PREFACE "The good life is one inspired by love and guided by knowledge."--Bertrand Russell I remember clearly the first vegetarian I ever knew, a friend from college named Kari. She had given up what I considered one of the great joys of life. Kari could look forward to no seared orange duck, no filet mignon in mustard-caper sauce, no southern fried chicken, for the rest of her days. I just didn't get it. This stuff is delicious, after all. Maybe she just hasn't had a really good steak, I reasoned to myself. That had to be it. One day I interrupted her morning carrot break in mid-crunch to ask Kari what on earth she could possibly be thinking. She assured me she'd had a good steak--quite a few, in fact. And pork chops had been a favorite since childhood. She loved the taste of meat. But she had looked into the issues around the consumption of meat--far more deeply than I ever had--deciding at last that the negatives clearly outweighed the positives. Eating meat is incredibly unhealthy, she said, not just marginally so, and involves unspeakable cruelty to our fellow creatures. She didn't want to be a part of that, so she stopped eating meat. We lost touch after college, but if Kari has kids, I'll bet she has raised them according to those values, since she would want the best for them. But knowing her, I'm also sure she'd want them to come to vegetarianism as their own life stance only if they reasoned it out and adopted it as their own value--not because she forced it on them. They would know their mother's strong feelings and the reasons behind them, then decide for themselves once they were old enough if it was right for them. I have a lot of respect for that kind of parenting. Now I'm raising kids of my own, trying hard to give them the best of my experience and values. I'm not a vegetarian, though I've considered that a character flaw of mine ever since Kari. But there's another area about which I've developed some heartfelt opinions: religious belief and practice. Just as Kari had plenty of good steaks, I had a lot of positive experience with religious people and institutions. I've known many wonderful religious people and have found much that is compelling and comforting in religious teachings. I developed a particular interest in "the big questions" at the age of 13 when my dad died.My grief was tempered by a consuming curiosity about death, from which tumbled a thousand questions about life. I began a serious engagement with religious questions, attending churches in nine denominations, reading the scriptures of my own culture and others, asking questions of ministers, priests, theologians, and lay believers, and reading carefully the arguments for and against religious belief--coming at last to the strong conclusion that religious claims are human-created fictions. Religious friends are often baffled. This stuff is delicious , they say. Afterlife rewards, unconditional love, ultimate meaning . . . I agreed--they are yummy. But I'd come to the further conviction that religious belief, for all its benefits and consolations, also does real harm to us, individually and collectively. The negatives far outweighed the positives for me, so despite all its comforts and consolations, I set religion aside. I'm not indifferent to theological questions, any more than Kari's vegetarianism meant she was indifferent to questions of diet and animal welfare. I am fascinated by religious questions, as are most secularists, and take them very seriously. Kari's position resulted from the seriousness of her interest; she believed vegetarianism was the right choice, even believed that I too should adopt it, though she wasn't about to force it on me or anyone else. That's why I'll bet even her kids would ultimately have a choice. The same is true of my parenting regarding religion: I really do believe I've made the best moral and intellectual choice in setting religion aside. I think the negatives of religious belief outweigh the positives, but I would never want to see someone forced to believe as I do. That includes my children. They deserve an honest chance to work things out for themselves. The process, not a given outcome, is the thing. Which brings us at last to our topic. Parenting Beyond Belief is a book for loving and thoughtful parents who wish to raise their children without religion.Not that this is the only "right"way to parent; it would be just as silly to imply that one cannot raise good, intelligent, moral, and loving children in a religious home as to imply the opposite. There are scores of books on religious parenting. Now there's one for the rest of us. Religion has much to offer parents: an established community, a predefined set of values, a common lexicon and symbology, rites of passage, a means of engendering wonder, comforting answers to the big questions, and consoling explanations to ease experiences of hardship and loss. But for most secularists, these benefits come at too high a price.Many feel that intellectual integrity is compromised, the word "values" too often turned on its head, an us-versus-them mentality too often reinforced. Religious answers are found unconvincing yet are held unquestionable.And so, in seeking the best for our children,we try to chart a path around the church--and end up doing so without a compass. Parenting Beyond Belief demonstrates the many ways in which the undeniable benefits of religion can be had without the detriments. Just as vegetarians must find other sources of certain vitamins, minerals, and proteins, secular parents must find other ways to articulate values, celebrate rites of passage, find consolation, and make meaning. Fortunately, just as the vegetarians have beans, fortified grains, and soy milk to supply what they need, secular parents have Parenting Beyond Belief. So welcome, then, to a parenting book for theological vegetarians. Excerpted from Parenting Beyond Belief: On Raising Ethical, Caring Kids Without Religion by Dale McGowan, Amacom Staff All rights reserved by the original copyright owners. Excerpts are provided for display purposes only and may not be reproduced, reprinted or distributed without the written permission of the publisher.
