Radical Niceness.

Moral Freedom: The Search for Virtue in a World of Choice, by Alan Wolfe (Norton, 256 pp., $24.95)

Alan Wolfe, a prominent public intellectual and sociologist of moderately liberal convictions, is fast establishing himself as our foremost chronicler of-and apologist for-the moral softening of America. In his last book, One Nation After All, Wolfe discovered that Americans of different regions, classes, religions, and political convictions are united in their embrace of nonjudgmentalism-and decided that, some minor reservations aside, there was little reason to lament this development. In Moral Freedom, he employs a nationwide opinion poll, as well as in-depth interviews with 205 people from eight disparate communities, to demonstrate that America has become a nation averse to moral absolutes. Once again he draws sunny conclusions from his findings.

No matter where he looks-in a predominantly gay neighborhood in San Francisco, a wealthy Silicon Valley suburb, a small town in Iowa, working-class and immigrant communities in Massachusetts and Texas- Wolfe finds that Americans believe the moral principles of past ages were far too strict and inflexible to be relevant to their exceedingly complicated lives. Take honesty, for example. Most of the people in Wolfe's study think it's wrong to lie. But at the same time, they believe that there are exceptions to the rule. In the words of a housewife from Dayton, "nothing is black and white and every circumstance merits its own judgment."

There is an obvious problem with giving such wide latitude to individual choice in moral matters. As Wolfe points out, "once people get it into their heads that they can determine for themselves when to be honest and when not to be," there's a danger that they will treat honesty as "a mere convenience" that can be "disregarded whenever it no longer serves our purpose." And yet, thankfully, most Americans don't follow through on the nastiest implications of their moral flexibility.

What accounts for their apparent restraint? Wolfe's research suggests that, for all of their refusal to be pinned down, Americans do in fact appeal to one universal moral principle-namely, "Do No Harm." And as Wolfe demonstrates, this commandment leads them to stake out a series of highly equivocal moral positions. Divorce is bad because it harms children, but it's okay if you're really unhappy in your marriage. Religion is good because it provides solace, but it should be rejected if it makes you feel bad about yourself. Discipline is admirable because it gives you self-esteem, but it shouldn't be allowed to make you uptight. Self-indulgence is fine because everyone likes to have a little fun, but it must never result in physical injury of any kind. One thus comes away from Wolfe's book with the impression that Americans are quite possibly the nicest Machiavellians in history.

Wolfe's reflection on what he sees as the somewhat charming lack of moral constraint among his respondents leads him cheerfully to propose that the "twenty-first century will be the century of moral freedom" in America. While this term may invoke such courageous figures as Solzhenitsyn and Sakharov, who stood up to totalitarian tyranny in the name of human dignity and justice, Wolfe's moral freedom is considerably more mundane.

He foresees a future in which Americans, unwilling to have their actions judged harshly by their government, their churches, their employers, their families, or even themselves, will increasingly exercise their freedom to reject every moral authority that does not allow them to fulfill their desire for a pleasant and pleasurable life. As a natural outgrowth of the typically American attachment to political and economic freedom, a future of moral freedom is unavoidable, says Wolfe. While Americans have always harbored a populist suspicion of authority and exhibited an exaggerated sense of their capacity to judge their own best interest, these tendencies have now spread to every area of life. "Americans have come to accept the relevance of individual freedom, not only in their economic and political life, but in their moral life as well." The moral freelancing described by Wolfe is thus the logical extension of America's unconditional devotion to a democratic ideal.

Wolfe finds little reason to criticize his fellow Americans, pointing out that "compared with radical evil, radical niceness is worth appreciating." To be sure, he wonders whether "individuals dedicated to moral freedom can find the resources to stick with the not always pleasurable tasks of raising children and committing oneself to a spouse," but he concludes that "given moral freedom's inevitability [we should] think of it as a challenge to be met rather than as a condition to be cured."

No one in touch with life in America today can deny that Wolfe's snapshot of the country captures many of its most distinctive features. Yet the complacency of his conclusion shows that he's as unwilling to exercise judgment as the most tentative and timid of the Americans in his study.

Even if a future of moral freedom is inevitable, that is far from being a cause for celebration, or even resignation. Wolfe portrays an America becoming, at least partially under the direction of its own democratic fixations, the first nation in history dedicated to the proposition that mankind can govern itself without reference to the moral absolutes that restrain our destructive passions and direct us toward nobler goods than niceness. That we've thus far been able to accomplish this extraordinary feat is a reminder of the unprecedented peace and prosperity of the present moment, as well as a tribute to the relative moderation of American desires. Tell an American that anything goes, and apparently he keeps on doing pretty much what he's always done, though perhaps with a bit less guilt.

But just as history teaches us that the placidity of the present will not last, so the most profound meditations on the human soul tell us that passions undisciplined soon slip the bonds of decency. This is a lesson that the residents of Littleton, Colorado, have already learned. To those, like Wolfe, who look forward with smiling faces to a future of unlimited moral freedom in America, one can only respond: You ain't seen nothin' yet.