I just want to do the right thing.
Many of us have uttered these words after doing something unorthodox.
Staying on the straight and narrow sometimes involves deviating from routine procedures or making personal sacrifices. And this can envelop us with a sense of cognitive dissonance.
Whenever we veer off-script, a conflict emerges between the norm we’re breaking with and the result we’re seeking. Reminding ourselves that we’re doing the right thing helps reconcile that conflict.
The right thing can seem like a nebulous term. But the code it’s based upon is not.
We call that code morality.
Morality means everything to us. It’s the standard we judge others on. And it’s what we critique ourselves on as well.
But how do we derive morality? How do we distinguish between what’s appropriate and what’s unjust?
Many of us believe the answer is basic logic. We claim that tapping into widely accepted values helps us determine what to do next. And we argue that morality is simply the process of following those markers.
It’s a tidy argument. But the truth of the matter is far more complicated.
The final months of 2001 were nothing short of surreal.
America had endured the September 11th attacks. Our military had sent troops to Afghanistan to root out those responsible for the violence. Our economy was in a recession and a sense of tension was in the air.
I was in my early teens at the time, which made these events particularly jarring. In an instant, my youthful innocence was ripped away. A sobering reality took its place.
I went through all the emotions that come with trauma in those months. I oscillated between anger, fear, and sadness. But mostly, I was filled with confusion.
The terrorists who organized the September 11th attacks had committed unspeakable acts — killing 3,000 innocent Americans, toppling skyscrapers, and blasting a hole in the Pentagon. And yet, they claimed they were in the right. They blamed America for a culture of sin. And they touted the morality of their actions.
All of this made no sense to me.
How would sending operatives 5,000 miles to indiscriminately kill civilians be viewed as moral? It violated one of the Ten Commandments from the Bible. (Thou shalt not kill.) And it ran afoul of the guidance of the Quran. (You shall not take life, except by way of justice and law.)
To me, it was as if these terrorists had stacked a crime on a crime. They had done more than just violate the code of morality. They had ripped the code to shreds. This made them evil, in my mind, and thereby worthy of purging.
So, as I slogged through adolescence and early adulthood, I was filled with thoughts of vengeance. I openly cheered the killing of Osama Bin Laden. And I turned a blind eye to the torture of detainees accused of terrorism.
It all seemed so clear to me. Anyone who so blatantly disavowed the code of morality had to be eliminated. I stuck by this logic, even as it took me to darker and darker places.
But then, some new examples of misaligned morals enveloped our society. And this time, the situation was far murkier.
The killing of unarmed Black teens by law enforcement — a longstanding problem — gained widespread attention following the death of Michael Brown in 2014. Protestors took to the streets in Ferguson, Missouri in pursuit of racial justice.
Those protests grew violent, with looting and mayhem. This led to a militarized law enforcement response. Police sprayed tear gas, threw smoke bombs, and fired rubber bullets at the protesters.
In the wake of this confrontation, both sides claimed they were in the right. Supporters of law enforcement said it was their moral duty to prevent looting and assault. The protestors believed considered racial justice to be their moral quest. A calling that superseded the code of laws they might break along the way.
Neither claim to morality was fully upheld. But neither was refuted either. And in the years since then, the debate over morality has only grown fiercer. It’s become a defining marker of our societal divisions.
It’s uncomfortable living in conflict like this. So, we keep seeking to close the gap.
We search for that one bit of logic that will neutralize the other side, settling this debate once and for all. And, in the process, we keep finding nothing but futility.
Perhaps it’s time we try a new approach.
On October 6, 1965, the Los Angeles Dodgers dropped the first game of the World Series to the Minnesota Twins. Many players had a hand in the result. But one man who never saw the field seemed to grab the most attention.
Sandy Koufax — the Dodgers’ best pitcher — was supposed to take the mound in Minnesota that day. But October 6th also happened to be the date of Yom Kippur — the holiest day of the Jewish calendar — that year. Koufax, who is Jewish, refused to pitch on that day.
Many criticized Koufax for abandoning his job at such an important juncture. It seemed immoral to some.
But Koufax’s choice might actually have been the purest example of morality at work.
Baseball was Koufax’s profession. He was a steady, dominant force in a sport that meant a great deal to him. But his faith also mattered. It was as much a part of his values as baseball was.
So, when Koufax found the two halves of his identity in conflict, he listened to his heart and made his decision.
Yes, Koufax let emotion — not logic — define his morality. That gave him the clarity and conviction he needed to see his decision through.
The example Sandy Koufax set might seem extreme. But it’s far from extraordinary.
When we drop everything to be there for family or friends in need, we’re following our moral compass. And we’re often doing this at the expense of our logical one.
In a vacuum, such choices make little sense. They’re inconvenient and they pull us away from proven patterns of success.
Still, we can’t imagine not making these decisions. They clearly seem like the right thing to do.
It’s our emotions that are guiding us to go the extra mile. It’s our feelings that are helping us be there in the moments that matter. It’s our hearts that are defining our sense of morality.
Our emotions help us distinguish right from wrong. And through this process, we realize what it truly means to be human.
As such, our mandate is clear.
We must stop relying on logic alone to delineate right and wrong. We must listen to our hearts as well.
It’s our obligation to look beyond our self-interest. It’s our duty to care about each other, be good to each other and be there for each other.
So, the next time we’re faced with a tough choice, let’s resist the temptation to break out the spreadsheets. Let’s give our hearts the chance to guide the way.