Posted June 10, 2026
Graham Platner, a candidate for the US Senate in Maine, has generated national headlines for weeks. Among the controversies he has faced, his wife stated that he sent sexually explicit messages to several women while married.
Nonetheless, Democrats in his state elected him last night as their nominee.
Ken Paxton, a candidate for the US Senate in Texas, has similarly been accused by his wife of adultery. Nonetheless, Republicans in his state elected him recently as their nominee.
My purpose is not to endorse either candidate, their parties, or their opponents. It is rather to respond to the remarkable dichotomy in our culture between our politics and our personal morals.
According to Pew Research Center, 90 percent of US adults consider adultery to be “morally wrong”; only 2 percent called it “morally acceptable,” while the rest said it is “not a moral issue.” And yet political figures from Alexander Hamilton and Thomas Jefferson to Bill Clinton and Donald Trump have been accused of it. A Wikipedia “List of federal political sex scandals in the United States” contains ninety-four entries. Some faced political consequences as a result, but many (if not most) did not.
Why is this?
And why is the question relevant to us all, even (and especially) those who are not in politics and who have been faithful to our spouses?
In a recent New York Times column, Ross Douthat writes that “early-21st-century Americans are profoundly divided about what being moral means.” He explains:
We have enough of a consensus to keep society together, which is why there aren’t a lot of people out there arguing, say, that it’s actually good that a politician cheated on his wife. But once you get beyond the theft-murder-adultery basics, we’re in a world of factional moralities and profound metaphysical divides (his italics).
In such a world, he suggests, moral failings can actually be a political advantage if they assure voters that a candidate is not going to force their moralisms on others. Candidates who espouse and exhibit exemplary ethics, by contrast, might seek to impose a stringent morality that’s alien to the rest of us.
To illustrate: The New York Times reports that when medical aid-in-dying laws are enacted in Illinois and the District of Columbia this fall, nearly a third of Americans will live in states where euthanasia is legal. The article notes, “Despite widespread support in polls, the number of people who actually go through with the practice remains very small.” The rest would not choose euthanasia for themselves, but they apparently believe that they have no right to make such a choice for others.
In a tolerance-centered, post-truth society, the last thing we want is others telling us what to do.
Movie critic and writer Roger Ebert gave voice to what many Americans think about life and happiness: “I believe that if, at the end of it all, according to our abilities, we have done something to make others a little happier, and something to make ourselves a little happier, that is about the best we can do.”
Ebert says he does not fear death because “I believe there is nothing on the other side of death to fear.” Accordingly, he wrote, “All I require of a religion is that it not insist I believe in it.”
Writing today’s article has made me deeply sad. Sad for a country whose moral standards have become so personalized as to be virtually nonexistent. Sad for those who tolerate behavior that is profoundly harmful to those who choose it. Sad for those who believe that their beliefs about the afterlife somehow determine its reality, akin to claiming that my denial of the sunset will prevent the sun from setting.
But if all I do with this article is shrug my shoulders and go about my day, I will miss the profound opportunity to admit the ways I am no different.
I sometimes succumb to temptations that personalize morality while denying biblical truth. I sometimes do not share the gospel with people in danger of spending eternity in hell, which is obviously the most harmful outcome of all. And I sometimes ignore the reality that in the afterlife “we must all appear before the judgment seat of Christ, so that each one may receive what is due for what he has done in the body, whether good or evil” (2 Corinthians 5:10).
Does any of this resonate with you?
If so, this is the necessary first step to experiencing what John Donne called a “holy discontent.” Such restlessness is vital for our souls, since we must be discontented with where we are before we will follow God to where he wants us to be.
The author Jennie Allen urges us to believe that God has a “great story” for each of us. When he “prompts our hearts and motivates us to participate in his unfolding story,” she says, we experience “deep joy and satisfaction in realizing that our insignificant moments often contribute to matters of eternal significance.”
As a result, she assures us, “The small gets big and the big gets small, and together we get to be part of giving people God.”
Will you pray for “holy discontent” for your heart and for your nation today?
“Great people do not do great things; God does great things through surrendered people.” —Jennie Allen
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