Imagining a Moral and Just Kentucky
Photo by Brandon Randolph
I once had a student who began an essay on Buddhism by writing, “Buddhism is an important religion. Especially if you’re Buddhist.” I found the logic difficult to argue with.
I get the same feeling when I hear most people talk about morality. Everyone agrees that morality is important, especially if you want to be moral. But people often disagree about what morality looks like in the real world and which morals people should possess. That fuzziness about the morals necessary to build the best possible world sits at the center of our politics.
In my experience, people tend to start with a checklist of morals, often without considering what kind of world those particular morals would produce if everybody lived them out. I understand why people might start there, but that’s like buying an extensive list of your favorite ingredients and then deciding what recipe to make from them. Instead, we should discuss the best possible recipe we could make. If we’re all eating from the same stew pot, that recipe should nourish everybody—not just the people who always seem to show up first in line when it’s time to eat. Then, after deciding on the recipe, we could determine which ingredients we would need to make that life-giving meal.
In other words, when it comes to morality, we should begin by imagining what kind of a world we want. The picture that forms would then tell us which morals would help us realize that world.
A word of caution here: As a pastor and a theologian, I understand that a person’s faith usually comes with a vision of the “best” world. As a university lecturer in world religions, I also realize that each religion (and non-religion) offers its unique vision of what the “best” world should look like. In a world with so many possible answers, therefore, the question is how we should decide between these competing visions.
The founders of this country understood that letting one religion dominate all others was to be avoided. Indeed, one of the significant innovations of the American experiment was not only freedom of religion but freedom from religion if that’s what you wanted.
This freedom of/from religion doesn’t mean that religious convictions should be kept from the debate, only that in America, no one’s religious beliefs should get a special backstage pass to the big extravaganza. In reality, everyone’s unique contribution only strengthens the dream of what such a world should look like.
For the sake of discussion, what if we adjusted the scope of our dreaming to Kentucky? What would a moral and just Kentucky entail? How would we even begin to envision what the best possible state for everyone would look like? What new ideas would we include? What old assumptions would we leave behind?
Let me throw out a few questions as long as we’re dreaming.
Imagine a Kentucky where everyone feels safe. That seems like an excellent place to start. Who doesn’t want to feel safe? Does anybody daydream about living in Thunderdome? The obvious question, then, is: What kind of morals would we need to embrace to create a world where nobody lives in fear, where our neighbors don’t feel compelled to walk around with loaded firearms to protect themselves and their families? What shared values would we need to create a community where Black and Brown people don’t lie awake at night terrified for their children, parents, or neighbors? Which principles would we all need to share to keep LGBTQI+ children from being bullied at school (or in the legislature)? How would we address people’s fear of their houseless neighbors? How would we manage the sense among the houseless that the people in their community not only don’t want them around but don’t even think of them as fellow human beings deserving of respect?
Imagine a Kentucky where our poor and low-wealth neighbors are the first people we think of when we make laws instead of the last. What if the wealthy and the powerful cared more about “the least of these” than about those who can afford lobbyists? Which morals would we have to shed to see our neighbors who struggle financially as just as deserving of justice and kindness as those born on third base? If we regarded everyone equally, would our jails be filled with poor people while the wealthy buy favor, which they call “justice?” If everyone were equal, wouldn’t that keep us from dumping our environmental problems into the backyards of those who can’t afford the lawyers to fight the intrusion? Wouldn’t all our children have the same educational opportunities targeted to their needs?
Assuming we agree with the Declaration of Independence that all people are created equal, imagine a Kentucky where everybody has equal access to healthcare. What values would we need to embrace to ensure that nobody ever goes broke paying for health care again? What kind of morals would we need to guarantee that health care isn’t seen as a way to make profits on the backs of sick people but as a gift that makes us more human by allowing us to care for another? How could we reimagine a healthcare system where the financial benefits don’t go to insurance companies, hospital corporations, and the politicians they buy? Imagine a healthcare system where health care isn’t treated as a consumer good that people could “choose” to get or not1 but as a benefit of living in a commonwealth where everyone’s health (physical, psychological, emotional, and financial) is taken seriously.
Imagine a Kentucky where access to quality education isn’t a question of where you live or how much money you make. What kind of wisdom would be necessary to finally understand that we are responsible for offering our children the best education we can afford? What habits of mind would we need to encourage to believe the data about the value of universal Pre-K for children and their working parents? What obstacles prevent us from understanding that getting people back to work after the pandemic and rising inflation will require expanded childcare? What would we have to believe to realize that we need an educated workforce to draw jobs to Kentucky … and make sure they stay here? Even more important than the results of investing in quality education for all Kentuckians, what sort of people do we want to be for our children? If we care about our history, why would we prevent teachers from teaching the truth about our failings as well as our accomplishments?2
Imagine a Kentucky where xenophobia, racism, homophobia, misogyny, and transphobia are different spokes in the same wheel of injustice.
Imagine a Kentucky that embraces our immigrant and refugee neighbors. What kind of hospitality would we have to learn to understand that people from different places come to us bearing gifts? How would we have to adjust our internal settings to view the “stranger in our land” not first as a potential enemy but as a potential friend, not as a drain on our resources but as a blessing?
Imagine a Kentucky without racism. What kind of humility would we need to cultivate that would allow us to express more outrage at the reality of racism than at the prospect of being called racist? How might a commitment to truth-telling affect how we recall our past—both its sins and its virtues? What kind of self-reflection would be necessary for an honest evaluation of our history and involvement in systems that richly bless some people with advantages but leave others standing out in the cold? How would we need to adjust our beliefs about racism to come to terms with the fact that Black people make up less than 10% of the population but more than 20% of the incarcerated?
Imagine a Kentucky where our LGBTQI+ friends and family don’t have to live with fear and rejection but finally feel loved and welcomed. What kind of courage would we need to pass laws that protect people from being fired, evicted, or barred from public spaces because of whom they love or the gender they express? What ideals would be necessary to value the lives of our LGBTQI+ children enough to keep them from being bullied and shamed? How would we need to overhaul our ethics to care more about protecting our LGBTQI+ neighbors from houselessness, depression, and suicide than preserving people’s right to be cruel in the name of “freedom?” What kind of people would we have to become to trouble ourselves more about the dignity and mental health of transgender children than with which bathroom they choose or whether they play sports?
Imagine a Kentucky where being born a woman means you can go for a walk by yourself after dark. What morals would we need to teach our children to help them value women? What would we need to train ourselves to care more about the safety and dignity of women than about men’s needs to dominate and control them? How would we have to change our assumptions and behaviors so that little girls feel confident that we want them to follow their dreams wherever they lead? What would we have to change to trust that pregnant people and their doctors are better positioned to make decisions about their lives and bodies than politicians? What kind of shift would be necessary to ensure that women receive equal pay for equal work?
Imagine a Kentucky where everyone’s labor is valued, not just those with important-sounding titles? Instead of paying lip service (but not actual dollars) to the people we call “essential workers,” how would we need to restructure our jobs and payrolls to live up to our high-minded ideals? What sort of shift would need to happen to get everyone to understand pensions, not as bonuses we lavish on workers because we’re bad with money, but as deferred compensation (that is, as money someone has already earned but has put aside to use after retirement)? What kind of morals would we need to encourage to understand unions as important bodies that allow workers to lock arms in search of better wages, more substantial benefits, and safer working conditions?
We have to begin with what kind of world we’d like to see. But the hopes for that world are shaped by our moral commitments. We need to think long and hard.
Apparently, people have a “choice” about whether or not to get health care—which sounds curiously like saying that people have a “choice” about whether or not to get a Ferrari. But not buying a Ferrari isn’t a choice if you don’t have the money to buy it. ↩
I realize that truth is slippery since we often disagree about what it is. Nevertheless, we can’t escape the reality that beliefs aren’t true just because someone holds them sincerely. Strong opinions alone aren’t enough to establish the truth. Otherwise, Donald Trump would still be President. ↩
