Consider for a moment the long odds against American democracy succeeding, how quixotically idealistic it all was: to take a radically diverse population attracted from virtually everywhere in the world, people of who knows how many races, ethnicities, cultures and religions; to scatter them over this vast, geographically diverse land, and think that the good instincts of such an unlikely cross section of ordinary humanity could sufficiently overcome their differences and unite to govern themselves peaceably. Wow! This without kings or a hereditary ruling class or an oligarchy to impose order? What a risky experiment it was to be. Really. And yet we’ve managed to make it last for two and a half centuries.

Well, it’s been an uneven work in progress and not always pretty. We’ve seen tears in the fabric of democracy off and on from the beginning. We have a long history of ugly racism, epitomized by slavery and Jim Crow and the Ku Klux Klan. We’ve seen much intolerance for immigrants from southern and eastern Europe, from Mexico and central America, from the countries of the western Pacific rim. We have a history of religious intolerance, notably against Jews, Catholics, Mormons and Muslims. We’ve had capitalist bosses exploiting workers, often violently. And then there were those Joseph McCarthy years.

The Preamble to our Constitution declares our determination to achieve a “more perfect (sic) union.” Yet sadly not since the Civil War have we seen such “disunion” as today. Incredulously, we watched in 2021 a violent, unimaginable attempt to overturn our presidential election in the very halls of our national Capitol. Things fall apart.

Never previously in the lifetime of living Americans has there been a comparable widespread concern that American democracy could possibly so weaken as actually to fail. Why is now so worrisome?

I’ve been listening recently to a CD entitled “Spirit of America” by the Mormon Tabernacle Choir and Orchestra. It’s a collection of patriotic songs. I’m surprised by how much I’ve been moved hearing them so well performed — songs like “The Battle Hymn of the Republic” and “America the Beautiful”, like Emma Lazarus’ touching poem set to music (“Give me your tired, your poor, your huddled masses yearning to breathe free”) or the beautiful “Shenandoah,” which if not overtly patriotic nevertheless evokes a sentimental love of country as it was in earlier times.

And I understand from whence their cumulative, affecting power derives. Those songs and poems and others like them embody not our checkered history with warts and blemishes but the idea of America at its best; they hold up for our remembrance a woven tapestry of the ideals that have defined our national identity. To put it another way, they tell the story of the America to which we have aspired.

Stories are powerful. They are the overarching narratives that help us find purpose and direction. They steady us. Both as individuals and collectively we try to live up to them.

And more particularly, what does our elaborate American story contain? It affirms that this still-young nation has given birth to freedom and justice and opportunity for a rewarding life, not only for the privileged few but for all men and women; it promises inherent rights for everyone because the government derives its power from all of us ordinary people.

Our national narrative is permeated through and through with the conviction on the part of many that America’s place in the world is what it is because God deliberately ordained it so. This nation, they claim, is “under God,” choice above all others. In the words of the song, “God shed his grace on thee (America).” This America accordingly has a “manifest destiny” to grow in power and influence and be a shining example to the world. In that story, the scenic beauty of our country “from sea to shining sea” implies the more profound beauty of our democratic enlightenment.

Make some allowance for chauvinism in this; still the ideals embedded in that narrative have encouraged the best from a population not essentially different from humanity elsewhere. Over the years not everyone among us has bought wholeheartedly into this multifaceted story, but a critical mass of Americans has done so. That’s been the sufficiently unifying glue holding us together, keeping us looking upward. If God so favors us, surely we must do our part. That’s the idea.

The serious question just now is, do enough of us still believe in that vision of America’s destiny and higher purpose? Does a critical mass of us genuinely believe in and want democracy? Or, disillusioned, are we questioning whether governmental power actually derives from the people as promised? Though we may elect our representatives, don’t big money and oligarchs actually determine who gets to run and how the winners vote afterwards? Are too many among us, frustrated, now looking for a strong man to indulge our self-interested grievances — or more, burn down the building by any means?

In the aftermath of the Jan. 6 assault on our Capitol, the distinguished presidential historian Jon Meacham asserted that democracy cannot remain viable in a slack moral culture. It must rest on a foundation of basic morality: fairness, honesty, decency, respect for truth and law, belief that everyone matters, willingness to treat others as we would hope to be treated.

“Democracy,” says Meacham, “is the hardest of human undertakings because it requires us to see each other not as rivals, but as neighbors. ... Thus morality must be present in our customs and behavior, as well as in how we view our rights and responsibilities.”

Meacham is right. Without that moral fiber informing us, our carefully crafted constitution with its checks and balances will not preserve us. It’s only a blueprint, no better than the will of its caretakers to apply it responsibly. Its interpretation — for better or worse — will ultimately reflect who we decide to be as a people.

Look around! We’re sadly wanting.

Our moral culture has indeed grown slack. Selfishness, nastiness and uncivility surround us. Lawlessness and violence seemingly proliferate. Partisanship trumps the common good. How much corruption are we willing to tolerate? Quite a bit apparently.

What does it tell you about the state of our moral culture that at the present time Donald Trump appears far and away the most likely Republican nominee for president in 2024, that a third of all voters in America would enthusiastically return him to the White House; yet another 10 to 15 percent would likely vote for him simply for expedient political reasons, this in spite of all the moral shortcomings we’ve seen in him over the past decade, even as Grand Juries of his peers pore over actual evidence (as contrasted with Fox News opinions) and pile up criminal indictments against him.

How is it even conceivable that so many enablers would put the future of this ostensibly democratic country in the hands of one who clearly disdains democracy?

So where does all this leave us? Sunk in a malaise. In the face of so much disillusion — of one kind or another — can America recover its moral equilibrium? Will our national story inspire enough of us to restore a genuine government of the people? Will we keep the idea of America alive?

It remains to be seen.