The Problem of Moral Relativism

Relativism

Moral relativism is the product of the ascension of subjectivism over objectivism. Objective truth is called into question so routinely today that most agree that everyone has his “own” truth and that people should “tell their truth,” and so one is not surprised to find the case of a biologically male swimmer winning competitions against biologically female swimmers against whom he is able to compete because he identifies as a “she” and is therefore telling his “own” truth. This is perhaps an extreme case of moral relativism. But it shows the extent to which objectivity is not favored. Even the nominee for Supreme Court Justice stated before Congress that she could not define “woman” because she is not a biologist. Does that mean she admits that gender is biological and not a mere social construct? Does it mean she is unwilling to define woman because it would be evidence of using objectivity, which is out of fashion? Does it mean she is unable to say whether she herself is a woman? What does it mean? Rather than help one answer questions, relativism tends to lead to more questions.

The issue is really one of self-interest. What values do people give priority to? What ideals do they care most about? These are what they will turn to in order to justify the morality of their actions. It is what happens in Ibsen’s play: the people who were at first supportive of revealing the truth about the Baths turn against the doctor because there is an economic and social cost to revealing the truth. For them, the values and ideals they hold to are materialistic: they are not willing to make sacrifices to their comfort or status for some other good (public health) that they value less dearly. They are not viewing morality objectively—i.e., this is right and this is wrong because of universal, objective principles—rather, they decide what is best insofar as the thing personally affects them. It is the essence of ethical egoism.

Nearly everyone in the readings seems to be afflicted with it: Enoch, for instance, states that “we do not, after all, seem to possess something worth calling moral perception…” (140). Is that so? Then why in the devil are you writing about it? Seems like a great waste of energy and time on his part. But he states by way of explanation that “what we need is a moral epistemology…” (140). Well, that may be what he needs, but some of us are capable of common sense still and need not act as Hamlet figures hemming and hawing over every thought, questioning its origins until we have worked ourselves up to a state of madness. Is this not what happened to Nietzsche? Benedict makes the case that culture is responsible for how we value things, stating, “It is hard for us, born and brought up in a culture that makes no use of [catalepsy], to realize how important a role it may play…” (125). But what of that? Why should we bother to think of it at all? Why bother to think of anything? Why not be like the people of Norway, banish the doctor for trying to take the Baths away, and get back to indulging ourselves? If we want to accept the risk of sickness by turning a blind out to the light and getting back to our flickering shadows on the walls of the cave, who is to say we are wrong to do so? Relativism gives us the right to do what we like. The stubborn doctor of Ibsen’s play wants to insist the he is right and wants to be heard—and what does it get him? He is ostracized. So then we learn that insisting on truth causes one to receive pain and suffering.