We shape our moment. Our moment shapes us. Futile to separate subject from object in this eternal tension, tugger from tugged.

I as I am could only have existed in this moment thinking these thoughts. My moment would have differed without me. Ontogeny recapitulates phylogeny here as ever: what’s true for the individual is true for the tribe.

To understand this is to annihilate pride. Only a dolt could take pride in being born.

Many more of us understand this than believe it – because the truth hurts, at least until one grows used to it. From the first we are praised for accomplishments: no more should a cloud be praised for its shape or a shrub for its flower. We fulfill our nature and destiny, that is all. Evil must be punished, but it is not to blame. Saints deserve reverence, not applause.

Theologians have debated this conundrum tirelessly and tiresomely since the invention of God. Why would God create Man to disobey Him? Was He bored and in need of amusement (for humans are amusing, grant us that)? Or was He having an off day? Or is He (shh) an idea that doesn’t add up?

Don’t you wonder who you would have been if this or that hadn’t happened? If you’d been born when your parents or kids were? If at a crucial juncture you’d turned left, not right? I can envision for myself a dozen trajectories. I’m also persuaded that at every intersection I lucked out – my defeats were victories, my losses windfalls – but that may be my pride insisting on a happy ending. To turn down to up you need only stand on your head.

This is why it’s so frustrating being human – and so much fun: we can never be sure. Uncertainty’s our only certainty if we’re using our heads. Every yes is corroded by a but. The more I know the less – and the more thrilling my ignorance. Puppy Henry’s happier than I – by a mile – but I’d never trade places. I love my dread as much as my joy. They provide me my words and music, neither of which Henry requires.

I am a moralist – that is, one who ponders the best way to be. My history and moment made me one. Curious – and absent a reliable guide – I had to find my way on my own. Then my people got lost. If acrimony, bitterness, lying, nastiness, bewilderment amidst plenty aren’t lostness, what is? Three-quarters of Americans think their country’s headed “in the wrong direction” – on that we agree! But which is the right direction? That’s where morality comes in. Agree on a goal and maybe we’ll learn to get along.

Morality means asking questions, not knowing answers, steering attention toward community, decency and sense. We discover the best way to be by process of elimination. The Ten Commandments and Sermon on the Mount made sense for their moments; most, if not all, of either is applicable to ours. I grope for a code that is right, not rote, not rotten. Like the Three Kings, though I’ve no map, I descry a star (when it isn’t cloudy). The Celestial City needs no signage: you know when you’ve arrived.

Morality precedes factionalism. Right and wrong are not synonyms for Democrat and Republican. Let’s ponder together what it means to be an American. Problem is, we’re so busy hating we’ve stopped thinking. Hating is easy – intellectual sloth – harming your enemy makes you happy, hurray, you don’t have think! The only way to save ourselves from ourselves is to think (I think).