It has a official ring, like a stamp or a signature that transforms a notion into permission. It's as if there's a line somewhere and everything becomes OK once you cross it with the correct approval.
Most of the time, though, the licence is not printed. It is calm. It shows itself in how people rationalize their activities. One rationale repeated enough starts to seem like license. "It is required." "Everyone does it." “I had no option.” And just like that, the barrier moves.
Sometimes the license derives from others. A nod, a silence, absence of protest. Being permitted can feel like not being stopped. And that may be hazardous since approval is not same as a lack of opposition.
Other occasions the licence is internal. An independent choice made weighing your wants against what you know to be ethical. That instant begs one to tend toward whatever seems simpler, faster, more practical. You reassure yourself it's tiny, just once, and won't make any difference.
But a licence whether actual or imagined always comes with duty. Because consent does not eliminate result. It just makes the behavior less difficult to carry out.
Certain aspects of life do not call for a licence. And there are things no licence should make acceptable.
The difficulty is recognizing the distinction, especially when the boundary is not readily defined.