Morality is not a matter of opinion.

                  Not “it is so if you think so,” “to each his own,” “take it or leave it.” One might – and should – debate morality, not dismiss it as décor. No human concern matters more.

                  This seems obvious. Does it to you? Somehow we the people, citizens of the most explicitly moral nation ever formed, slid into a breezy, lazy amorality of “whatever” and “anything goes.” Moralists, be they religious or lay, were belittled as outmoded scolds. Some religious communities tolerated glaring moral violations – “grab them by the pussy,” for example – as no big deal.

                  How come?

                  Morality is the code by which a community cohabits and collaborates. To live together peaceably we must evolve a consensus about right and wrong or be constantly at one another’s throats. As communities weaken, their codes become less crucial. Where communion is not a common goal, only law remains to maintain calm.

                  During the twentieth century, geographical communities dissolved. Movement and removal became easier. Electronic communications widened awareness. Ingenious engineers made life easier and neighbors less dependent on each other. Where we live temporarily, we invest ourselves sparingly. Faith communities grew less stringent, urgent. So what if one appalled fellow worshippers? Who needed God, anyway?

                  My generation – called Woodstock or baby boomers – delighted in defying the sanctions and sanctimony of our parents. We grew our hair, made love, smoked pot, who cared, “live and let live.” Good became what felt good, not goody-goody. Stuff and regard measured success, not decency or duty. We bred reprobates like the Nameless One, who scoffed at scruples. 

                  A child of my time, I rejected my parents’ patterns. Their views were too narrow, their constraints constricting. I wanted, needed, to see what was wrong with their ways, not what was right. To hell with their example, I would be my own man!

                  A moment comes in most thinking lives when one questions one’s assumptions. Doing what one feels like may not feel right. One covets the context of a creed.

                  I could never recover the community of place – my people were too scattered – but, parents gone, I craved the confidence of a new conviction. What did I believe, I wondered. What did winning mean, or losing? Was I spending my time conscientiously? Was I doing myself proud?

                  I began piecing together my own code, plank by plank, testing the strength of each. I began using lofty words – beauty, truth, grace, decency, love, duty – I’d long set aside. I constructed my worldview not to impose or confess it, but to live cozily within. The Shaker hymn got it right:

Tis a gift to be simple,
Tis a gift to be free,
Tis a gift to come down
Where you ought to be.
And when you find yourself
In the place just right,
It will be in the valley
Of love and delight.

                  It feels good trying to be good. But morality is more than sensual satisfaction. As it organized the community of my childhood, it must inform a nation and the community of nations. Goodness, it turns out, makes good sense. A community without morality disintegrates into barbarity. Look about if you doubt it. America’s cruelty, crudity, and incivility disgust, and our results shame. Without a sense of good we become good-for-nothings. 

                  How to rescue ourselves from depravity? I have no idea. But for starters, we must convene, converse, share our concerns, demand of ourselves and officers conduct we can condone. Ostracize offenders, disqualify creeps. Confront the mirror without flinching. Decency is no accident, it takes work. Seek and ye shall find.