Those who know me well would likely say, “That’s a great idea!” But, sorry to disappoint—this isn’t about whether my values are questionable. In fact, even if I thought my values were flawless, I still wouldn’t teach them to my child. This brings us to the question: What do I mean by “values”? Simply put, values are beliefs that one thing is superior to its counterpart. For example, in the last presidential election, many parents involved their children in politics by teaching them that Obama was better than McCain. As a result, we saw preschoolers campaigning for Obama.
It’s natural to teach our values to our children because when we believe something strongly, it’s hard to imagine a world where the opposite is true. When we encounter such a world, it feels jarring. A striking example is seeing small children participating in a Ku Klux Klan parade. Many people feel outraged and ask, “How could they involve children in this?” The same outrage occurs on both sides of the Pro-life versus Pro-choice debate. Each side watches children parading for the opposing view and feels shocked. It’s ironic, really. Neither side seems to realize they are doing exactly what they accuse the other side of doing. If you’re going to criticize others for involving their kids, you should first leave your own children out of your values. That’s only fair—otherwise, you’re being hypocritical.
It’s natural to want our children to share our beliefs. We want to connect with them, and when they express the “right” opinion, it boosts our ego, making us feel we’ve taught them well. But personally, I find it disturbing when children repeat the “right” thing without any real conviction. It’s easy to tell when someone is just parroting an idea, and in most cases, young children are simply echoing their parents. Kids are smart enough to recognize what their parents or teachers consider “right,” so they’ll seize opportunities to say those things. And many adults take those words at face value, without realizing how unoriginal they are.
I believe the mechanism that creates values is present in all of us from birth. While most people’s values are similar, there’s a degree of variance. If we could chart this variance, it would likely form a bell curve, where most people’s values cluster around the center, just like how most people’s height is near the average. In American politics, our two-party system reflects this bell curve, with most people near the center and fewer at the far right or far left.
This overlap of values makes some believe that values are absolute because they seem so widely shared. It’s hard to argue against extreme examples like “Killing a person is wrong.” But some outliers might disagree. For example, someone might argue that the reason we feel it’s wrong to kill a person but not a cow is that we’re genetically programmed to protect our own species. It’s not about right or wrong; it’s just how nature has programmed us. Another person might argue that killing humans benefits the earth since we are destroying it. One could even argue that killing certain individuals—like Hitler, for instance—would prevent further calamity. So, while it’s uncomfortable, it’s not impossible to construct an argument for killing people.
Living as an outlier is difficult because it makes you a target for criticism. However, if you believe that values are neither fully relative nor fully absolute, like I do, you must acknowledge that one set of values can’t be proven superior to another. Being closer to the center of the bell curve doesn’t automatically make your values better. Values aren’t a popularity contest—they’re just points on a spectrum. Instead of asking whose values are superior, we should ask: How do our values come to be? Many parents assume their children’s values result from what they teach them. This implies that without being taught that racism is bad, children would grow up to be racists. I simply don’t buy that argument. A part of me wishes I could—it would make life simpler and less conflicted.
My parents and I do share some values, but we differ in many important areas. Now that I’m in my 40s, I feel that even the values I share with my parents are truly my own. We just happen to agree on some things, not because they taught me, but because my experiences shaped my beliefs. Some of the values they taught me caused confusion and pain, interfering with the development of my own values. In hindsight, I would have been better off without them. However, I have to admit that some of their teachings helped me reach the right conclusions faster. But in the end, the costs and benefits canceled each other out. So, their efforts to teach me values were a waste. If I were a baby again, I’d tell them, “Don’t bother teaching me your values. Thanks, but no thanks.”
We all have an inner voice, a conscience, that tells us when we’ve done right or wrong. This “inner god” isn’t religious—it’s just our moral compass. No matter how much we rationalize our actions, if we’re in tune with our conscience, it always wins. What I want for my daughter is to be in tune with her own conscience. Hers will likely be different from mine, so I don’t want to interfere. Only she can listen to her inner voice, and I want her to stand up for it, even if it contradicts my beliefs or society’s. Her conscience will always win in the end.
Interference doesn’t just come from parents; it also comes from society and culture. Even as adults, we’re all susceptible to it. The media is full of moral messages that sway us. Some are deceptive, and we only realize how wrong they are later, when we feel something is off. If we’re not in tune with our conscience, we’re led astray, and we face the consequences. If learning values from parents and teachers led to inner peace, life would be simpler. But rewarding children for adopting our values disrupts their connection with their own conscience. It discourages them from standing up for their true beliefs. A child raised in a Nazi community would surely adopt anti-Semitic values. I want my daughter to stand up for her values—even if I were a Nazi. Then, I would be a proud Nazi father.
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