Morality, not Moralism
The best stories work on many levels. Morality is almost always one of them — but morality, not moralism.
There’s a difference between making a strong argument for a moral position, and dogma.
Whether they do it overtly or covertly, almost all stories ask:
- How do we behave?
- How should we behave?
- Do we need to change?
- Is it even possible to change?
- What is stopping us from changing as individuals? Or changing our society?
At their heart, these are moral questions. But stories need to tackle them honestly. Imposing the dogma of moralism is the easy solution. It’s much harder to cut through to the real moral questions, and to answer them honestly.
Dogma wears many disguises. It’s easy to see dogma in others and in other cultures. It’s much harder to see in our culture, and in ourselves. We are all blind to aspects of our society and aspects of ourselves, especially those that benefit us.
As the saying goes, ‘It’s hard to read the label from inside the jar.’
And then, even if you do manage to detect those hidden values and assumptions, most people don’t want you to point them out. Most people have a strong desire to ignore uncomfortable truths.
Which is why so many stories are written by outsiders. Or turn their authors into outsiders.
In the end, dodging dogma to get to the truth of morality comes down to the questions you ask, and the honesty with which you pursue the answers. The best stories work on many levels. Morality is almost always one of them — but morality, not moralism.
In the end, this often comes down to whether you write to prove a premise or discover a premise.
See: Don’t Impose your Ending. Discover It.
Here are two useful questions that underpin almost all moral storytelling:
- What’s the gap between how the world seems, and how it is?
- What’s the gap between how the world is, and how it should be?
The first question is usually much harder to answer than the second because it’s not just about other people, it’s also about us, and the unrecognised accommodations we have made to fit in to our world.
That question challenges us to look at the world with clear eyes and an honest heart, and have the courage to face the real questions embedded in our story.
The second question seems easier. After all, everybody has an opinion. Famously, they are like, well, noses. But unexamined opinions quickly descend to glibness and dogma, instead of reaching for surprising truths.
Answering these questions honestly challenges us personally.
- Are you writing to find meaning, and share what you find, whatever it makes you feel? Or makes other people feel?
- Are you prepared to genuinely explore these questions, or are you out to prove a position that you (and almost certainly, all those you consider your peers) already hold?
- Who are you trying to impress? Are you writing to enhance your standing within your peer group? Perhaps even seeking to be invited into a new peer group?
- Are you prepared to arrive at a different destination than the one you set out for? Even if it’s a deeply uncomfortable destination?
You need Artistic Courage
These are not just abstract philosophical questions. They have very practical implications for your writing process, many of them personally challenging.
Be prepared to look beneath the surface. Lift those rocks, and see what comes scurrying out.
It’s easy to do this for the aspects of society that already rub against you. It’s much harder to do for the bits where we’ve learned to adapt ourselves. Even harder for the bits that suit you.
Feeling like an outsider is often a good start to seeing the difference between what seems to be and what is. But sometimes it makes it too easy. Focusing on the areas where you feel oppressed or excluded can make it even harder to see the problems where you are an insider. And we are all insiders in some ways.
We all make accommodations to the world we live in, and we all learn to turn a blind eye to those accommodations.
Of course we do. Who wants to live a life of perpetual anxiety and self-criticism?
We need to be willing to risk rejection. Sometimes telling the truth is a relief. More often it is deeply uncomfortable. Not only for us, but for the people we tell. We’re pointing out things they’d rather ignore.
Invite, don’t lecture. If we want to make an actual difference, rather than feel self-righteous, we need to find a way to tell the story that invites rather than alienates.
Moralism preaches to the choir. You’ll get plenty of Hallelujahs. But you won’t challenge anybody – they already agree with you. The people on the street won’t even hear you.
Use comedy
Everybody loves comedy. Who doesn’t enjoy a good laugh? And comedy is not trying to preach, it’s just entertainment, right?
But there’s much more to comedy than meets the eye. Unless it punches down, comedy can be a shared way of acknowledging our common human failings by laughing at them.
The best comedy is cathartic, not accusatory. It unifies; it does not divide.
Fairness and Justice
Appeals to justice can also ignite our common humanity. Humans share a deep sense of fairness and unfairness that can reach beyond tribalism and dogma.
But not always. Fear is powerful and easy to stoke. It’s quick. It can override our common humanity. And it invites simple answers – i.e. dogma.
Some wrongs are just wrong
Some things are undoubtedly immoral. And there are times to make a stand against these. There wasn’t a ‘good side’ to the concentration camps. Or the Rwandan genocide. Or female genital mutilation.
But, honestly, unless you have something new to say about them, stay away from them. Otherwise, you risk falling into the seductive trap of injustice porn.
If you want your stories to make a real difference, start from morality, and resist the easy pull of moralism.
