In 2009, The Economist published a memorable article on the topic of progress. The cover was titled “Progress and Its Perils” and pictured Adam and Even listening to an iPod in the Garden of Eden. The timing was also important as America was in the wake of the worst financial crisis since the depression.
Despite the economic uncertainty of the moment, the author reviewed and reinforced America’s material accomplishments. Even amid the tumult of a market crash, US citizens still enjoyed the most prosperous century on historical record. But the article was not an apologetic for economic triumph; it was an inquiry into the metrics used to gauge what it means to advance as a society. It was a referendum on how we define progress.
Amid centuries of increased efficiency in food production, infrastructure, transportation, enlightenment science, industrial expansion, technological innovation, social mobility, and gains in overall wealth, our growth has failed to deliver emotional satisfaction, overall happiness, and moral fortitude. “[L]ife is becoming a dismal slog in an ugly world.” We have more money, material goods, education, information, and technological innovation at our fingertips than any other period of recorded history. But are we better people? Are we flourishing? Is this progress?
The relevance of the questions remains. In a recent article, for example, author John De Graff considered the question that pops up every election cycle with predictable certainty: “Are we better off than we were four years ago?” What is striking to De Graff, however, is that each time the question is addressed, answers predictably refer to material wealth or our ability to consume. Are we better off, that is, in wealth gains, retirement savings, housing appreciation, or the buying power of the dollar?
To be clear, these things matter. But how we evaluate “better off” is curiously narrow and leaves absent a host of morally relevant considerations. For example, in assessing our nation’s progress over a four-year interval, we might ask if we have made gains in levels of trust, family stability, institutional confidence, or care for vulnerable and disenfranchised communities.
Recently, a team of researchers created a national progress report and found, unsurprisingly, the U.S. exceeded peers in productivity and economic output. We remain far richer, per person, than economic powerhouses like China or India.
However, when it comes to single-parent households, trust in key institutions, voter participation, political polarization, poverty, income inequality, violence, fatal overdoses, youth depression, overall anxiety, and suicide rates—in these areas, we are significantly outperformed by peer countries.
“We have had one of the largest and fastest-growing economies in the world for more than a century—and we show no signs of letting up,” writes one of the authors. But the economy “is really the only area where we are excelling.”
In addition to GDP per person, technological gains are often presented as unequivocal evidence for US progress. Consider Artificial Intelligence. Recently, ChatGPT creator OpenAI asserted it was on the cusp of building “AI super agents” with PhD level capacity. Similarly, Anthropic CEO Dario Amodei predicts that in just a few short years, AI systems will be “Better than almost all humans at almost everything. And then eventually better than all humans at everything."
In The Techno-Optimist Manifesto, Mark Andreessen writes, “Technology is the glory of human ambition and achievement, the spearhead of progress.” One issue with Andreessen’s statement, however, is the assertion that technology has achieved progress even though the term is left undefined. What, after all, is our technological spearhead aimed toward? “Absent a view of the good, the domains of science, logic, and technique are directionless, bereft of a point or goal,” writes author RJ Snell. "If we are to govern our flourishing, we’ll need an account of flourishing itself.”
In a 2018 article highlighting the “new religions” supplanting tenets of Judeo-Christian Monotheism in the west, Andrew Sullivan described the cocktail of scientism, materialism, and mind-numbing distractions that define prosperity and offer a de facto representation of the good life. “Our ability to extend this material bonanza to more and more people is how we define progress,” he writes.
Just as sociologist Emile Durkheim defined religion not by what it is but by what it does—a similar approach to defining progress would suggest it amounts to escalating economic prosperity, technological innovation that increasingly expands into broader domains of human life, and the fulfillment of our individuated preferences, i.e., satisfaction of our wants and needs.
But is this what we aspire toward? Is this account of prosperity aligned with human flourishing?
A Biblical Account of Progress
There seems to be an opportunity, if not a necessity, for a more capacious definition of “progress”—one that accounts for the kind of people we are, not simply a “material bonanza” of stuff. Put differently, if we want to advance and achieve progress, the kind that comports with human flourishing, we will need a more robust account of progress itself.
Sullivan’s “new religions” notwithstanding, here the Christian faith tradition makes an important contribution. As followers of Jesus Christ, if we want to comprehensively consider the matter of human and societal progress—we must take seriously the issue of morality and character. That is, Holy Scripture does not offer an understanding of progress that does not account for the moral fiber of individuals and institutions.
Whether we consider The Beatitudes (Matthew 5:3-16), Peter’s encouragement to “make every effort” to add virtue to faith so as to grow in godliness and love (2 Peter 1:5-17), the author of Hebrews extolling the unconditional command to pursue peace and holiness “without which no one shall see God” (Hebrews 12:14), James’ outline of virtues that comprise “Godly wisdom” (James 3:17-18), Paul’s incitement to think about praiseworthy things (Phil. 4:8), to “walk as children of the light” (Eph. 5:8-9), exhibit the Fruit of the Spirit (Galatians 5:22-23), or assume the same self-emptying humility as Christ (Phil. 2:5-11)—whether we consider this or so much more—Scripture is overwhelmingly comprised of examples, encouragements, and commands relating to the kind of people we should be.
Moreover, this is to say nothing of books like Proverbs or Psalms, the Pentateuch, or the sundry biblical stories that tout moral character as being central to the good life. And, of course, Scripture is filled with cautionary tales of individuals and people groups who missed this notion of progress.
Again, the overwhelming message throughout the biblical narrative relates to the moral character of God’s holy people. Not just what we do, but who we are becoming. Not just what we believe, but what we want and desire and pursue. Not just what we do for ourselves, but how we serve others; “otherness.”
In our tradition, there is no definition of progress that dispenses with character and morality.
Why is Biblical Progress Necessary?
All well and good, an outsider might say. But what bearing, if any, should the Christian tradition's commitment to morality and character have on broader society and its own understanding of progress? More bluntly, if Christians define progress in terms of being a certain kind of person, who cares?
Whether one subscribes to Christian doctrine or not, the value of Christian morality and its emphasis on virtue is likely to be most evident, and appreciated, when absent. There are observable and felt consequences when society advances a vision of progress that does not consider the moral character of its people.
Recall Nietzsche’s cautionary warning for societies that outgrow metaphysical assumptions and slough off belief in God. The wild-eyed speech of “The Madman” to mocking unbelievers is an evergreen warning. “What were we doing when we unchained this earth from its sun?” he asks. “Do we not feel the breath of empty space? Has it not become colder? Is not night continually closing in on us?”
The words are reminiscent of Ayaan Hirsi Ali’s warning that waning religiosity leaves a nihilistic vacuum inevitably filled with disorder. “Nietzsche…understood the implications of Christianity’s withdrawal from the culture it had haunted for so many centuries,” writes David Bentley Hart. “He understood…our cherished ‘Enlightenment’ virtues may in the end prove to have been only parasitic upon inherited, but fading, cultural predilections, and so prove also to be destined for oblivion.”
The self-eroding pathologies of modern life (isolationism, consumerism, digitization, social discord, and waning institutions) cannot be improved with more money, innovation, or technology. To say otherwise is to misdiagnose what ails us and may even complicate the problem; a people dying from the “remedy not the malady.” These are communal, social, and moral problems.
A year or so ago I joined a group of college administrators listening to a techno-optimist presentation on Artificial Intelligence and the flowering of social progress it was predicted to follow. “Imagine a suicidal veteran in the middle of the night desperate for answers,” enthused the presenter. “Without making an appointment, he or she could have a life-saving conversation with a Christian chatbot.” I asked what might happen if, instead of a Christian chatbot, that same Veteran consulted a chatbot who may very well recommend suicide as philosophically viable. No matter how advanced human mimicking bots may seem, generative artificial intelligence will hue to the content it is fed or the sludge it scrapes and scavenges as it roams the web.
The progress envisioned by Silicon Valley prophets reveals the technocratic character of their worldview. As just one example, consider the various “consent apps” created in the wake of #MeToo revelations as a solution to pervasive problems of harassment and abuse. Prior to a sexual encounter, preventative apps supposedly create tech-efficient digital agreements for couples, blanketing their subsequent exploits in legal protection. But such “solutions” confuse sexual assault, misconduct, and abusive power asymmetry as a technical problem, not a moral problem.
Sexual misconduct is not the only moral deficiency in today’s professional workspace. Author Mark Murphy has documented the results of a study exploring new hires terminated within their first few years of employment. He discovered only 11% failed at their jobs for what could be described as “insufficient technical competence.” Amazingly, the other 89% were terminated due to social or moral traits such as bad temperament, low motivation, lack of discipline, or selfishness. In other words, for those who lost their jobs, nine out of ten were terminated for matters of character, not competence.
This is why holistic, comprehensive moral training needs to mark today’s educational institutions. That is, education is not just skill building or degree signaling for employers to more efficiently filter and sort in their hiring process. The world needs graduates with a good education, but its greater need is educated graduates who are good.
A friend recently graduated from Yale Law School, which is consistently considered one of the top law schools in the country. Reflecting on the concentration of talent and intelligence among his classmates, he suggested law students would ultimately come to help or harm society proportionate to their moral character. “I met some smart, talented people that give me great hope, and I also met some smart, talented people that give me great concern,” he said. “The difference boils down to one thing: humility.”
Wendell Berry has made the point that a good artist also has the capacity to be a good forger. A skilled doctor can also skillfully poison, observed ethicist Martha Nussbaum. And we can go on. A thoughtful accountant is an able thief. A charismatic leader can coerce harm. A talented actor or actress is equipped to deceive.
It is not the skill, but its moral application, that separates the artist and forger, doctor and poisoner, accountant and thief, leader and oppressor, and performer from deceiver.
One of our modern deceptions, wrote CS Lewis, is the belief that we can cultivate a mind and ignore a heart; that we can learn about a natural, physical reality—but dismiss a moral reality. His famous passage from The Abolition of Man, written three quarters of a century ago, is frightfully relevant today.
In a sort of ghastly simplicity, we remove the organ but demand the function. We make men without chests and expect of them virtue and enterprise. We mock honor but are shocked to find traitors in our midst. We castrate yet bid the geldings be fruitful.
And, of course, to live a life bereft of moral consideration is to live answers to questions we have never paused to ask. Medical ethicist Lydia Dugdale has reflected on her many “end of life” patients who spent earlier decades of health living scripts they seldom paused to consider, only to spend the final moments of life reflecting on morality (was I good?), meaning (did my life count?), relationships (did I matter to others?), and destiny (what will happen to me when I die?).
These are not questions to be raised at the end of your life, says Dugdale. In her book The Lost Art of Dying, she presses readers to take up life’s important questions now. “If you know how to die well, she says, you will know how to live well.”
These considerations—meaning, morality, identity, activity, destiny—have always been centered in Christian doctrine and practice. “For God did not call us to be impure, but to live a holy life,” writes Paul to the Church of Thessalonica. “Therefore, anyone who rejects this instruction does not reject a human being but God, the very God who gives you his Holy Spirit” (I Thess. 4:7-8).
The “call” to holy living is not just an emulation of Christ’s character, it is a stabilizing force for good in broader society. Examples of moral character leaving a visible residue are legion and their correlation to human flourishing is intuitive. Is this not a better understanding of progress?
And the argument need not originate from within the Christian faith, for even non-believers can recognize the social benefits of a robust Christian population marked by character and humility. This is why British parliamentarian and self-described atheist Roy Hattersley, in his article Faith Does Breed Charity, observed that disaster relief efforts fail to be populated by “teams from rationalist societies, free thinkers' clubs and atheists' associations - the sort of people who not only scoff at religion's intellectual absurdity but also regard it as a positive force for evil.” It is why political progressives like Pete Buttigieg or Elizabeth Warren demurred when Beto O’Rourke threatened to strip ministries of their tax-exempt status during the 2020 Democratic primaries. “I’m not sure he understood the implications of what he was saying,” said Buttigieg. It is why agnostics like Louise Perry explicitly call for a “return to Christian ethics” or atheists like Richard Dawkins, who refers to religion as “an insult to human dignity” in his book The God Delusion, stills calls himself a “cultural Christian.” And it is why we see a rise in Christian adjacent voices like Jonathan Rauch, Camille Paglia, Douglas Murray, or Tom Holland—voices outside the faith but who advocate for its presence and praise its moral injunctions.
Even if these voices do not adopt Christian doctrine or belief in Christ, they see its moral vision as a force for social good; they see how morality corresponds to progress worthy of the name.
Morality Over Accomplishment
Earlier this year, General Dr. Paul Rader—the first American born International General of the Salvation Army and former President of Asbury University—passed away at the age of 90. A Religion News Service article covering his life carried the following headline: “Paul Rader, who led Salvation Army and Asbury University, was humble, effective and kind.” The article, and the memorial service honoring his life, reminded me of David Brooks’ distinction between resume virtues and eulogy virtues. The former recognizes accomplishment; the latter recognizes character traits, relational legacy, and remembrances.
The RNL headline for General Rader struck my attention because moral descriptors (“humble”, “kind”) doubled descriptors of accomplishment (“effective”). This may be a good rule of thumb for us all—Christian or non-Christian—and an aspirational standard for broader society. That is, aspiring to a life where our moral qualities exceed our achievements two-fold (or more).
Simply put, when we consider progress we must attend to the kind of people we are becoming. Technology, innovation, income, and materialism are undoubtedly important. But regardless of whether one subscribes to Christian doctrine or not, our progress will invariably correspond to what kind of people we are—to the morality of our populace.
Character must always be our “spearhead of progress.”
Kevin Brown is the 18th President of Asbury University.
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