Have you noticed how all that stands between Morality and Mortality is a single letter shaped like a cross?

No, I’m not lurching into apophenia – that is, pathological pattern-seeking – haruspicy in olden times – connecting so many dots you get dotty. I do not believe in wireless messaging from the beyond.

I do believe in listening for hints in language, letting rhymes, alliterations, etymologies, homonyms and other verbal coincidences raise questions one did not anticipate. Modernity treats language like a beast of burden, trudging toward specificity, one weary clarification at a time, and not a Pegasus, thrillingly winging through the skies.

Few, I think, would dispute that our epoch is a moral morass. So rapidly and drastically have our elected leaders forsaken fundamental decency that the Sermon on the Mount and Golden Rule are now mocked as pathetic naivete. Purported pastors bless liars, thieves, and pussy-grabbers as saviors dispatched by the divine. We honor the Ten Commandments in reverse: Thou shalt steal, murder, commit adultery, bear false witness, etc. My loathing of liars is dismissed as ludicrous: what planet am I living on!

This utter instant abandonment of decency some find puzzling. How come? Isn’t it obvious that decent behavior limits chaos and makes our world more livable? Do we really want to inhabit a world where lying, thieving, war-mongering and pussy-grabbing are no big deal?

Here’s where that little cross suggests direction: we’ve lost our morality because we’ve forgotten our mortality. Folks die on TV all the time; we zap unsuspecting adversaries as in a video game. But we do not believe in our own deaths. Whatever’s wrong with us medicine will fix until it can’t, at which point their failure becomes malpractice.

Immortality corrupts morality by eliminating any penalty for misbehavior. The old Greek gods were scallywags, lying, cheating, fornicating, because why not? What was the worst that could happen? The Nameless One behaves worse and worse because what’s the worst that can happen? If crime pays and he can get away with anything, why not grab while the grabbing’s good, who’s going to stop him, not Death itself!

Mortality is where morality starts. Our conclusion steers us to conclusions. Heaven, hell, and Saint Peter at the gate may not convince us, but oughtn’t we act as if we will be judged? I expect no afterlife, but won’t my doings in this life be recalled – by me, if by no one else? My God keeps an eye on me, which frequently glowers. I bless His supervision, though I squirm.

This is not a word game. How we are in our moment is our achievement, therefore our obligation. Dog-pal Henry requires no morality, no existential GPS, because he discerns only one path through time. Humans are the choosing species. Our choices define us. We can be better or worse. Isn’t better better?

I am always dying. It’s good for my health. I envision my reception at the finish line by a loving onlooker who murmurs, if I’m lucky, “Servant, well done.” I screw up incessantly – who doesn’t? – but if I try to mend there’s hope. This attempt – to live life better – invigorates my days and informs my words. The adventure of my life excites me. I can be a hero in my own small way.

I blush to reiterate these thoughts they seem so rudimentary. But we live in an age that has forgotten the ABCs of being. We pursue goods but not goodness, regard but not self-regard. I’m something of a Johnny One-Note on this theme, my apologies, but does any theme matter if we can’t master this?