Journeys to Humanism: Human Goodness Is Within All of Us

Photo by Patrick Fore on Unsplash

Journeys to Humanism, theHumanist.com’s regular series, features real stories from humanists in our community. From heartwarming narratives of growth, to more difficult journeys, our readers open up about their experiences coming to humanism.


Ken Burrows
Colorado Springs, CO

My journey to humanism might be called a case of familiarity at first sight. It happened like this.

I grew up in the 1950s and 60s in a fairly conservative Catholic tradition. It was not heavy-duty—mostly just Mass every Sunday, and a few extracurriculars such as confession, candle lighting, and rosary praying at random other times.

Anxiety was my dominant early religious emotion. There were endless rules of what to do and not do, and I toed the line because these were backed up by terror-inducing threats of what my ultimate fate would be if I failed to obey those rules. I feared I might stray, even unwittingly, and felt an invisible God watched my every move.

From the time I was aware enough to think about it, I did feel a need to practice a personal moral code. But what I got from the church seemed too limited—narrowly focused on just rigid rules dictated by the institution. This was not the broader guide to living that I wanted. When I one day came across the Sermon on the Mount, unexpectedly, I noted how the messages given there were comparatively much kinder, more compassionate, more humane. Blessed are the merciful. Blessed are the peacemakers. Blessed are the poor in spirit. Even in my youth I wondered: Why were these never emphasized as guides for how I should live?

A few theology courses in college (a Catholic institution, no less) broadened my perspective by looking at religion in a much fuller context, including its human origins and flaws. I came across the novelist C.S. Lewis, who, despite being a lay theologian, held the notion that a sense of right and wrong is innate to human nature. I took this to mean I should find my moral sense within me instead of looking for it elsewhere.

I eventually happened upon the life philosophy known as humanism. I had not sought it out; I didn’t know it existed. But I was immediately drawn to a philosophy that says we have the ability and responsibility to lead ethical lives and can do so without supernaturalism. That we do indeed have an inherent moral sense. This matched what had become my own intuition.

Compared to the Ten Commandments I’d had drilled into me as a youth, I found humanism’s Ten Commitments to be more rational and more positive. Commitments to empathy, responsibility, peace, social justice, altruism, environmentalism, and service to others were things I inherently believed in. It dawned on me that I had been a humanist for some time. I just didn’t know it by that name.

I especially valued the distinction between “commitments” and “commandments.” Commitments are made from within, voluntarily; commandments are imposed from without, obligatorily. To me this places responsibility for behavior right where it belongs — with the person making the commitments. Such direct ownership of one’s intents and actions means there is no shirking responsibility by saying “It’s in God’s hands,” or, “God made me do it.”

I realized another distinction is that while much of my earlier religious upbringing was focused primarily on my ultimate fate (what some would call my salvation), humanism is more focused on other people’s well-being. This felt right. Because I believe it is more “moral” to selflessly do good for fellow human beings simply because it is the right thing to do in life, which is different from doing good primarily to gain a seat in heaven or avoid consignment to hell.

By embracing humanism, I also traded in fear and anxiety for satisfaction and even joy, which I found in serving other people and causes. In living humanism’s commitments, I engaged in work for human rights, efforts to address hunger and homelessness, programs promoting community cohesion. In my advertising career, I regularly did pro bono projects for nonprofits. After retiring, I sought out more ways to volunteer, giving time to efforts in adult literacy, student tutoring, a food security program, equal rights, elder advocacy, and—no surprise—promoting separation of church and state. I also devoted extensive time to advancing the message of humanism by writing op-eds for general readership and interpretive articles for the newsletter of a freethinkers group. If I can be permitted the ironic phrasing, I have “preached the gospel” of humanism.

I categorically reject the position voiced by the head of a huge Christian ministry in my state, who said, “without God there can be no such thing as goodness.” As I think about human goodness being something that is within all of us, I am grateful that humanism offers an ethical compass based on that. I’ve been inspired by that notion in my journey to humanism. And I still am.


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