How Good Values Lead to Bad Actions: Doing Right When It’s Hard to Do 

Like most Christian parents, mine did their duty to raise me and my siblings in the ways of Jesus. 

We learned to pray each time we woke up and before bed. They made sure each of us owned a Bible. I familiarised myself with the scriptures through my little blue Gideon Bible at six, then transitioned to wielding the yellow Good News Bible by twelve, as a good soldier of Christ.

These instilled both values and morals in us.

They imbibed in us values like family, faith, hard work, loyalty, education, respect for elders, et cetera. They taught us principles of right and wrong (morals)—don’t lie, don’t steal, don’t harm others, be fair, be honest, and so on.

I’m forever grateful for those lessons. Without them, I wouldn’t be half the man I am today. Indeed, Proverbs 22:6 holds: Train a child a certain way, and when they’re adults, it will be difficult for them to drift astray. 

But perhaps that’s where my internal conflict began.

Because over time, I realised those two things—values and morals—don’t always align. Even as kids, it wasn’t easy; I strayed, got punished, and learned my way back. But adulthood complicates everything even more. In trying to build independence, care for family, and find my place in society, I’ve found that sometimes, the values my parents handed me often demand I break the morals they also gave me.

When Our Values Betray Our Morals

The conflict between values and morals runs deeper in our part of the world because we’ve inherited them from many often conflicting places—indigenous traditions, foreign cultures, and organised religion. 

In the messy space of real life, values like loyalty to family, respect for elders, devotion to faith, ethnic solidarity, and communal responsibility sometimes conflict with moral codes like honesty, fairness, justice, stewardship, compassion, and respect for human dignity, and so the real struggle begins

Take a few examples.

• Someone who values family might justify hiding a relative’s crime or hiring an unqualified sibling for an important role.
• A politician might convince themselves that embezzling funds is necessary to help their people.
• A religious leader might excuse harmful practices or cover up wrongdoing within their community, so people don’t abandon the faith.
• A parent might justify punishments that border on abuse in an attempt to raise a “good” child.
• A student might help a friend cheat during an exam to strengthen the bond of their friendship.

The irony is, we don’t do these bad things because we think they are wrong, but because we believe them to be right.

So we find ways to make peace with ourselves through Moral Disengagement:

• We push our morals aside when they get inconvenient (disengage).
• We construct logical explanations for why we had to do them (rationalise).
• We rename bad actions as good – betrayal to loyalty, corruption to care (reframe).
• We convince ourselves that in that particular situation, loyalty mattered more than honesty, family more than fairness, and protecting our people more than justice (justify).
• And sometimes, we divide our lives into separate worlds – one where we play a little part in enabling harm in the name of survival or duty, and another where we criticise wrong because we are “good, loving, and principled”(compartmentalise).

The danger is that each time we excuse the wrong – the lies, the bias, the silence – telling ourselves it’s right – for love, for loyalty, for duty, or even for the greater good – we lose a small part of ourselves. 

What starts as an exception soon becomes normal. What starts as a small lie soon becomes a pattern, and before long, our conscience stops protesting because it’s been trained to find a way out of the cognitive dissonance – that mental discomfort that comes when behaviour contradicts beliefs and values.

Wrongdoing isn’t always about bad people doing bad things. Sometimes, it’s good people doing bad things for what they believe are good or better reasons.

“The line separating good and evil passes not through states, nor between classes, nor between political parties either—but right through every human heart—and through all human hearts.” – Aleksandr Solzhenitsyn

And that’s what makes it so difficult to confront, because the villain, in this case, isn’t some distant “other.” It’s us.

But these moral disengagements, though comforting, slowly dull our sensitivity to harm. And that’s how small moral compromises can scale into systemic harm—how kindness can coexist with cruelty in the same person. 

We’ve seen it before: in Nazi Germany, where many justified or ignored atrocities by believing they were serving their nation. We saw it again decades later in Rwanda, where neighbours turned on neighbours under the sway of propaganda, harming those they once called family and friends. And today, we are seeing it as fellow citizens sell contraband and cybercrime enablers – from tramadol to virtual phone numbers. 

So what do we do about this? How do we live with values that sometimes demand we betray our morals? How do we stay good when even our best intentions can lead us astray?

Facing the Truth: How To Make Good Decisions (When Our Values and Morals Clash) 

The answer isn’t to abandon our values. Family loyalty, faith, compassion, and solidarity aren’t flaws; they’re the pillars that hold us up. Take a few away, and the structure of our civilisation begins to collapse. Quietly at first, then all at once.

But to make sound decisions when your values collide with your morals, you have to…

Call It What It Is 

We must stop pretending our values always align with our morals, or dressing up immoral choices as good simply because they serve what we hold dear.

When you’re about to help your unqualified brother get a job, don’t tell yourself you’re “being a good family member.” Say it plainly: “I’m prioritising family (value) over fairness to other qualified candidates and the organisation’s need for competence (morals). I am choosing nepotism.”

When you’re about to lie to protect someone’s image, admit it: “I’m valuing loyalty and reputation (values) over truth and accountability (morals).”

Only when you’re honest can you see the trade-offs for what they are. And only when you see them clearly can you make a truly conscious choice, one that doesn’t hide behind virtue.

Weigh What It Costs

Naming the conflict isn’t enough. You must also understand what you’re choosing between, and what it costs.

Values tell you what matters most to you personally.

Morals tell you how to treat others fairly and justly.

Values are about priorities.

Morals are about principles.

When they clash, be honest about it. You’re not following some universal good, you’re making a trade-off.

• The sibling who hides a relative’s crime isn’t being loyal; they’re valuing family image over justice.
• The politician who diverts public funds “for his people” isn’t being noble; he’s valuing ethnic loyalty over integrity.
• The religious leader who conceals abuse to protect the faith isn’t being righteous; they’re valuing institutional survival over compassion.
• The parent who punishes too harshly isn’t being loving; they’re valuing control over empathy.
• The student who helps a friend cheat isn’t being kind; they’re valuing friendship over fairness.

And every time we do this, every time we elevate a value above a moral principle—someone pays.

• A rape victim pays when a family hides wrongdoing to protect its name.
• A nation pays when leaders choose tribes over fairness.
• A community pays when faith becomes more important than truth.
• A child pays when discipline crosses the line in the name of love.
• The educational system pays when loyalty replaces honesty.

That’s the cost of misplaced virtue: it doesn’t vanish—it transfers.

From your conscience to someone else’s suffering.

From your comfort to another’s pain.

From your present self to your future self.

Stay aware of this.

Check Your Feelings with Facts 

Life rarely presents these choices in black and white. They come wrapped in emotions. We seldom think about them; rather, we feel them. We act because something feels right within our value system.

But feelings can lie.

The real test isn’t how right something feels, but whether it would still feel right if the roles were reversed.

To truly test your motives, flip the situation. Would you accept the same reasoning from someone outside your circle?

• If another family hid their relative’s crime, would you still call it loyalty or corruption?
• If a different community favoured their own over merit, would you call it unity or bias?
• If a pastor from another church covered up wrongdoing to protect the faith, would you call it devotion or hypocrisy?
• If a friend lied for someone else the way you did for yours, would you still call it love or deceit?

If the answer is yes, then you’re not being moral. You’re applying your values selectively while claiming the moral high ground.

When Doing Right Feels Wrong

When our values operate without moral restraint, they become tyrannical. Family loyalty without fairness becomes nepotism and dynastic corruption. Religious devotion without justice becomes abuse of power and protection of predators. Ethnic solidarity without equality becomes tribalism and discrimination. Political conviction without integrity becomes authoritarianism. 

Every value, left unchecked by moral principles, turns destructive.

And perhaps the hardest truth to accept is this: morality sometimes demands that we betray our values.

Sometimes being moral means your unqualified brother doesn’t get the job, even though family loyalty screams at you to help him. Sometimes it means your church’s reputation suffers because you exposed abuse, even though you value the community deeply. Sometimes it means your friend faces consequences, even though loyalty says to protect them. And sometimes it means losing the election because you refused to buy votes, even though you believed you were fighting for the “greater good.”

In the end, the right thing doesn’t always feel good.

But that discomfort, the ache of conscience, is proof you still have humanity in you. 

Conclusion: Doing Good Requires Courage

The most harm isn’t done by people who reject morality, but by those who can’t see when their values and morals no longer align.

But now you know. And once you see it—really see it—you can’t unsee it. The conflict won’t vanish. The choices won’t get easier. But the excuse should die here.

As Ronald Reagan once said, “We must have the courage to do what we know is morally right.” And “courage”, as Ryan Holiday writes, “is risk. It is sacrifice… commitment… perseverance… truth… determination.”

Just as rationalising or compartmentalising small wrongs makes bigger ones easier, practising small moral acts can make goodness more natural. A single moment of honesty, a small act of courage, a quiet refusal—they all build your moral momentum.

Though evil may scale through moral disengagement, goodness scales through courage.

Choose courage.

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Thank you for reading to the end. If you found this helpful, please share it with family, friends, or a colleague who might need or appreciate these ideas. 

Here are some blog posts you might find interesting:

• What Does It Mean To Be A Good Person?
• Are You at Moral Crossroads? [3 Steps to Resolve Ethical Conflicts]
• Finding Harmony Within Chaos: 3 Steps to Resolve Your Internal Conflict.
• Framing, Context, and Content: How Thoughts and Thinking (Re)shape Your Reality
• Morality Is A Social Construct: The Reason Nigeria Is So Religious, Yet So Corrupt
• The Brutal Truth About Being Good: Ethical Dilemma