with implications for how strictly 'religion' and 'state' are separated. Radical secularists contend that religion should be 'privatised', that preachers should confine their sermonising to their flock and not throw stones at others who hold contrary views on moral-political hot potatoes like euthanasia and whether homosexuals should be allowed to enter into civil marriage.
To my mind, however, such radical secularism is riddled with a dangerous ideological bias. It seeks to impose as public dogma its own anti-theistic and personally determined morality. It ignores the fact that religious claims can be rational and widely apprehended, and that secular claims can be irrational in their own way. Free speech requires protecting the speech we dislike. In a democracy, the thinking individual must be able to consider all views to facilitate informed decisions.
The false notion that 'secular' equals neutral and that 'religion' connotes ignorance or prejudice must be laid to rest. A belief in morality means we all, at some stage, make moral judgments; there is no morally neutral ground. As philosopher Immanuel Kant taught, the logic of any moral argument is its capacity to be universalised. We should evaluate the merits of any view and ask: 'Does it serve the common good?'
Indeed, values from secular and religious sources can overlap. For example, both religionists and non-religionists may join hands in opposing pornography. Both may also be concerned with public issues like the spread of Aids, and whether policies might intensify the problem by encouraging promiscuity, thereby undermining the common good. In some cases, the call to 'live and let live' may be a call to indifference, not community.
The Singapore model of secularism is not atheistic or hostile to religion; government is 'secular' because it derives its authority from democratic processes, not divine mandate. The state is not strictly separated from religion; indeed the Constitution itself obliges the government to protect the religious interests of Malays as the indigenous people. But the government seeks to treat all religions even-handedly. As part of the social compact, it governs and seeks to engage all Singaporeans in public affairs, regardless of religious or secular affiliation.
Former prime minister Goh Chok Tong displayed this enlightened attitude: In his National Day rally speech last year, he noted with approval how 'conservative Singaporeans and religious leaders' had articulated their views on hiring gays in sensitive civil servant positions 'clearly but responsibly'.
Public policy issues which determine how we order our life have a moral basis; being 'public', they have implications going beyond making private choices. All Singaporeans, whether of a religious or non-religious persuasion, have the right to speak and influence public policy.
Historically too, religious convictions have underpinned important social reforms, such as the anti-slavery and child labour protection work of British parliamentarians William Wilberforce (1759-1833) and Lord Shaftesbury (1801- 1885). Thoughtful debate over how to shape our life as a community is precluded if religious voices are gagged. This would disenfranchise people of religious faith, be undemocratic, and cause social disharmony.
Associate Professor Thio Li-ann teaches law at the National University of Singapore.
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