Morality as a Labyrinth of Nuance

The conversation around good versus evil is as ancient as time itself. Yet, the deeper I wander into this maze called life, the less obvious the distinctions become; the more nuanced the entire concept starts to appear.

Humanity is a kaleidoscope of different people, each with their own unique set of values, shaped by countless factors. So, how could we possibly make a definitive determination as to who should hold ultimate moral authority? I say this with a very clear understanding that there are universal rights and wrongs. I doubt there’s a value system that would genuinely advocate for murder, unless perhaps as a twisted form of retribution. But even then, wouldn’t killing a murderer simply make you a murderer yourself? In such a case, who truly holds the moral high ground? The lines blur, leaving us questioning where ‘right’ truly lies.

The Subjectivity of Perspective

For the most part, I’d like to think that perspective plays an incredibly pivotal role in our moral determinations. Flawed as it often is, because perspective seldom includes true empathy and is frequently one-sided, can we truly blame it? More often than not, we are products of our environments. Our perspectives are subtly, almost subconsciously, shaped by our experiences and by those individuals we deemed important in our lives. This inherent bias makes achieving objective moral judgment an immense challenge.

This constant interplay of perspectives brings to mind the infamous quote by German philosopher Friedrich Nietzsche:

“There is nothing very odd about lambs disliking birds of prey, but this is no reason for holding it against large birds of prey that they carry off lambs. And when the lambs whisper among themselves, ‘These birds of prey are evil, and does this not give us a right to say that whatever is the opposite of a bird of prey must be good,’ there is nothing intrinsically wrong with such an argument — though the birds of prey will look somewhat quizzically and say, ‘We have nothing against these good lambs; in fact, we love them; nothing tastes better than a tender lamb.’”

Nietzsche’s words highlight a fundamental tension: what is “good” for one group can be devastating for another, showcasing that morality is often deeply intertwined with self-interest and survival. This leads me to another philosopher whom I greatly admire, John Rawls, whose theory places emphasis on two foundational principles.

The first is the Principle of Equal Liberty, which, in layman’s terms, states that everyone has an undeniable claim to equal basic rights and privileges. The second is the Difference Principle, which posits that inequalities are permissible only if they ultimately improve the condition of those who are worst off. In my eyes, equity will always take precedence over mere equality, because true justice often means providing more to those who start with less.

The Perils of Utilitarianism and Unwavering Certainty

Considering these complex frameworks, who then should we place at the top of the moral totem pole? The most obvious ethical theory that comes to mind might be utilitarianism, right? The idea that what benefits the majority is inherently good. But this line of thinking immediately raises red flags. One could argue that the second generation of trans-Atlantic slave owners might have used this very justification for slavery, claiming it benefited the majority (the wealthy landowners) because the enslaved were a minority. Is this not the most egregious form of marginalization, where the well-being of a few is sacrificed for the perceived benefit of many? Such a scenario exposes the inherent dangers of a purely utilitarian approach, where the vulnerable can easily be exploited.

The whole inspiration for this reflection stems from observing the current Iran-Israel conflict, where I recall reading a quote from Donald Trump saying something to the tune of, “We want to negotiate, but if you don’t agree to our terms explicitly, without reservation, then I’ll destroy you.” This stark statement underscores a pervasive problem: even actions perceived as “doing good” can become destructive, often fueled by a hefty dose of conceit. When one is absolutely certain of their righteousness, there’s little room for compromise or self-reflection. As the philosopher Alan Watts once suggested, if you genuinely know what’s good for you, there should never be a reason to look to improve, because you already are, and the presumption is that you practice what you preach. This kind of unwavering certainty, while appearing virtuous, can become rigid and ultimately harmful.

The Necessity of Duality

I firmly believe that anything in excess, even something ostensibly good, is incredibly dangerous. It is, in fact, very possible to have a plague of virtuous people. Imagine a million saints, each absolutely convinced of their own moral rectitude, all telling you precisely how to live life. Such a scenario would undoubtedly destroy the natural balance of existence and shatter the very fulcrum of life as we know it: duality. Life thrives on the interplay of opposites — light and shadow, joy and sorrow, creation and destruction.

Without this inherent tension, this constant negotiation between opposing forces, life would become static, devoid of growth, and ultimately, meaningless. I started this article with the aim of answering questions that have lingered with me for the longest time. Yet, the more I write, the more it feels like I’m not finding answers but rather discovering new problems within existing solutions. And perhaps that’s the point. The quest for absolute truth in morality is an unending one. So, I’d simply like to say: be YOU, because YOU are enough in your own complexity and journey.

As a lover of quotes, I’d like to end with this one by rapper CyHi the Prince — “I know who Christ is but he never hung with the saints it makes no sense to save the righteous.” This line, often overlooked, brilliantly encapsulates the idea that true transformation, true understanding, and true impact often happen at the edges, in the messy, grey areas, not in the comfortable, self-assured centers of perceived virtue.