On The Existence and Persistence of Right and Wrong

Our civilization (broadly understood here to mean Western Civilization, but specifically, the modern United States under its magnificent Constitution) is under siege from within, a condition caused by moral and ethical decline, the march of relativism, the great social stigma attached to being “judgmental”, and the decline in our ability to understand right and wrong, all of which are related. As this essay unwinds, it is already obvious that there will be readers who will find themselves hostile to its pleadings, that concepts such as “right” or “wrong” have little place in our modern world of shade and nuance, and even if such outmoded concepts did exist, who died and left me in charge of determining them? Well, the answer to the last question there is “I appointed me”, and since you paid good money to read this essay, you need to hear from me.

The proximate inspiration for this essay is the war in Israel and the confounding displays by those who claim to be supportive of the Palestinian cause. They wrap keffiyeh around their entitled faces and scream “cease fire” and “from the river to the sea” for the cameras. They bleed for the poor Palestinians and tear down posters. They put full faith into whatever claim of Israeli excess is levied, and when those claims are disproven, they move onto the next. They demand special audiences with senior administration officials from their cosseted cubbyholes in the Old Executive Office Building. They claim words are violence while excusing true violence and evil.

Protestors in New York

The Israel/Palestine question will not be taken up in this essay. We will not discuss the history of the region, the creation of modern states, or previous conflicts. We will not dilate upon root cause analysis.

We will contain ourselves to the fact that on October 7th, the duly elected government of the Palestinian people living in that portion of the mandate known as Gaza executed a murderous terror attack upon innocent people in Israel. They did so from sanctuary provided them in Gaza by lavish support funded by the American people and also—incidentally—the Iranian people. And the Russian people. Some 1400 Israelis (and dozens of Americans) were killed, and scores were taken hostage. This act was evil, and it was wrong. It simply cannot be explained away.

Israel has decided that it will not allow itself to suffer such attacks anymore. This is understandable, and it is right. Were Israel SOLELY conducting military operations in Gaza out of a spirit of revenge, that ALSO would be right. Hamas must be punished for its attack on civilization. Period. But Israel is NOT conducting military operations—I’m sorry, I need to say what it is and what Israel says it is—Israel is not AT WAR solely out of a sense of revenge. It is at war to eliminate a dangerous and powerful threat to its security. Full stop. And this is right.

One never hears those shrieking for the Palestinians talk about dead, innocent, Israelis. One never hears them talk about hostages. One never hears them talk about the hundreds of millions of dollars in aid that has been taken in by Hamas for humanitarian purposes and funneled into rockets and arms that have rained down on Israel since the day Israel forcibly removed its own citizens from Gaza 18 years ago. One never hears them talk about human shields and command centers in hospitals and mosques. One never hears from them even a shred of understanding that that which they support is wrong.

Because I am on a roll, let me raise a few other obvious examples of where right and wrong ought to be sorted.

It is right that human beings come in one of two sexes. It is wrong to allow minors to undergo irreversible medical procedures designed to alter this.

It is right to choose to profess to being a Christian (settle down, I’m not saying it is ONLY right to profess to being a Christian). It is wrong to profess to being a Christian and then raise a man to national leadership without a shred of Christian love in his heart.

It is right to support your fellow citizens’ right to freedom of expression. It is wrong for your fellow citizens to believe that there will be no reputational or financial consequences to doing so.

It is right to believe that the United States is in the midst of something of a mental health crisis. It is wrong to believe that institutionalizing dangerous individuals is not a fundamental part of addressing it.

I’d like to advocate for a bit more judgment in our society, more quizzical looks and more bright lines. We DO inherently know that some things are right and some things are wrong, but our attempts to appear without judgment turn a societal highway system into a nationwide crash-up derby.

On My Uneasiness With Performative Grief for Celebrities

I don’t think I’ll make many friends with the next section.

Fifty-four year-old actor Matthew Perry died over the weekend. There are reports he died in a hot tub in his home, with the cause of death at this point undetermined. I wish Mr. Perry’s family and friends my condolences as they grieve in their way. I am however, once again made uneasy by the social-media driven frenzy of people who never met Mr. Perry and who may never have spent time in the same state as Perry, mourning openly for his loss.

I’m sorry, but that you enjoyed his entertainment during your formative years had nothing to do with your formation. You had no relationship with the man. His death is no more and no less tragic than that of any other stranger. That we have efficient means to amplify performative grief in order that the practitioner gains a measure of virtue (or even more delectable, the whiff of suggestion that maybe, perhaps, in some random chance—they once met the decedent) only makes the foundational act more difficult to abide.

I’m not saying that the deaths of strangers should not move us. They should. In some cases, public mourning is appropriate for the deaths of strangers. I stood in line for hours in the hot sun to walk past John McCain’s casket because of my deep regard for the man, and the line was long because it was a feeling widely shared. What I am addressing here is the false intimacy of the internet and its provision of efficient means to perform one’s apparently societal obligation to grieve celebrities. No thanks.

The Oyster Festival

Living as I do in the paradise of Maryland’s Eastern Shore, the months with an “R” in them are devoted in no small measure to the mass consumption of salt-water bivalve mollusks. Each year, I watch in amazement as that guy eats dozens of hot dogs on Coney Island and I secretly (well, not so secretly anymore) yearn for the opportunity to compete in such a contest in the eating of oysters. I love oysters, the saltier the better. Very few meals out in the colder months are eaten without an oyster starter, and the standard issue half-dozen is doubled to a more appropriate number. A few weeks back, I met up with Brother Pat in Philly and we polished off four dozen as a dinner starter without breaking a sweat. Ballers.

Early last week, I received an email from the Chesapeake Bay Maritime Museum (where we are members due to Catherine’s foresight) informing me that Saturday was to be the “Oyster Festival”. I immediately pounced on the opportunity to buy a cut-rate admission ticket as a military retiree (thank me for my service) and reserved a few hours on my Saturday agenda to attend. Catherine was unavailable to attend, as she was cavorting with friends on a ladies weekend. As Saturday approached, I studied my work-list and momentarily considered skipping the event, as there was a LOT on it (including the writing of this Substack). But then I regained my senses and remembered that oyster festivals are one of the reasons living here is great, and that if nothing else, slurping down a few platefuls could serve as a nice low-cal lunch. So I went.

I texted my friend Doug to see if he was going, and of course, he was. He lives about as far from St. Michaels as I do, but in the opposite direction. I’ve attended dozens of events at CBMM but NEVER has there been a crowd the size of this one. I stood in line at one concession (oysters, natch) for twenty minutes. The sun was beating down hot—most unseasonably—and the beer lines were worse than the oyster lines. There were kids everywhere and the gentry strolled about the Museum grounds (do attend, do join—it is a gem!) enjoying a fine day, the last gasp of summer.

Not content only to guzzle down oysters, I espied a delicacy that had never crossed my consciousness before, at a vendor whose giant sign had only one word on it: “Bacon” (but repeated three times).

What fresh sorcery was this? An Italian Sausage wrapped in bacon? Who dreamed up such a wonder? My sister informs me that it was almost certainly DEEP FRIED! I purchased one and was duly rewarded for my open mind.

What a country!