Personal Code of Ethics, Out of Date or Timeless?

Abstract

Are personal ethics alive and well and what constitutes our code of ethics?

Is it too idealistic and self-destructive to feel that unselfishness and sacrifice for others should be a basic moral ethic? Is it naive to feel that standing up for what is right, can serve a higher purpose for good? Is the choice within us, when faced with difficult challenges, one of personal growth or personal defeat?  

When I gave birth to my first child, she was placed in my arms to cradle. Immediately a rush of intense, pure love flowed from me to this little being that lay in my arms. Although I felt a deep love for my husband, the love for my child was beyond description. “How could I ever love another child as much as I love her, I thought. As time passed three more children bless my life, and yes, I loved them equally and as dearly. Motherhood for me became a string of daily unselfish acts and sacrifices as I cared for my little family. Learning to extend these attributes beyond my family began. I had always been a compassionate person; however, this was deeper, greater than anything I had ever experienced.  

Now, as a grandmother, the desire to stand up and try to protect my family grows strong. The world is following destructive paths that could ultimately harm them. Being idle and watching, without standing up for what I know is right, is not how I have been taught. Did my ancestors not fight in the Revolutionary War for their freedoms and way of life? Did others not pay the ultimate sacrifice for me and my posterity?  

Through difficult challenges in the past few years, I have learned not only to survive but hopefully grow in depth of character; however, it was a choice I ultimately had to make. I have learned the importance of priorities and what brings true inner happiness and peace.  

About two years ago, I had some health problems which prevented me from working for a time. The only place I could afford was a little green flat-roofed home on a drug-infested street. It had layers of roofing on top, and the outside had been covered with green siding that covered the original cabin beneath. It was one of the oldest homes in the town. An alcoholic inhabited a small RV parked beside a four-plex across the path, with a small garden plot of tomatoes and bell peppers alongside his fragile dwelling. His girlfriend lived in the top right-hand side of the four-plex, and on the left side lived a woman and her mother. The younger woman was a schizophrenic and her mother, a tough-looking woman, chained smoked. Below on the right-hand side lived a drug dealer, his wife, and little girl. Several times throughout the day and night, people would come to get their daily fix of drugs. Amongst the degradation of society, I was happy and at peace. When I first moved in, the only thing protecting me from the outside dangers was a flimsy hook; however, not once did I feel I was in danger, not once.  

I had an opportunity to move to a better location, but after walking through the apartment I felt a strong, “no”. As I turned into the driveway of my little green house, a sweet peace came over me and I knew I was home again. Over the four months I lived there, I became friends with each of those that lived in the four-plex and RV. I learned to love and appreciate them and learned to understand how each ended up in their situation. They told me that of all the renters that came and went, I had been the only one who even took the time to speak with them. Although at times I wondered if I should turn the drug dealer in, I couldn’t do it. Was that right, or was that wrong? Was I wrong in not standing up for the expected “right” at that moment, or did I hold back, because of something beyond my understanding?