THE POLITICS OF MORALITY

The lottery issue presents a quintessential case of "morality politics," the kind of public question on which religious factors should play an important role (Meier 1994; Wald, Button, and Rienzo 2001). Morality questions, according to many scholars, tend to evoke and make politically salient the fundamental values of citizens. In a number of ways, such questions differ from economic policy issues that involve the distribution of material benefits. Morality politics are more tied to the basic values of citizens, are often easy to simplify into either-or choices, and frequently resist compromise between the proponents of opposing positions. As a result, the political configurations surrounding morality issues often differ from those of economic policy disputes. Instead of splitting the public along social class lines -- between the wealthy and working class, for example -- morality issues reputedly divide citizens along "culture war" lines (Hunter 1991), pitting religious traditionalists on the one hand agains t religious liberals and seculars on the other. Traditionalists, especially evangelical Protestants, tend to conceptualize morality in terms of private personal sanctification ("living a Godly life"), whereas liberals, including mainline Protestants and many Catholics and African American Protestants, are apt to cast morality in public terms ("fighting for justice for all people").

Furthermore, on such policy questions, reactions will be shaped not only by the religious characteristics of voters, but by whether they consider their own religious beliefs (or lack thereof) politically relevant. As David Leege has argued, "it would be misleading to claim that all people who report a religious experience have their political views shaped in similar ways by that tradition. For some a religious affiliation is highly salient for politics. For others it is salient for salvation but little else" (1993:11), A number of scholars have shown that citizens who perceive a strong connect ion between their faith and their political attitudes are often quite different from others in the same religious tradition who do not see such a tie. Thus, the influence of religious variables on morality issues may also be affected by the degree of what we will call the "political salience" of religion (Guth, Green, Kellstedt, and Smidt 1996).

Finally, it is particularly instructive to consider the impact of clergy cues -- especially since South Carolina religious leaders played such a visible role contesting the lottery. Such cues may well influence the relative mobilization of various religious traditions and shape voters' perceptions about the relevance of their faith to public issues. Of course, the clergy's primary responsibility is not to engage in politics; rather, these professionals are in a position where they may find politics relevant to their community leadership roles (see Crawford 1995; Crawford, Olson, and Deckman 2001). Clergy might be expected to play a special role in "morality politics" as they represent a social institution -- organized religion -- explicitly designed to provide moral guidance. But when clergy speak on "moral issues," do people listen?

Scholars have long debated whether clergy can shape the political opinions of their congregations. On the one hand, religious leaders enjoy a good measure of public trust, and citizens often look to outside sources for help in evaluating complex social problems (Brady and Sniderman 1985; Welch, Leege, Wald, and Kellstedt 1993). And clergy need not participate in protest marches or other dramatic actions to shape opinion on key issues. They can provide an abundance of political cues by preaching and teaching, putting announcements in the bulletin, or hanging signs and banners in the sanctuary (see Cavendish 2001). Indeed, some argue that it is easier for clergy to shape congregants' attitudes on issues than to mobilize them for political action (Welch et al. 1993; Guth, Kellstedt, Smidt, and Green 1998:181-188).

The first studies of clergy politics (Hadden 1969; Quinley 1974; Stark, Foster, G lock, and Quinley 1971) documented the radicalization of mainline Protestant clergy during the 1 960s, providing the benchmark for scholarship on clergy and politics. Only recently have scholars again turned to the political involvement of clergy. Guth and colleagues (1997; see also Guth 1983, 1996, 2001a; Guth, Green, Smidt, and Poloma 1991; Penning and Smidt 2001) have analyzed thousands of questionnaires tapping clergy's political beliefs and practices, while other scholars (Cavendish 2001; Day 2001; Jelen 1993; Olson 2000) have undertaken pioneering ethnographic work by interviewing clergy and visiting their churches.

Although these studies have provided much information about what clergy do in politics, they have not demonstrated the effectiveness of that activism. Of course, measuring influence is one of the knottiest problems in social science; clergy studies constitute no exception. Not surprisingly, empirical analyses of clergy influence have yielded mixed assessments (Ammerman 1987; Beatty and Walter 1989; Cavendish 2001; Djupe 1997, 2001; Fetzer 2001; Gilbert 1993; Clock and Ringer 1956; Guth 2001b; Hamil-Luker and Smith 1998; Jelen 1992, 2001; Morris 1984; Tamney and Johnson 1985; Verba, Schlozman, Brady, and Nie 1993; Wald 1992; Welch et al. 1993). We cannot resolve the entire question here, but we hope to add to the body of evidence.

This study presents our findings from a sort of natural experiment on the influence of religious factors on an issue of "morality politics," combining an historical narrative of the South Carolina lottery campaign with empirical evidence from a public opinion survey. After demonstrating how religious influences were at work in the campaign leading up to the vote, we will assess how religious variables -- religious tradition, the political salience of religion, and clergy cues -- shaped opinion on this highly charged moral issue.

A HISTORY OF THE LOTTERY DEBATE IN SOUTH CAROLINA

Largely because of a historic dominance of evangelical Protestantism, South Carolina has never been hospitable to gambling. Instead, it has portrayed itself as a bastion of evangelical morality and private sanctity. During the early 1990s, however, the issue became more than academic. To the special chagrin of Christian conservatives, video poker was legalized de facto in South Carolina in January 1992. Video poker machines were soon ubiquitous, as they outgrew their early homes in gas stations, bars, and convenience stores and began moving into their own casino-like establishments. The South Carolina General Assembly reacted to this growth -- and to religious pressure for curbing it -- by scheduling dual referenda on video poker during the 1994 general election. A statewide vote would be held on whether to ban video poker and counties would also hold local-option referenda, which could supersede the state vote.

Despite the considerable attention to gambling, the heated 1994 gubernatorial campaign to replace retiring Governor Carroll Campbell overshadowed the video poker referenda. Republican candidate David Beasley had recently switched parties after being "born again," and had allied himself with South Carolina's politically powerful Bob Jones University political network, with the Christian Coalition, and with the conservative wing of the state's Southern Baptist establishment. Beasley ran on a socially conservative agenda that emphasized his pro-life stance and commitment to "traditional family values." Perhaps because most of the resources of the Christian Right and other antigambling groups were committed to electing Beasley rather than battling video poker, the statewide referendum passed resoundingly, as did 35 of 46 countywide referenda. (The bans adopted in eleven counties, mostly in the morally conservative northwest corner, known as the Upstate, were later overturned by the state Supreme Court.) Neverthel ess, Beasley was elected governor (see Guth 1995).

After his inauguration, Beasley softened his previous hard line on video poker, saying he favored stricter regulation as a realistic alternative to an outright ban. In late 1997, though, he had another change of heart when unpublished polls conducted by his reelection campaign showed that public opinion was turning against video poker, prompted by widespread reports of social ills stemming from gambling addiction (Hammond 1998). Beasley's reconversion helped spark a new assault on the video poker industry, supported by a large contingent from the religious community, including the South Carolina Christian Action Council, the South Carolina Baptist Christian Life and Public Affairs Committee, Concerned Citizens Against Legalized Gambling, and various individual churches. The governor now emphasized the moral aspects of the video poker issue, challenging the General Assembly to "decide between right and wrong" (Bragg 1998). In the same vein, Republican State House Ways and Means Committee Chair Henry Brown publ icly declared his opposition to video poker, telling the South Carolina Baptist Convention's Ethics and Liberty Commission that gambling "[went] against [his] principles as a Christian" (Phifer and Kirkland 1995).

In February 1998, the General Assembly voted to ban video poker. Ways and Means Chair Brown credited churches with leading a grassroots effort to push the ban (Smith 1998). Yet before video poker became a thing of the past, the South Carolina Supreme Court would have to decide whether it was constitutional to ban it, as the state constitution included a ban on lotteries, but not gambling machines. On November 19, 1998, a deeply divided court finally ruled 3-2 that video poker was not a lottery and was therefore constitutional. By that time, however, the entire gambling issue had taken on an entirely new dimension with the introduction of the state lottery issue as a major factor in the surprising victory of Democrat Jim Hodges in the gubernatorial campaign of 1998.

Emphasis Shifts from Video Poker to the Lottery

The lottery issue had appeared on the South Carolina agenda even before the 1998 gubernatorial contest got underway. In January 1998 the Democratic-led Senate had passed a separate lottery bill. Although the Republican-controlled House had voted down lottery bills in the past, it agreed in April 1998 to negotiate a common version of the bill. Before any lottery could be implemented, though, lawmakers would first need to pass a constitutional amendment removing the state's lottery ban, which required two-thirds votes in both chambers of the General Assembly as well as voter approval in a referendum.

By the spring of 1998, the lottery had become a bitterly partisan issue. Beasley's 1998 opponent was Republican-turned-Democrat Jim Hodges, a former State House minority leader, who jumped in the race to serve as the Democrats' "sacrificial lamb" in a seemingly hopeless gubernatorial contest. As a legislator, the Methodist Hodges had vigorously supported his denomination's opposition to all forms of gambling, including both video poker and the lottery. Now out of the General Assembly and searching for a campaign issue, Hodges made a dramatic move. First, he aligned himself with the video poker industry, proposing to "regulate and tax" rather than ban it. Second, he proposed an extensive set of education initiatives -- expanded college scholarships, higher teacher salaries, greater emphasis on early childhood education -- and said the funds for these initiatives would come from a state lottery. Nevertheless, he argued that the final decisions should be made by the people, and called for statewide referenda on both issues. (For a discussion of the 1998 elections in South Carolina, see Guth 2000.)

By July 1998 the Hodges campaign was awash in cash and volunteer workers, thanks largely to contributions solicited from the gambling industry. As Election Day approached, the video poker industry spearheaded massive get-out-the-vote drives across the state, and virtually all of the state's video poker machines were programmed to remind players that it was time to vote. For their part, religious leaders tried hard to counter the mobilization, declaring their "nonpartisan" opposition to Hodges's proposed lottery. A news conference, attended by 200 pastors from the South Carolina Baptist Convention (SCBC) on October 22, 1998 at the State Capitol in Columbia, had been the first of many clerical efforts in opposition to gambling. Seeking to arouse public opinion, the pastors had argued that lottery profits were not the solution to the state's education problems. They also declared October 25 a day of prayer and announced that the state Baptist Convention would send materials to pastors to "help them take their st and in the public square" and to "stand for what is right" (Kirkland and Deaton 1998).

Despite the religious opposition to both video poker and the lottery, pastors found it difficult to fight either form of gambling in the context of a partisan gubernatorial campaign in which the Democratic candidate supported both and the incumbent Republican wavered between brave opposition and concessions to popular pro-gambling sentiments. Media interviews with clergy suggest they were frustrated by their inability to act effectively, given their unwillingness to engage in "partisan politics" by endorsing the friendlier GOP incumbent.

On November 3,1998, the people of South Carolina elected Jim Hodges governor. Once in office, Hodges moved on both fronts of the gambling issue. In early 1999 he proposed a November 1999 referendum on video poker. After extended legislative wrangling, the state legislature voted to allow state citizens to decide whether or not to ban video poker. Once the decision was made to hold a video-poker referendum in a non-election year, antigambling groups quickly mobilized, with key elements of the business, civic, and religious communities coalescing in a powerful coalition opposing the continued legality of the business. And this mobilization had a clear impact. Public opinion polls soon showed a large and growing majority of citizens favoring a ban on the gambling machines. Antigambling forces eagerly anticipated a great victory in November 1999.

At this point, however, the state Supreme Court intervened once again. Citing a little-known clause in the state Constitution that prohibits the legislature from delegating its power to make laws, the Court ruled that the General Assembly could not give the power to legislate (in this case, on video poker) to the people. Happily for the antigambling forces, however, the Supreme Court's decision accomplished their objective, albeit indirectly. Antigambling legislators had managed to insert a provision in the referendum authorizing a statute to cover this legal eventuality. In the event that the legislation was struck down, video poker would become illegal in South Carolina on July 1, 2000. Indeed, on that date the South Carolina landscape was transformed even more rapidly than it had been in the early 1990s, as the omnipresent machines disappeared almost overnight.

Organized Religion Attacks the Lottery

With the unexpected demise of the video poker issue, the attention of religious forces shifted to Governor Hodges' lottery proposal. In this instance it was constitutionally necessary to hold a referendum on whether the South Carolina Constitution should be amended to permit a state lottery. Although antigambling forces had lobbied in the state legislature against the proposed constitutional amendment, the governor had successfully argued that his unexpected victory in the 1998 gubernatorial race had created a mandate for a public choice on the lottery. The legislature scheduled the referendum to coincide with the 2000 general election, with its anticipated higher turnout rate stimulated by the presidential race.

By the end of the summer of 2000, activists on both sides of the lottery issue had galvanized, setting up the lines of division over the issue. Governor Hodges, his staff, and the state Democratic Party leadership conducted the "vote yes" campaign, financed largely by mercantile, financial, and advertising firms hoping to benefit from roles in conducting the lottery. Unlike the video poker campaign, few prominent business groups joined the antigambling campaign, however, and the leadership fell almost completely into the hands of the religious community. The most visible groups included the South Carolina Christian Action Council (SCCAC), which represents sixteen Christian denominations from Southern Baptists on the political right (and sometimes at odds with other members) to Episcopalians and Lutherans on the left. For the first time in recent memory, however, every SCCAC denomination came down on the same side of an issue. Religious leaders said they were not interested in trading on their status as elites , though. As Ron Davis, director of the Greenville Baptist Association, put it, the clergy's job was not to convince people to vote against the lottery "because I'm the preacher," but to ask them to confront the social and economic effects of gambling. In this respect, the anti-lottery forces were following the strategy of the successful religious campaign against a lottery proposed in Alabama just the year before, with the lessons conveyed by visiting delegations of Alabama religious leaders.

Aside from existing religious organizations, "No Lottery 2000," a nonpartisan coalition of lottery foes, emerged as the largest anti-lottery group. Led by Kathy Bigham, one of video poker's most effective antagonists, the group inaugurated its campaign on April 18, 2000 at the state Capitol in Columbia. The SCBC played a large role within No Lottery 2000, donating $50,000 of the initial $168,156 budget, and First Baptist Church of North Spartanburg and Sans Souci Baptist Church in Greenville also contributed heavily (Hoover 2000a).

It is not often in South Carolina that evangelical, mainline, and African American Protestant leaders see eye-to-eye on political issues. The lottery, however, evoked nearly uniform opposition among religious leaders, at least on the surface. Joel Thrasher, chair of missions for the Greenville Baptist Association, was typical of local denominational officials who opposed the lottery. Thrasher's association, consisting of 105 churches with over 60,000 members, pledged to help member churches and other organizations fight gambling (Hoover 2000b). Travis Kerns, youth minister at Mountain Creek Church, initiated a youth effort against the lottery called "Students Against Lottery Tactics," designed to increase voter registration and raise youth awareness through debates, rallies, and concerts ("Kerns Leading Students" 2000).

Mainline Protestant clergy also spoke out against the lottery. Fifty pastors met on May 8 at Buncombe Street United Methodist Church in Greenville for one of seven No Lottery 2000 meetings across the state intended "to encourage clergymen to inform the public about the dangers of approving a state-sponsored lottery" (Rutledge 2000). Three weeks later, more than 200 clergy and lay delegates to the South Carolina United Methodists' Annual Conference heard Reginald Thackston, a member of the UMC's "Task Force Against Legalized Gambling," characterize the lottery as an "economic blight and a violation of church doctrine" ("Methodists Criticize" 2000).

Even African American churches became involved in the campaign. Historically, black churches in South Carolina have been wary of cooperation with white conservative churches. Countless political observers noted the significance of the black vote for Hodges's plan because African Americans initially tended to favor the lottery in larger numbers than did people of other backgrounds (Hoover 2000a). So it came as quite a shock to Democratic leaders that so many black churches joined the fight against the governor's proposal. Lambasting the gambling industry for preying on the poor and weak, prominent officials from every single African American denomination campaigned against the lottery. One of the most vocal groups was the African Methodist Episcopal (AME) Church. Meanwhile, state Representative Ralph Canty and state Senator Darrell Jackson -- both ministers and both Democrats -- began another anti-lottery force by enlisting other legislators and ministers for their "Don't Gamble on Education" program.

By August, the religious agitation hit home for Governor Hodges, as his own United Methodist minister spoke out against the lottery from the pulpit and in public, creating a journalistic bonanza for opponents. Hodges later met with United Methodist Bishop J. Lawrence McCleskey to argue that denominational officials shouldn't be involved in this debate - despite Section 67.G of the United Methodist Book of Discipline, which specifically directs Methodists to oppose "public lotteries as a means of producing public revenues" ("Lottery Push" 2000).

Ignoring Hodges's efforts, church involvement in the anti-lottery effort remained high. Leaders of South Carolina's 750,000 Southern Baptists, 250,000 United Methodists, as well the AME Church, the Presbyterian Church (U.S.A.), and Wesleyan denominations were all especially active in the fight to defeat the lottery. Churches also contributed additional sums to the anti-lottery fight. By September 24, 2000, the Greenville News reported that South Carolina churches had donated $201,595 to the anti-lottery organization, in addition to a $25,000 pledge from a Baptist church in Greenville. The state Baptist Convention's added contribution of $65,000 was the largest among church groups. First Baptist Church of North Spartanburg and Shandon Baptist Church of Columbia (both well-known centers of religious conservative activism) each donated $25,000. Overall, more than 25 churches contributed $1,000 or more to No Lottery 2000 (Hammond 2000). By October 24, No Lottery 2000 was reporting total fundraising of $590,190 af ter "another infusion of Baptist money" (Hoover 2000c).

As the referendum approached, "vote no" editorials by pastors across the state multiplied in leading newspapers such as the Greenville News. Darrell Jackson, a prominent black state senator and minister of Bible Way Church of Atlas Road, argued with particular force against the lottery in a widely reprinted op-ed piece. Jackson explained that as a Christian, he found lotteries immoral, and as a politician, he felt they were unsound public policy (Jackson 2000). Bishop McCleskey of the United Methodist Church renewed his opposition to the lottery, pointing to his denomination's "long history of concern for social justice and morality" as the reason why he and other Methodists should vote "no" on November 7 (McCleskey 2000). Another leading United Methodist minister, Robert Stillwell, noted the dilemma Methodists faced as their governor, himself an active Methodist, argued that a lottery was needed to fund education, while their bishop actively opposed the proposal and articulated the official view of the Churc h. Not surprisingly, Stillwell stuck with his church, urging voters to reject the lottery (Stillwell 2000).

Perhaps the best-publicized religious action occurred on October 2, when more than 300 church leaders and parishioners went to Columbia to protest the lottery. Richard Dozier, president of the SOCAC, organized the event. African American churches were also heavily involved. Joe Darby, pastor of Morris Brown AME Church, and AME Bishop Henry Allen Belin said that the lottery would exploit African Americans. Carlisle Driggers, executive director of the SCBC, lent his presence, as did Methodist Bishop McCleskey (Davenport 2000), representing the two largest white denominations in the state, one evangelical, one mainline. Seldom had the state capital witnessed such a united and truly ecumenical political effort by religious bodies -- at least as in terms of their policy goal.

The Vote