Whether we affirm or deny the statement of the title, we still must begin by asking, What is decency? I would like to proceed by anecdote—two, in fact, and along the way multiply footnotes.
Last Friday I became aware of another passenger when he brushed me brusquely, rubbing my fur the wrong way. I twisted to see what the matter was and by means of touch and sight observed how he shoved himself through the crowd ungently, wore a fishing hat, a sour look, and went clutching a book—perhaps a tourist.* Eventually the upheaval passed down-bus and the intruder positioned himself awkwardly, much to the annoyance of his fellow travelers. When the doors opened and the crowds stirred uneasily, he bumped and turned and managed to become further wedged and worse off. By this time I had become an avid fan of this presumptive tourist, and it was just in time to watch the exciting finale. He decided to exit, but managed to do it so obnoxiously that the people coming into the bus blocked him and nearly pushed him back. I was laughing by the time he won through. But there is also some instruction in this. The man obviously hated the crowds, as most of us do, but he also behaved as if the crowd did not exist. It is one thing to believe a crowd should not exist, it is another to deny its existence when you are in the midst of it. He failed to consider the individuals in the crowd around him, that they were responsive and living.
My second anecdote occurred on a Tuesday. It was a fellow who understood that in a crowd one has to proceed with regard to the individuals of the crowd around him. I heard him apologize when he inadvertently overextended the imaginary bounds allotted to himself, and then when the people were passing through, like decent people everywhere, he endeavored to make himself small or to lean out of the way any time somebody signaled an intention to pass.** There was nothing servile or undignified with what this person was doing, of course. He was just making sure he was considerate with the wishes of others and taking the circumstances under consideration. He was a decent fellow.***
You can see how decency excites admiration. One might say, based on my anecdotes, that decency is the resulting behavior when persons and circumstances are taken into best consideration. It makes for harmony in difficult circumstances and is therefore to be admired and emulated.
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*In countries in which few persons fish, the waters being foul, the fish scarce, and the practice entirely in the hands of commercial endeavor, a fishing hat is almost a certain sign of a tourist. Clutching a book the way this person was is usually not a good sign if one is charitably attempting to exonerate the suspect from the charge of tourism.
**Signaling one’s intention to pass is easy, providing people are decent. It makes one wary of making a false signal and putting a decent person to the trouble of obliging for nothing at all. All one has to do is whisper “permiso” or even just rearrange one’s grip so that it indicates a forward advance: decent people will usually notice this.
***This said decent fellow also had the decency of small feet. Colombians generally do: they take up less space. I think it is for this reason they have generally preferred tighter to looser pants. Sometimes, you see, in an excess of decency they grow feet that might be said to be disproportionately small. In order to balance again the proportions, they wear pants that leave little play around the ankle, as in the case with our decent fellow.
Unknowing 
I’m amazed: your first anecdote is written in a style that is very unlike (very unlike, indeed) your usual, I think. I would be in favor of the style if it did not seem to make the story a little too interesting. Your second anecdote, in which there is the decent man, is boring by contrast, whereas you say that decency excites admiration. Perhaps the inversion is for a very clever purpose? Please tell me if it is.
That is a good observation. I didn’t even think of what you said. I don’t know anything about changing the style in which I write things; I am happy if all my grammar comes out ok. The main objective in writing this was to tell the story in anecdote #1 and make the observation in footnote #3, which pleases me very much.
So you did not intend to show Decency’s own ability to excite admiration when you made its opposite actually more exciting? That would be very clever and subtle, and whether you intended to do it or not, I think you did it.
Forsooth, it is a dramatic change in style in your first anecdote, with such vivid phrases as, “rubbing my fur the wrong way,” (which I have never seen you use) “twisting [yourself],” and calling the fellow an “intruder,” as well as other such lively descriptors, which I need not enumerate. I could not help but wonder whether there was a very special purpose in all this.
Decency excites no admiration by entertaining us. Decency, in and of itself, is not an exciting thing. Indecency will get you much better ratings on just about anything, if excitement is what you’re aiming for. Decency is one of those quiet, respectable virtues that make life more pleasant by adding no commotions. Can it be this that is, perhaps, eluding you?
There is no questioning your first three propositions. I didn’t mean to suggest their opposites. What I mean to say is, I think, that the more entertaining-exciting description of Indecency, at first sight, obscured the admiration-excitement of Decency. Considering it, the description of Indecency, more carefully, it seemed that it was a cleverly crafted cloak that by irony, actually allowed Decency to shine of its merit. . . . I don’t know that I’ve made myself any more clear with this, or that the point I’m trying to make is a true or worthwhile one; perhaps I ought not to have spoken in the first place.
Is there any virtue which is not quiet, respectable, that makes life more pleasant by adding no commotions?
A nice question. You have to understand my temperament. I am a romantic by temperament, preference and conviction. (Best thing on romanticism after C.S. Lewis that I have found is Jacques Barzun.) The quiet virtues are virtues of classicism, of Aristotle, of Englightenment. I read Samuel Johnson and I often smile. I unconsciously imitate him as I seem to have above, half-laughing. I do not deny the virtue or the necessity of quiet, respectable things, but at best they’ll only get you a higher level in hell. There are better things, and I think of them as romantic things. I think it is romantic to love one thing without restraint or thought of consequence till death us depart. I think love can be very reasonable, but when it is merely reasonable it is not love, it is something calculated. I think what moves us is not calculation or reasoning, but rather desire. We can better direct our desire, better give ourselves over to desire by considering how, but in the end there has to be something more than calculation, a desire merely for a neat arrangement, a logical reason. The heart has reasons that are not irrational, but are more than rational by transcending it.
Decency is all very well, but the decent will not inherit the earth, the pure in heart will [actually, they’ll see God—Romantics are nothing if not inaccurate], and purity of heart is so to desire something that you desire nothing else: it is complete and in a way reckless, giving up everything to acquire the object of its desire.
Fortitude, Courage, Temeprance and Prudence are cardinal virtues, but Faith, Hope and Charity are greater virtues: theological. Are these last, virtues of restraint? (and I have the feeling the first four are less virtues of restraint than perhaps they appear.) Think of Hebrews 11 and ask yourself how much of a life without commotions you find in the people there listed.
And what is more romantic than the upheavals and commotions of the life of Jacob? And yet God calls himself the God of such a man. Why? Jacob was never content, always striving, heroic in his efforts and tragic in his great defeats, and yet a great saint who saw the heavens opened, wrestled with God and is said to be a father to the people of God.
Decency and all such mild virtues are not to be despised, but are nowhere so important as virtues the exercise of which involves no moderation. They are subordinate virtues perhaps. Look at Bilbo Baggins, an admirable hobbit before his adventures, one truly beloved in a way far exceeding fondness when in the crucible of a terrible situation he ascends to the place of a hero by betraying his friends. Not decent, much more. He was a silly hobbit transformed into a hobbit of wisdom by virtue of his prudence. And in his act of betrayal he gambled all present comfort for the sake of an ideal. One hardly thinks the thing to say is that it was awfully decent of the chap to do so, except in ironic understatement. He might have lost all things his mild virtues had accrued and that he cherished. It makes the story dramatic (romantic!), and it ushers Bilbo into a greater realm of life and a greater reward. He doesn’t lack mild virtues, is decent and polite, merely and at first when he’s puffing and bobbing on the mat and exhibiting decent but grudging generosity. He is incomplete until he is transformed through ordeal into something more.
Admiration, after all, is not love.