Morality is Dead

The rooftop bar thrummed with music, laughter, and the steady clink of glasses, high above the city. Among the crowd, a woman sat alone, tears streaming down her cheeks as she tossed back shot after shot of Tequila. 

I overheard a bartender admit he’d poured her three shots. Noticing her tears, he'd asked,

“Are you okay?” 

She gave a tired nod. “Just a long day,” she responded.

Not wanting to press the issue, he gave her space. 

Moments later, he noticed her white halter top rising above the crowd. At first, he thought she was standing on something. Upon another glance, he realized her feet were over her head—she was going over the edge! 

He said he ran. He reached out. But he caught only the moment her body slammed into the rooftop below. 

Others had been much closer.  

One man later said, “I saw her jump.” 

Perplexed at the statement, the bartender asked him, “Why didn’t you stop her?” 

The man only shrugged. 

I noticed people passing a phone around, each taking a turn to watch. 

“The” video they called it.  

Police stood over her. Flashlights on. Blood spattered beside her body: female, light hair, white halter top, jean shorts. 

No one saw her until she was gone. No one reached out a hand to her. But when she hit the pavement, everyone reached for their phones.

The bystander effect—the more people present, the less likely anyone is to intervene.

In this digital age, we are not just bystanders; we have evolved to spectators. The instinct to witness has been replaced by the instinct to capture. 

A life totters on the edge, and the human impulse is not to reach out a hand, but to reach for a phone. 

In the first chapter of my third book, Eves: The Twelfth House, I wrote: “Morality is dead. People will record a murder before they would prevent it.”  

This was not murder. But it was a death in plain sight. And still, the reflex to help was absent.

We’re more focused on capturing someone’s fall than catching them. We film the demise, overlooking the opportunity to lend a hand. We preserve the evidence, but not the life. 

What does it mean for a society when the only thing we can say is, I saw it happen—but we cannot say, I tried to stop it? 

There was a time when the human heart leapt toward danger if it meant saving another. That reflex was not taught; it was born into us. Somewhere along the way, we decided a witness was enough. 

But the soul has not forgotten. Beneath the noise, there is still a place where compassion moves faster than calculation, where the hand reaches before the mind hesitates. 

We must return there—to that unguarded place where love outruns fear, and the living choose to stand between another’s life and the edge. 

Be more than a witness. Stop recording. Start acting.