Reflections on Language and Morality
Recently, I found myself texting with a friend about two tragic deaths involving state agents. One was Renee Nicole Good, who was 37 years old and the mother of an activist fatally shot by ICE agents in Minneapolis last week. The other was Ashli Babbitt, a 36-year-old U.S. Air Force veteran, shot by a Capitol Police lieutenant in the Speaker’s Lobby during the events of January 6, 2021.
I posed, what I thought was, a straightforward moral question: Does the state have the right to kill an unarmed person who does not pose an immediate threat? I wasn’t trying to ignite controversy or equate the cases; I was merely interested in whether the same moral principles apply. My own answer? No.
My aim wasn’t to merge the stories but rather to explore the moral frameworks involved. I wanted my friend to articulate the reasoning behind their view. Yet, the response was rife with details, strong opinions, and a clear dismissal of my question, stating, “There’s no comparison.” The rules were vague and intended to shut down the dialogue.
What struck me most, perhaps, was the disconnect. I was looking for a principle while receiving a narrative. Same vocabulary—justice, murder, authority—but these terms had vastly different implications. The exchange faltered, not due to style or biases, but because we were operating under different assumptions about language itself. It’s troubling that even that common ground seems lost.
Beyond Simple Disagreements
We’ve been discussing issues like polarization and tribalism for years. We shout past one another and retreat into bubbles, which is all true. But the problems run deeper than mere opinions. We lack a unified civic vocabulary that reflects shared principles of clarity and universality.
Yes, we still communicate in English, but the words serve distinct purposes. Some of us use what might be termed “principles-based” language, treating words as tools for analysis and striving for rules that extend beyond individual scenarios. Questions about applicable rules aren’t attacks; they’re invitations for discussion.
This language nurtures law, constitutional discussions, philosophy, and journalism. Words like “legitimate” refer to verifiable standards open to challenge. If a claim falters under scrutiny, it’s deemed invalid.
Others might lean into what one could call “narrative” vocabulary, where words define alignment more than logic. Here, stories carry inherent moral weight. The urgency trumps abstract reasoning, and inquiries often feel invalidating. It’s tough to explore integrity without seeming hostile.
Neither approach is inherently dishonest; that’s the challenge. Each caters to a different aim, and issues arise when we erroneously believe we’re having the same type of conversation. Those who advocate for principles might interpret evasive responses as dodging the issue, while those engaged in moral narrative may perceive principled questions as lacking empathy.
The Challenge of Moral Certainty
Social media hasn’t created this divide, but it amplifies certain modes of communication. Platforms often prioritize rapid responses and emotive storytelling over careful reasoning. Moral assertions can surface faster than thoughtful analysis, leading to a situation where general principles feel cold and inquiries appear aggressive.
This is why so many political discussions stall. Facts aren’t usually at stake; rather, the core issue revolves around whether we can test our shared assumptions. When a situation is framed as a moral crisis, universality itself feels up for debate.
A helpful test might be: Are the words being used to forge general principles, or are they signaling group allegiance in a moment of crisis?
In lesser terms, is the purpose behind the words to analyze, or to show which side someone is on?
This insight might clarify why some questions elicit strong reactions. Certain inquiries can provoke anger because they threaten moral integrity. And sometimes, it’s perfectly okay to walk away from a conversation that feels unproductive.
The founders of this nation understood these dynamics. They structured institutions to slow down decision-making and encourage deliberation, with debate governed by principles rather than passion.
Unless we recognize that we are now speaking different “languages,” we risk losing our ability to calmly discuss the very ideas that aim to unite us. Otherwise, we might fully embrace a narrative of moral emergency, where persuasion is substituted for reasoned argument.
And that path is the one too many Americans have already started down.
