[MD] What "moral revolution" is called for by the MOQ?

[Case]

Platt, Steven H

I think Platt is reflecting one of the tragedies of the modern era. In the
world of instant communication every artist that paints is compared to the
great masters. Every singer competes with Sinatra and Bono. Every writer
with Pirsig and Robbins. As a result we look outside of our communities for
beauty to fail to see it manifest in our friends and neighbors because they
are amateurs.

Platt thinks the New York Philharmonic is superior to a high school band. I
once saw the New York Philharmonic perform. I was a band chaperone on a
field trip to the St. Patrick's Day parade. I found the orchestra stuffy,
the seats uncomfortable and the music put me straight to sleep. But when I
saw those kids marched in the snow along the parade route the next day, I
saw beauty, poetry and heard the trumpets of heaven. Caught up in the new
and alien world, a bunch of kids from Florida, most of them were seeing snow
for the first time. They marched through the belly of the Giant as Irish and
people who love the Irish waved and smiled and hoisted green ale in toasts.

The only football games I have ever enjoyed were high school games where I
knew the kids playing and was connected directly to their triumphs and
defeats.

We claim some notion of artistic superiority for those distant professionals
at the peak of their talent. We claim it in the name of beauty and
aesthetics but it is nothing to pleasure of watching your children discover
the art within them or watching your neighbors performing in Community
Theater for the shear love of the play. 

Joni Mitchell gives us a feeling for this tragedy from the point of view of
someone at the top of her game:

I slept last night in a good hotel; 
I went shopping today for jewels.
The wind rushed around in the dirty town 
And the children let out from the schools.
I was standing on a noisy corner, 
Waiting for the walking green
Across the street he stood, 
And he played real good on his clarinet for free.

Now me, I play for fortunes and the velvet curtain calls.
I got a black limosine and a few gentlemen escorting me to these halls.
And I'll play if you have the money or if you're a friend to me.
But the one-man-band by the quick lunch stand, he was playing real good for
free.

Nobody stopped to hear him, though he played so sweet and high.
They knew he had never been on their TV; so they passed his good music by.
I meant to go over and ask for a song, maybe put on a harmony.
I heard his refrain as that signal changed, 
He was still playing real good for free