Why ethical grounding still matters in a world that feels upside down

Samuel Johnson (1709–1784) once said, “Integrity without knowledge is weak and useless, and knowledge without integrity is dangerous and dreadful.” Vaclav Havel (1936-2011) later warned, “Without commonly shared and widely entrenched moral values and obligations, neither the law, nor democratic government, nor even the market economy will function properly.” Both statements feel especially relevant today.

For a decade, I taught business ethics in the Woodbury School of Business at Utah Valley University, and even though that was just one part of my career, the lessons from that classroom still shape how I see the world. My students and I wrestled with questions of personal integrity, value structures, ethical norms, legal versus ethical responsibilities, stakeholder impact, and the moral foundations that guide responsible behavior in both personal and professional life.

Yet at the end of every semester, I reminded them of something I believe even more strongly now: even in complicated situations, our moral bearings are not as vague as we sometimes claim. Certain choices build integrity; others undermine it. And we put ourselves and our communities at risk when we convince ourselves that every boundary can be bent.

That message feels even more urgent now.

We live in a moment when public discourse is loud, reactive, and often untethered from shared values. Social media rewards outrage more than reflection. And in the rush of daily life, it becomes easy — even tempting — to justify small ethical compromises. But those small compromises accumulate. They shape our character. They shape our communities. And eventually, they shape our culture.

This is why the ethical decision‑making model I taught for years still matters. It’s not just an academic exercise. It’s a practical, grounding framework for navigating a world that feels morally disoriented. I still rely on it when I face difficult choices, and I encourage you to consider doing the same.

1. Start with the facts. In a time of misinformation and snap judgments, this step alone could transform our public conversations. Determining the facts requires humility. It requires slowing down long enough to distinguish what we know from what we assume. My students were often surprised by how many ethical disagreements dissolved once the facts were clear.
2. Identify the ethical issue. This sounds simple, but it isn’t. Many people don’t recognize an ethical issue even when it’s staring them in the face. In business, what one person sees as a moral dilemma, another sees as a simple financial decision. In public life, what one person sees as a matter of integrity, another sees as strategy. Ethical sensitivity — the ability to notice when values are at stake — is a skill we must cultivate intentionally.
3. Identify the stakeholders. Ethical decisions rarely affect only one person. They ripple outward. When we pause to consider who is impacted — and imagine the situation from their point of view — our decisions become wiser, more compassionate, and more just. This step alone can shift a person from self‑interest to stewardship.
4. Consider the alternatives. This is where moral imagination comes in. Good people sometimes make poor decisions simply because they fail to imagine better options. I used to tell my students: There is always more than one path forward. Creativity is not just a business skill; it is an ethical one.
5. Weigh the consequences, duties, and character implications. This is where the model becomes deeply personal. It asks us to look beyond outcomes and examine what our choices say about our integrity. I often reminded students of the “Wall Street Journal test”: If your decision were splashed across the front page in the morning, would you be proud of it — and would the people who know you best be proud too?
6. Make the decision. Ethical deliberation means little without ethical action. And action requires courage. Sometimes it is simply easier to do the wrong thing. Sometimes peer pressure is real. Sometimes the cost of doing the right thing feels high. But character is revealed in those moments.
7. Monitor the outcomes. Ethics is not a one‑time event. It is a lifelong practice. We learn by reflecting on the results of our decisions and adjusting when we fall short.

I taught this model so relentlessly that some students joked they heard my voice in their heads long after the semester ended. Many told me it helped them — at work, in relationships, and in moments when they felt pulled between convenience and conscience. It still helps me too. I think about it often, especially now.

Utah is a place that values integrity, community, and personal responsibility. But those values don’t sustain themselves. They require daily attention. They require leaders who model ethical clarity. They require residents who refuse to let cynicism replace conscience.

In a world that feels increasingly chaotic, grounding ourselves in a clear, principled approach to right and wrong is not old‑fashioned. It is essential.

The time is always right to do what’s right. And perhaps now more than ever, Utah needs people willing to do exactly that.