A Moment for Moral Resilience—Not Exhaustion

We’re living in a moment of moral fatigue. One would be forgiven if their first thought of the day was of Sisyphus, the anti-hero of Greek mythology fated to roll a rock up a mountain, only to have it roll back down forever.

Principles long considered sacred—humanitarianism, international cooperation, and democracy—are being challenged and outright rejected. And for those who have committed their lives to these principles, the state of the world today elicits feelings of desperation, and even nihilism.

In recent months, more than a few friends and colleagues have asked, Does it even really matter if I pay attention to the news, or tune it out entirely?

In his book Catastrophe Ethics, Travis Rieder captures this moment and hits an ethical nail on its head, writing: “Many of us feel an individual responsibility to address massive collective problems,” but often “the problem is too big, and my contribution is too small, to make a difference.”

As the old prayer has it, “Thy sea is so great, and my boat is so small.”

This moment of moral exhaustion is worsened by impossibly high purity standards and zero-sum thinking across the political spectrum. Partisanship is at a fever pitch and voices of dissent are seen as enemies from within rather than good-faith opposition. Speech may still be free and open; but the anonymity enabled by social media and the proliferation of digital echo chambers erodes accountability and breeds incivility. It takes real courage and thick skin to enter the public square in the service of others.

But still, we must persevere, even in the face of inevitable shortcomings. The issues are just too important to ignore, and besides, while they may seem far away, they really are not. Proximity in the age of globalization gives us no escape and isolationism offers a tempting but ultimately ineffective prescription.

We live in a world of global-scale challenges produced by global-scale systems. It is not simple to connect individual behavior in a meaningful way to the operation of these vast systems. We need an ethical approach that helps us navigate the big, impersonal, and hopelessly complicated global arrangements that serve up our choices.

Catastrophe Ethics makes a signal contribution, suggesting that we shift our focus from individual duty to institutional accountability. “Advocating is more important than composting,” Rieder writes playfully. “Attacking and blaming individuals” for their individual behavior is a diversion from the more consequential “collective responsibility of institutions.”

For Rieder, moral agency has not disappeared. In fact, this is an important moment to reclaim it. What then can any one of us do in such a fractured time? The temptation to opt out is understandable. And yet, withdrawing because our actions seem insufficient feels wrong, as does the desire to wash our hands of the things we abhor.

Recent research from the Yale Program on Climate Change Communication suggests that among those experiencing anxiety about the future of the planet, more are getting involved rather than tuning out. Study co-author Anthony Leiserowitz writes: “Some have presumed that people experiencing climate or eco-anxiety are paralyzed by their fears about climate change, but we find the opposite. Most people experiencing climate-related distress are not hiding under the covers.”

If mood follows action, then it is better to be proactive rather than reactive—to set one’s own agenda on the issues one cares about most, rather than to be buffeted by the daily catastrophes of a newsfeed. It is the first step—deliberate and purposeful—that matters most.

It is not for me to prescribe an ethical agenda for others; but at Carnegie Council, we are a civic space where individuals from all walks of life can connect to work for a future based on the principles of international cooperation, democracy, and humanitarianism. While these principles may seem like platitudes, you only need to read today’s news to understand that each faces the very real risk of disappearing as bedrock values of public life.

For many, this moment feels like a moral crossroads in both our personal and professional lives.

Will there be new international agreements on global-scale challenges such as nuclear arms control, AI, and climate? Will illiberal democracy flourish or fade? Will the world embrace or reject humanitarian aid?

At the risk of sounding overly optimistic, the appearance of exhaustion in the zeitgeist may be the first sign that something new is afoot, and ready to be found. The opposite of exhaustion is resilience. Like any natural property, the two exist in tandem, each feeding the other.

As he pondered the challenge of moral exhaustion, Albert Camus concluded, “One must imagine Sisyphus happy.”

Camus was right. We can derive satisfaction and meaning from doing our part, along with others, and letting go of the rest. There is something enlightening and empowering in knowing and accepting that the rock always rolls back, and that we start over.

It is our rock, and it is our story. The most important thing is to own it, give it meaning, and to keep going.