I work at a publishing company in West Michigan — for their sake and mine, I’ll keep them anonymous and refer to them as “the Press” — that publishes works by authors who write from an ideological background (usually Christianity) that is not my own. Being a copywriter, my job is specifically to engage with the books we’re publishing on a deep enough level that I’m able to write about them with a high degree of accuracy and understanding — and also sympathy. It wouldn’t be very good copy if I sounded like I was trying to distance myself from what the author is doing in her book. In fact, it’s not even enough to simply cosign on her arguments. I have to sound like the book is brilliant and groundbreaking and vital, without using those words or any other nakedly evaluative language. (That’s the endorsers’ and reviewers’ jobs.)

On the face of it, this might sound like a dicey career situation to be in and one that is terrible for fostering any sense of integrity. But I’ve been in this job for about two and a half years now, and I can honestly say that I’m not encumbered by any sense of nagging guilt or a sick feeling of having sold out and compromised my values. And I’m someone who has felt both of those things at numerous times throughout my life — so I’m confident it’s not for lack of self-examination. So I thought I’d reflect on a few aspects of what makes being a nonbelieving copywriter at a publishing house that frequently publishes confessional titles not only palatable, but even enjoyable and gratifying.

• The Press is a relatively small, independent company that has not been bought up by one of the big publishing juggernauts and turned into a thinly disguised imprint. Of course, profit is one of its raisons d’être, but the very fact of its having remained independent all this time despite lucrative offers for purchase by one of the Big Five speaks to its valuing its independence of perspective.
  
  
• There’s a clear sense that the Press is ideologically consistent and trustworthy. It’s not that we produce titles all from a certain perspective — we don’t. But there are clear criteria for a book being something we’re interested in and boundaries around what we’re not interested in. Most importantly, we’re not in the business of working with authors on any projects that are right-wing, nationalistic, conspiratorial, uncritical about systemic injustices, or using religion as a mask for bigotry. I can trust that I will never have to write copy for a book that tries to portray the 45th president of the United States as a savior of anything, or that uses dog-whistle language like “religious freedom” or “family values” to describe patriarchal, white-supremacist norms. (In fact, we regularly publish books that call out and expose these kinds of things in various areas of society.) It’s not that we have a perfect record — I know we have published problematic things. But there is a critical approach to what we put out and a concerted effort for integrity of vision.
  
  
• I don’t have to hide the fact that I’m nonreligious in the workplace. And I have several coworkers who are also nonreligious. An organization’s mission statement starts within its own walls, so this is important. Again, the Press isn’t perfect — it’s relative lack of diversity is a testament to shortcomings in its efforts to be truly inclusive. Nevertheless, it is clear that a person’s professional contributions are what is valued — not some litmus test about their identity or views.
  
  
• I do have my own background in the Christian tradition, and so I’m especially sympathetic to its aims and commitments — even as I have found them insufficient for myself. It would be dishonest to claim that Christianity was nothing but destructive in my life. It was that, but it was also formative. I respect that others might find it more the latter than the former, and I respect and value efforts to try to reform a faith to make it more like that for others.
  
  
• I’ve found embodying perspectives other than my own — again, within certain important boundaries — undeniably valuable. If this is exactly how I came to the realization back in my early adulthood that Christianity wasn’t for me, I’d be dishonest to say that growth can’t come the other way too — especially when it’s from certain traditions or backgrounds I’m less familiar with. I’ve found that alternate frameworks of thinking and living create space for things that I eventually come to appreciate.

Still, even with these points of justification, there are times I don’t especially enjoy, say, writing about why it’s important to justify and defend the doctrine of inseparable operations — that any action of one person of the holy trinity is undertaken also by the other two persons of the trinity — so that someone in an armchair somewhere can feel reassured that they are indeed a monotheist and not a heathen tritheist.

It would be ideal, of course, if I could work for a publisher whose worldview aligned more closely with mine. But that opportunity will likely not present itself in West Michigan anytime soon. I don’t feel the need to rationalize, though, because I find that my work reinforces something important in me: I’ll call it ideological humility. It’s the spirit I hope to be met with by those who hold different worldviews than mine, but it’s a spirit I too often fail to embody toward others. Being integrally engaged with other belief systems 40 hours a week forces this virtue upon me for at least that time — making it just the slightest bit easier to find that mindset when I need it outside the hours of eight to five, Monday through Friday.