Navigating the Labyrinth of Relativism and Objectivism

Relatively Speaking

Imagine you’re alone in the desert, lost and desperate for water. The sun beats down mercilessly, and the sand stretches out in every direction, an endless sea of dunes. Just as you’re about to give up hope, you spot a palm tree in the distance, swaying gently in the shimmering heat. Your heart leaps – could it be an oasis, a chance for survival? You stumble towards it, but as you approach, the tree seems to flicker and dance, always just out of reach. Is it really there, or is it a mirage, a trick of the mind born of desperation and the desert’s cruel illusions?

Audio: Podcast conversation about this article.

This question – how do we distinguish between objective reality and our subjective perceptions – has haunted philosophers for centuries. From ancient debates between Protagoras and Plato to the radical scepticism of Descartes, thinkers have grappled with the nature of truth and our access to it. Is there an external world that exists independently of our minds, or is reality fundamentally shaped by our individual and collective experiences?

The rise of Enlightenment rationalism in the 17th and 18th centuries sought to establish a firm foundation for objective knowledge. Descartes’ methodological doubt, which questioned the reliability of sense perceptions, and Kant’s exploration of the a priori structures of reason were attempts to secure certainty in the face of relativistic challenges. Yet the spectre of relativism persisted, finding new expressions in

Nietzsche’s perspectivism and the linguistic turn of the 20th century.

Today, the debate between relativism and objectivism remains as pressing as ever. In a world of increasing cultural diversity, competing moral frameworks, and the proliferation of ‘alternative facts,’ the question of whether truth is relative or absolute has far-reaching implications. How do we navigate the labyrinth of subjective experiences and cultural norms whilst still maintaining a commitment to truth and rationality?

In this essay, we will explore the complex relationship between relativism and objectivism, drawing on insights from thinkers such as Thomas Kuhn, Richard Rorty, Michel Foucault, and Paul Feyerabend. By examining how our perceptions and beliefs are shaped by cognitive biases, cultural conditioning, and power dynamics, we will argue for a nuanced understanding of truth that recognises the inescapability of interpretation whilst still preserving the possibility of meaningful dialogue and consensus.
Just as the desert wanderer must learn to distinguish between the mirage and the true oasis, we must develop the philosophical tools to navigate the shifting sands of relativism and objectivism. Only by embracing the complexity and ambiguity of the quest for truth can we hope to find our way through the wilderness of human experience.

Defining the Terrain: Objectivism, Subjectivism, and Relativism

Before we can navigate the complex landscape of relativism and objectivism, we must first establish a clear understanding of these core concepts. What do we mean when we speak of objective reality, subjective experience, and relativistic truth?

Objective Reality: The Elusive Ideal

At the heart of the objectivist worldview lies the notion of an external, mind-independent reality. This is the world of physical objects, natural laws, and brute facts – a realm that exists independently of our perceptions, beliefs, or desires. For the objectivist, truth is a matter of correspondence between our ideas and this external reality. When we say that the Earth orbits the Sun or that water boils at 100 degrees Celsius, we are making claims about objective features of the world that hold true regardless of what any individual or culture believes.

However, the concept of objective reality is not without its challenges. As Descartes famously argued in his Meditations, how can we be certain that our perceptions accurately represent the external world? Might we not be deceived by a malicious demon or, in a more modern vein, by a sophisticated simulation? The possibility of perceptual error or illusion suggests that our access to objective reality is always mediated by our subjective experiences.

Subjective Experience: The Inescapable Lens

In contrast to the objectivist emphasis on an external reality, the subjectivist perspective foregrounds the primacy of individual experience. Our perceptions, thoughts, feelings, and beliefs shape our unique engagement with the world, colouring our understanding of truth and meaning. Two individuals may look at the same work of art or confront the same ethical dilemma, yet come away with radically different interpretations based on their personal histories, cultural backgrounds, and emotional states.
The subjectivist view finds support in the work of thinkers like David Hume, who argued that our ideas and beliefs arise not from direct access to objective reality, but from the associations and habits of our own minds. More recently, the field of cognitive psychology has revealed the myriad ways in which our perceptions and judgements are shaped by unconscious biases, heuristics, and emotional influences. From the confirmation bias that leads us to seek out information that reinforces our preexisting beliefs to the availability heuristic that causes us to overestimate the likelihood of vivid or easily remembered events, our subjective experiences are permeated by cognitive quirks that distort our understanding of reality.

Relativism: Navigating the Intersubjective Matrix

If objective reality is elusive and subjective experience inescapable, what are we to make of truth and knowledge? This is where relativism enters the picture. Relativism is the view that truth, morality, and meaning are not absolute or universal but are instead relative to particular individuals, cultures, or historical contexts. For the relativist, there is no single, objective standard by which to adjudicate between competing beliefs or values. Rather, truth is always situated within specific interpretive frameworks shaped by the language, norms, and practices of different communities.

One of the most influential articulations of relativism can be found in the work of Thomas Kuhn. In his landmark book, The Structure of Scientific Revolutions, Kuhn argued that even the supposedly objective realm of science is structured by paradigms – overarching theoretical frameworks that determine what counts as legitimate questions, methods, and evidence within a given scientific community. When paradigms shift, as happened during the transition from Newtonian to Einsteinian physics, it’s not simply a matter of uncovering new objective facts. Rather, the very nature of reality and truth undergo a radical transformation.

The relativist perspective highlights the ways in which our understanding of the world is always embedded within cultural and historical contexts. The beliefs and values that we take for granted as natural or self-evident are, in fact, the products of contingent social processes. Michel Foucault’s genealogical investigations into the history of madness, sexuality, and criminality, for example, reveal how our conceptions of normality and deviance have shifted dramatically over time, shaped by the interplay of power, knowledge, and discourse.

Yet relativism need not collapse into an ‘anything goes’ nihilism or scepticism. Richard Rorty argues that we can still engage in meaningful dialogue and work towards pragmatic consensus, even if we abandon the notion of a single, absolute truth. By recognising the contingency and fallibility of our beliefs, we open up space for genuine conversation and mutual understanding across differences.

Conclusion

Objectivism, subjectivism, and relativism offer competing visions of the nature of truth and our relationship to reality. Whilst the dream of objective certainty remains alluring, the challenges posed by perceptual variability, cognitive bias, and cultural diversity suggest that a more nuanced approach is needed. By embracing the insights of relativism – the recognition that truth is always shaped by interpretation and context – we can navigate the complex terrain of human experience with greater humility, openness, and creativity.

As we move forward in this essay, we will explore how the dialectic of objective reality and subjective experience plays out in specific domains, from the perception of physical objects to the construction of scientific knowledge. By engaging with thinkers like Kuhn, Foucault, and Rorty, we will map the contours of a relativistic understanding of truth that acknowledges the inescapability of perspective whilst still preserving the possibility of meaningful dialogue and pragmatic consensus. The path ahead is not a straight line to absolute certainty but a winding trail through the wilderness of interpretation – a journey that demands courage, curiosity, and a willingness to question our most cherished assumptions.
The Dialectic of Perception and Interpretation

Having established the key concepts of objectivism, subjectivism, and relativism, we can now delve into the dynamics of how perception and interpretation shape our understanding of reality. This dialectical process unfolds across three interrelated moments: the cultural shaping of perception, the individual’s subjective experience of the world, and the relativistic synthesis of these experiences into a situated understanding of truth.

The Palm Tree: A Case Study in Perceptual Dynamics

To illustrate this dialectic, let us return to the example of the desert wanderer and the palm tree. At first glance, the palm tree seems to be a straightforward object of perception – a physical entity with distinctive features such as a tall, slender trunk and a crown of feathery fronds. Yet even this seemingly simple act of recognition is shaped by a complex interplay of cultural, cognitive, and subjective factors.
Firstly, the very concept of a ‘palm tree’ is a product of cultural learning and categorisation. From an early age, we are taught to distinguish between different types of plants and to associate them with specific names, uses, and symbolic meanings. The palm tree, for instance, may evoke associations with tropical paradise, desert oases, or biblical imagery, depending on one’s cultural background and personal experiences. This cultural shaping of perception predisposes us to see the world in certain ways, priming us to recognise and interpret objects according to preexisting schemas and categories.

Secondly, the individual’s subjective experience of the palm tree is mediated by a range of cognitive and perceptual factors. As Kuhn’s off-colour playing card experiment demonstrates, our expectations and prior knowledge can lead us to overlook or misinterpret anomalous stimuli. In the case of the desert wanderer, the intense desire for water and the harsh environmental conditions may distort their perception, causing them to see a mirage where there is none. Moreover, the physiology of the human visual system itself imposes certain constraints on how we process and interpret sensory information, as evidenced by well-known optical illusions such as the Müller-Lyer illusion.

Thirdly, the relativistic synthesis of these cultural and subjective factors yields a situated understanding of the palm tree that is both shaped by and shapes the individual’s broader worldview. The desert wanderer’s recognition of the palm tree as a sign of an oasis is not simply a neutral act of perception but a meaning-making process that reflects their cultural knowledge, personal desires, and embodied experiences. This interpretation, in turn, influences their subsequent actions and beliefs, shaping their understanding of the world and their place within it.

The Science of Perception: From Descartes to Kahneman

The philosophical and scientific study of perception has long grappled with the challenges posed by subjectivity and relativism. Descartes, in his Meditations, famously questioned the reliability of sensory experience, arguing that our perceptions could be deceived by dreams, illusions, or even a malicious demon. This radical doubt laid the groundwork for the epistemological project of modernity, which sought to establish a firm foundation for knowledge based on clear and distinct ideas rather than fallible sensory impressions.

However, as the work of cognitive psychologists like Daniel Kahneman has shown, even our most basic perceptual judgments are subject to a wide range of biases and distortions. From the anchoring effect, which causes us to rely too heavily on the first piece of information we receive, to the availability heuristic, which leads us to overestimate the likelihood of vivid or easily remembered events, our minds are constantly shaping and filtering our experiences in ways that depart from objective reality.

The Relativistic Synthesis: Embracing Perspective

Given the complex interplay of cultural, subjective, and cognitive factors that shape our perceptions, how are we to make sense of truth and knowledge? The relativistic approach suggests that we must abandon the quest for a single, absolute truth and instead embrace the multiplicity of perspectives that arise from our situated experiences.

This is not to say that all interpretations are equally valid or that there are no constraints on our understanding of reality. As Rorty argues, we can still engage in meaningful dialogue and work towards pragmatic consensus by recognising the contingency and fallibility of our beliefs. The goal is not to eliminate perspective but to cultivate a reflexive awareness of how our perspectives shape and are shaped by the world around us.

In the realm of science, for instance, Kuhn’s notion of paradigm shifts highlights how even our most rigorous and objective forms of knowledge are structured by overarching theoretical frameworks that determine what counts as valid evidence and explanation. For example, the transition from Newtonian to Einsteinian physics was not simply a matter of accumulating new facts but a radical reconceptualisation of the nature of space, time, and gravity. By recognising the role of paradigms in shaping scientific understanding, we can appreciate the ways in which our knowledge is always situated within particular historical and cultural contexts.

Conclusion

The dialectic of perception and interpretation reveals the complex dynamics through which our understanding of reality is shaped by an interplay of cultural, subjective, and cognitive factors. From the cultural categorisation of objects to the cognitive biases that distort our judgments, our experiences of the world are always mediated by the lenses of our situated perspectives.

Embracing a relativistic approach to truth and knowledge does not mean abandoning the quest for understanding but rather recognising the inescapability of perspective and the need for ongoing dialogue and reflexivity. By engaging with the work of thinkers like Descartes, Kahneman, Kuhn, and Rorty, we can cultivate a more nuanced and self-aware understanding of how we make sense of the world around us.

As we continue our exploration of relativism and objectivism, we will delve deeper into the implications of this relativistic synthesis for questions of scientific knowledge, moral reasoning, and political discourse. The path ahead is not a simple one, but by embracing the complexity and multiplicity of human experience, we open up new possibilities for understanding and transformation.

Relativism and the Politics of Knowledge

Having explored the dialectical process through which our perceptions and interpretations of reality are shaped by cultural, subjective, and cognitive factors, we now turn to the broader implications of relativism for the nature of scientific knowledge and the influence of power and ideology on the production of truth.

The Social Construction of Scientific Knowledge

One of the key insights of relativistic approaches to science, as developed by thinkers like Thomas Kuhn and Paul Feyerabend, is that scientific knowledge is not a purely objective or value-neutral representation of reality but is instead shaped by the social, historical, and cultural contexts in which it is produced. Kuhn’s notion of paradigm shifts, as we have seen, highlights how even the most rigorous and empirical forms of knowledge are structured by overarching theoretical frameworks that determine what counts as valid evidence and explanation.

This social constructionist view of science challenges the traditional image of the scientist as a disinterested observer, carefully recording the facts of nature without bias or prejudice. Instead, it suggests that scientific knowledge is always informed by the assumptions, values, and interests of the communities that produce it. The questions that scientists ask, the methods they employ, and the conclusions they draw are all shaped by the prevailing paradigms and social norms of their time and place.

Feyerabend takes this critique even further, arguing that the very idea of a single, unified scientific method is a myth that obscures the pluralistic and often chaotic nature of scientific practice. In his view, science is not a monolithic enterprise guided by a set of fixed rules and procedures but a diverse array of practices and approaches that are constantly evolving in response to new empirical challenges and theoretical insights. By embracing a more anarchistic and pluralistic conception of science, Feyerabend suggests, we can open up new possibilities for creative and innovative thinking that are often stifled by the rigid orthodoxies of established paradigms.

The Power/Knowledge Nexus

The social constructionist view of science also highlights the ways in which the production of knowledge is intimately bound up with relations of power and ideology. As Michel Foucault argues in his genealogical investigations of madness, sexuality, and criminality, what counts as true or false, normal or deviant, is not an objective fact of nature but a product of historically contingent systems of discourse and practice that are shaped by the interests and agendas of those in positions of power.

This power/knowledge nexus operates at multiple levels, from the institutional structures that determine what kinds of research get funded and published to the broader cultural and political currents that shape public understanding and policy decisions. The pharmaceutical industry, for example, has been criticised for its role in shaping the research agenda around mental health and illness, promoting a narrow biomedical model that emphasises the use of drugs over other forms of treatment and downplaying the social and environmental factors that contribute to psychological distress.

Similarly, the fossil fuel industry has been accused of spreading misinformation and doubt about the reality and severity of climate change in order to protect its own economic interests and delay the transition to renewable energy sources. These examples illustrate how the production of scientific knowledge is never a purely disinterested or objective process but is always entangled with the material and ideological interests of powerful actors and institutions.

The Paradox of Relativism

The relativistic view of science and knowledge raises a number of important challenges and paradoxes. If all knowledge is socially constructed and shaped by relations of power, does this mean that there is no such thing as objective truth or that all claims to knowledge are equally valid? Does the recognition of multiple paradigms and perspectives lead to a kind of ‘anything goes’ relativism that undermines the very possibility of rational inquiry and debate?

These are serious questions that have been the subject of much debate and controversy among philosophers, sociologists, and historians of science. Some critics of relativism argue that it leads to a kind of self-defeating scepticism or nihilism, in which the very idea of truth or knowledge becomes meaningless. Others worry that relativism opens the door to a dangerous kind of subjectivism or irrationalism, in which any belief or opinion, no matter how baseless or harmful, can be justified on the grounds of cultural or personal perspective.

However, defenders of relativism argue that these fears are overblown and that a more nuanced and sophisticated understanding of the social and historical dimensions of knowledge need not lead to a complete rejection of truth or rationality. Rorty, for example, suggests that we can still engage in meaningful dialogue and debate across different paradigms and perspectives by adopting a pragmatic and fallibilistic approach that recognises the contingency and limitations of all knowledge claims whilst still striving for intersubjective agreement and consensus.

Similarly, Feyerabend argues that the recognition of multiple methodologies and approaches in science need not lead to a chaotic free-for-all but can instead foster a more open and creative dialogue between different traditions and ways of knowing. By embracing a more pluralistic and democratic conception of science, he suggests, we can challenge the dogmatism and authoritarianism of established paradigms and create space for new and innovative ideas to emerge.

Conclusion

The relativistic view of science and knowledge poses significant challenges to traditional conceptions of objectivity, truth, and rationality. By recognising the social, historical, and cultural dimensions of knowledge production, relativism highlights the ways in which even the most rigorous and empirical forms of inquiry are shaped by the assumptions, values, and interests of the communities that produce them.

At the same time, the power/knowledge nexus reminds us that the production of truth is never a neutral or disinterested process but is always entangled with relations of power and ideology that shape what counts as valid or legitimate knowledge. The pharmaceutical industry and the fossil fuel industry provide stark examples of how scientific research can be distorted and manipulated to serve the interests of powerful actors and institutions.


Whilst these insights can be unsettling and even destabilising, they need not lead to a complete rejection of truth or rationality. By adopting a more pragmatic and fallibilistic approach to knowledge, as suggested by thinkers like Rorty and Feyerabend, we can still engage in meaningful dialogue and debate across different paradigms and perspectives whilst recognising the contingency and limitations of all knowledge claims.


Ultimately, the relativistic view of science and knowledge invites us to cultivate a more reflexive and critical stance towards the production of truth, one that is attentive to the social, historical, and political dimensions of knowledge and open to the possibility of multiple ways of knowing and being in the world. By embracing a more pluralistic and democratic conception of science and knowledge, we can challenge the dogmatism and authoritarianism of established paradigms and create space for new and transformative ideas to emerge.


The Ethical and Political Implications of Relativism


Having explored the implications of relativism for scientific knowledge and the role of power in shaping the production of truth, we now turn to the ethical and political dimensions of relativism and consider how a more pluralistic and contextual understanding of truth might inform our approach to questions of social justice, democracy, and human rights.


Relativism and Moral Universalism


One of the most pressing challenges posed by relativism is the question of whether there are any universal moral principles or values that hold true across all cultures and societies. The idea of moral universalism – the belief that there are certain fundamental ethical norms that apply to all human beings, regardless of their particular social or historical context – has a long and venerable history in Western philosophy, from the Kantian idea of the categorical imperative to the utilitarianism of Bentham and Mill.

However, the relativistic view of truth and knowledge poses a serious challenge to the idea of moral universalism. If all truth claims are shaped by the particular social and historical contexts in which they arise, then how can we justify the idea of universal moral principles that transcend these contexts? Doesn’t the recognition of cultural diversity and the multiplicity of moral frameworks around the world undermine the very notion of a single, universal morality?


These questions have been the subject of much debate and controversy among moral philosophers and social theorists. Some defenders of moral relativism argue that the idea of universal moral principles is itself a product of Western cultural imperialism and that any attempt to impose a single moral framework on all societies is a form of ethnocentric domination. Others suggest that whilst there may be some common moral intuitions or sentiments shared by all human beings, these are always mediated by the particular cultural and linguistic contexts in which they are expressed and cannot be reduced to a set of abstract, universal principles.


On the other hand, critics of moral relativism argue that the rejection of universal moral principles leads to a kind of ethical nihilism or subjectivism, in which any action or belief can be justified on the grounds of cultural or personal preference. They point to the existence of widespread moral norms against murder, theft, and deception as evidence of a common human morality that transcends cultural differences and argue that without some notion of universal moral principles, we have no basis for condemning clear cases of injustice or oppression.


Relativism, Democracy, and Human Rights


The debate over moral relativism has important implications for how we think about democracy, human rights, and social justice in a globalised world. If we reject the idea of universal moral principles, then on what basis can we justify the idea of universal human rights, such as the right to life, liberty, and security of person, or the right to freedom of speech and association? How can we condemn human rights abuses or political oppression in other societies without appealing to some notion of universal moral standards?
At the same time, the recognition of cultural diversity and the multiplicity of moral frameworks around the world poses challenges for how we think about democracy and political legitimacy. If different societies have different conceptions of the good life and the just society, then how can we adjudicate between these competing visions in a way that respects cultural differences whilst still upholding basic principles of human rights and democratic governance?


One possible response to these challenges is to adopt a more pragmatic and contextual approach to questions of ethics and politics, one that recognises the irreducible plurality of moral and political frameworks whilst still striving for some degree of cross-cultural dialogue and understanding. This approach, which has been developed by thinkers like Richard Rorty and Jürgen Habermas, emphasises the importance of democratic deliberation and the public use of reason as a way of navigating the tensions between cultural diversity and moral universalism.


On this view, the goal of ethics and politics is not to establish a single, universal set of moral principles that applies to all societies but rather to foster a more open and inclusive dialogue between different cultural and moral traditions, one that allows for the possibility of mutual learning and transformation. By engaging in this kind of intercultural dialogue, we can work towards a more nuanced and contextual understanding of human rights and social justice, one that takes into account the particular histories, struggles, and aspirations of different communities whilst still upholding basic principles of human dignity and democratic participation.


Conclusion


The ethical and political implications of relativism are complex and far-reaching and raise fundamental questions about the nature of morality, democracy, and human rights in a globalised world. Whilst the recognition of cultural diversity and the multiplicity of moral frameworks pose challenges to traditional notions of moral universalism, it need not lead to a complete rejection of universal moral principles or a descent into ethical nihilism.


By adopting a more pragmatic and contextual approach to ethics and politics, one that emphasises the importance of democratic deliberation and intercultural dialogue, we can work towards a more nuanced and inclusive understanding of social justice and human rights, one that takes into account the irreducible plurality of human experience whilst still striving for some degree of cross-cultural understanding and solidarity.


Ultimately, the challenge of relativism is not to abandon the search for truth or the quest for a more just and humane world but rather to recognise the complexity and contingency of these endeavours and to approach them with a spirit of humility, openness, and critical reflection. By embracing the insights of relativism whilst still upholding the values of democracy, human rights, and social justice, we can chart a path towards a more pluralistic and emancipatory vision of human flourishing.


Conclusion: Navigating the Labyrinth of Relativism


Throughout this essay, we have explored the complex relationship between relativism, objectivism, and the nature of truth. We have argued for a more nuanced and contextual understanding of truth that recognises the inescapable influence of culture, subjectivity, and power in shaping our knowledge and beliefs. By examining the paradoxes and tensions between the idea of an objective reality and the subjective nature of human experience, we have sought to challenge traditional assumptions about the neutrality and universality of knowledge.


In the first section, we introduced the central paradox of objectivism and subjectivism, highlighting the ways in which the lenses of perception, interpretation, and cultural conditioning always mediate our understanding of reality. Using the metaphor of the desert wanderer and the palm tree, we explored how even our most fundamental experiences of the world are shaped by a complex interplay of sensory input, cognitive processing, and cultural meaning-making.


In the second section, we delved deeper into the dialectic of perception and interpretation, drawing on insights from thinkers like Descartes, Kahneman, and Kuhn to show how a dynamic interplay between cultural frameworks, individual experience, and the social construction of meaning shapes our understanding of reality. We argued that embracing a more relativistic approach to truth need not lead to a complete rejection of objectivity or rationality, but rather invites us to cultivate a more reflexive and self-critical stance towards the production of knowledge.


In the third section, we explored the politics of knowledge, examining how scientific knowledge is shaped by social, historical, and ideological factors and how the power/knowledge nexus operates to privilege certain forms of knowledge and marginalise others. Drawing on the work of Foucault and other social constructionists, we challenged the traditional view of science as a neutral and objective enterprise and argued for a more pluralistic and democratic approach to knowledge production.


Finally, in the fourth section, we considered the ethical and political implications of relativism, discussing how a more contextual and dialogical understanding of truth might transform our approach to questions of moral universalism, human rights, and social justice. Whilst acknowledging the challenges and paradoxes posed by relativism, we suggested that a pragmatic approach based on democratic deliberation and intercultural dialogue offers a promising way forward.


Ultimately, the labyrinth of relativism is not a simple or straightforward path but rather a complex and challenging terrain that requires ongoing navigation and negotiation. By embracing a more relativistic understanding of truth, we are invited to confront the contingency and partiality of our own perspectives and to engage in a more honest and authentic dialogue with others. This demands a willingness to question our assumptions, to listen to alternative viewpoints, and to remain open to the possibility of transformation and growth.


At the same time, relativism’s insights need not lead to a complete abandonment of the search for truth or the quest for a more just and humane world. Rather, they can inspire us to approach these endeavours with a spirit of humility, curiosity, and critical reflection, recognising the irreducible complexity and diversity of human experience. By engaging in the kind of intercultural dialogue and democratic deliberation that relativism demands, we can work towards a more inclusive and emancipatory vision of knowledge, ethics, and politics.


In the end, the labyrinth of relativism is not a puzzle to be solved or a destination to be reached but rather an ongoing journey of discovery and transformation. It invites us to embrace the multiplicity and contingency of human experience, challenge our assumptions and biases, and remain open to the possibility of new and unexpected insights. Whilst the path may be difficult and the challenges profound, it offers a more honest, authentic, and liberating approach to understanding ourselves and our world.


As we navigate the twists and turns of this labyrinth, we must remember that the search for truth is not a solitary or isolated endeavour but a collective and dialogical one. It requires us to engage with others in a spirit of openness, empathy, and mutual respect, recognising the ways in which our own perspectives are shaped by the particular contexts and experiences that we bring to the table. By cultivating this kind of intercultural understanding and solidarity, we can work towards a more just and equitable world that honours all human beings’ diversity and dignity.


So, let us embark on this journey with courage and compassion, knowing that the path and destination are uncertain. Let us embrace the complexity and ambiguity of the human condition and remain committed to the ongoing search for truth, justice, and understanding. Only by navigating the labyrinth of relativism can we hope to glimpse the elusive and ever-changing nature of reality and create a world that is more inclusive, humane, and authentically our own.

Pitch-Perfect Morality

I’ve experienced an epiphany of sorts. I am a moral non-cognitivist. Most would consider me to be a moral subjectivist or relativist. There’s a distinction, but to the public at large, it doesn’t much matter. In fact, we are all at the mercy of the cognitive deficits of the societies we find ourselves in, each culture having its own deficits. I find it difficult not to come across as an elitist in the space, especially as uninformed and otherwise misinformed most are in this space.

It’s one thing to have an academic disagreement. It’s quite another to have an academic argument with kindergartners—armchair spectators in highchairs and booster seats. Anyway, enough of the ad hominem. I’ve had my say and my fill.

All morality is constructed. Full stop. The basis is the survival and propagation of the society, though societies are dynamic organisms with different goals and purposes, so these foundations may differ. In some cases, they are strikingly similar.

All morality is constructed. Full stop.

It makes sense that most have an element of ‘thou shalt not kill’ with an exception for ‘unless they undermine the culture’. This also allows for ‘killing in order to defend the culture’, even if the people defended aren’t all in sync as to what they are defending.

So where does relative pitch come into play? you ask yourself.

Sound, hence musical tones, manifests as frequency (and amplitude, which I’ll ignore). It is common to establish an A pitch as 440 Hz (440 cycles per second), also known as A440 or A4. Whilst there have been and are other standard pitches, A440 is considered to be the standard concert tone for Western music and has been adopted in other regions. I won’t bore the listener with nuance around A332 and A442 centres, as it’s unimportant to the focus.

Whatever the centre, some people have perfect pitch and others have absolute pitch. Some people are tone deaf, and I suppose that to be a perfect metaphor for some people in society, but that’s also an analogy for another day.

A person with perfect pitch not only has the vocabulary of music stored in memory, but they can retrieve it on a whim. I’ve encountered several people with perfect pitch, and it seems inevitable to engage in parlour games. With piano at hand, it’s easy to play unseen chords and have the absolutist bark back F#min6/9 or some such. Even more amusing is the result of tossing a shoe at an object to hear what note the clang might correlate with. That stool was a B-flat.

I thought I was wrong once before, but I was mistaken.

Whilst a person with absolute pitch can pick notes out of the air, a person with relative pitch doesn’t have an anchor. In either case, a listener can tell you that the interval between an A4 and an E4 is a perfect fifth, the person with relative pitch can’t name the notes without guidance. Of course, once the listener is clued in that the first note is an A4, relative maths does the rest of the heavy lifting, so they, then be able to tell you that the note a perfect fifth above is an E4.

It’s important to know the vocabulary are rules as well. For example, many of us can recognise the interval at the start of Beethoven’s Fifth Symphony—da-da-da-DA…! We can hear it in our heads as we consider it. But we don’t know that the first three shorter notes are G and that the longer final note is E♭.

Thanks for the music lesson, but you’re asking, ‘How does this connect to morality?’

Unlike music, morality has nothing analogous to absolute pitch. Moreover, different cultures have different reference pitches. And some cultures with the same reference pitch are playing in different keys. The challenge is that whether or not the dominant culture has absolute pitch, it still presumes it is the tonal centre. And if it’s tuned to A432, you’d better be too; otherwise, there will be dissonance.

Referencing the Venn diagram, one can see the primary culture, C0 occupying the most space and acting as a centre of gravity. There are subcultures, some with more and less in common with the primary culture.

C1 has much in common with C0, but the majority of ideals are not shared. It remains to be seen whether these differences are material. For example, the difference may be preferences about food or clothing, perhaps which holy days to recognise to whether to recognise any at all. In practice, these cultures could very well coexist with little conflict.

Similarly, C2, may be able to coexist with either of both with little friction. Of course, the difference may be significant. Perhaps, one difference is their view on abortion or female circumcision. Clearly, these are dancing to a different tune.

Perhaps, C3 is some indigenous society. C3 has nothing in common with C0 or C2, only sharing some ideals with C1. I don’t feel this would be possible in reality because I can’t imagine a culture having opposing perspectives, even if only on the position of not killing other ‘innocent’ humans without cause. The range of causes may differ, but the core value would still be shared.

My point is that the primary culture will assume that its position is absolute, even if just from having enough mass to force the matter. And this is the difference. It doesn’t matter whether their morality is absolute. If you don’t comply—especially in matters they consider to be morally important—, you will be punished. In the case of C3, C1 may tolerate whatever the two are in common, but if C3 attempts to interact with C0, this tolerance is unlikely.

Perhaps, C3 clubs baby seals, eats dogs, or some other such hot-button activity. In their native territory, this may go unnoticed, but if they relocate to the territory of the primary culture, this will not likely go unchallenged.

If you are someone like me who feels that all morality is fabricated out of thin air—even the morality I happen to agree with in principle and in practice—, there is still friction just to suggest that their morality is a constructed social fiction. It seems that many if not most people want to believe in the notion of ‘inalienable rights’ and God-given morality or some sense of cosmic moral order. People like Jordan Peterson believe this as do his followers. This creates contention with others, like myself, who fundamentally disagree and who ask for just a modicum of evidence of their claim. You will comply or you will be chided and marginalised.

Of course, I could be wrong. I thought I was wrong once before, but I was mistaken.

Cultural Relativity

That culture is a social construct is by now a meme. Those who disagree with the notion believe there is some objective measure—who disagree with the notion of cultural relativism—, almost invariable to their own belief systems. My goal is not to convince them otherwise. I’m sure their teacups are full. However, I’ve recently become aware of some data I find interesting. These data consider dimensional pairs of data. For example, do parents of certain cultures foster the message of imagination or hard work.

Hard Work vs Imagination

The caveat here is that no culture is monolithic. In practice, no two people are precisely redundant. People are effectively snowflakes—not the pejorative sort. Just insomuch that even identical twins are not, in fact, identical. What we are examining are generalised stereotypes. For example, the United States finds hard work over-indexing imagination. This comes as no surprise to anyone who takes even a cursory view will note that both political persuasions buy into and propagate this mythos. On the Right, imagination is something that can be explored. In fact, it needs to be propagated if only to buy into supported narratives. Imagination is over-indexed in Left-leaning countries. On the Left, a little more latitude is afforded, but in the end, someone needs to pay for the Volvos and Teslas. Given that the Left basically doesn’t exist in the professional politics of the US, imagination is more lip service than manifest.

Imagination need not apply. Britain, Australia, and Canada are more balanced, but they still favour hard work over imagination. Interesting to me is that the Nordic / Scandanavian countries push imagination more than their peers. I’ve never ‘imagined’ them to be imaginative. Perhaps it’s more an absence of Calvinism. Perhaps I’m judging. The piece suggests that Anime is evidence of Japan’s imagination. Firstly, this feels like a stretch. Secondly, this doesn’t resonate with my experience living in Japan. Perhaps I’m just conflating cultural obsequiousness.

Independence vs Obedience

Another pairing is independence versus obedience. Whilst I focus on the UK, US, and Canada, you may find represented your own country or culture of interest. Across these dimensions, the US, Great Britain, Australia and New Zealand all favour independence over obedience, though I find this a strange dichotomy. Fundamental attribution bias is evident in full force and effect.

I just came across a meme that lauded the Japanese for fostering independence, but cultural obedience is a given. Honour, shame, and shunning are ubiquitous in Japanese, so I’m not sure how this manifests. Cognitive dissonance is strong here. I’m having a difficult time reconciling. Perhaps I need to evaluate the semantics.

Independence versus Obedience

Unselfishness vs Religious Faith

I debated including this dimensional paring. First, it’s an odd dichotomy. Are we trying to claim that the religious are selfish or that unselfish people are areligious? No matter. Let’s keep going.

Unselfishness versus Religious Faith

I suppose this just shows that one can compare anything on a graph and someone can read something into it—like a Rorschach test or tea leaves. Here the US rides the fence. Great Britain and France self-assess as promoting selflessness, and Bangladesh is off the charts with its need for faith. Well, clearly not off the charts because it’s literally on the chart, but it’s trying.

Anyhoo, I feel I need to investigate the raw data and evaluate more parings. For now, I think it’s safe to say that cultural preferences are all over the map. And, even though these preferences have no objective centre, I can admit to having preferences of my own. On these dimensions, I favour imaginative, selfless independence, but that’s just me. Where do you stand?

All Claims Are Equal

One of the most prominent strawman attacks of postmodernism and of relativism more generally is the statement countering the claim that all claims are equal.

I know of no one outside those attacking the claim believe this. I’ll give a couple of examples to illustrate why the attack is preposterous — a culinary case and a socio-political case.

The Proof is in the Pudding

Visit a recipe site, and search for macaroni cheese recipes. You’ll get hundreds if not thousands of recipes. Are they all equal? No. It depends on your tastes and preferences…even your audience. There are variations in the type of pasta, the type or types of cheese, whether to add additional ingredients, whether to prepare on the range or baked in the oven, and so on.

For your children, a prêt-à-manger out of the box preparation as opposed to the Gruyère and truffles verion you’re reserving for your next soirée.

Is there a best recipe? No. There are only preferences.

Is there an objectively best recipe? No. There are only preferences.

Can I create any recipe? No. Read on.

And they called it macaroni…

To have a recipe qualify as mac & cheese, there are at least to requirements for inclusion into the domain: Macaroni (or any pasta product or substitute) and cheese (ditto but with cheese products). I’m only pretty sure that no one countering that relativists claim that everything is equal is also arguing that one can make mac & cheese with, say, tacks and bricks. So, one has to question either the intelligence or the integrity of someone assuming someone else would defend this argument. Context matters. And just the choice of a contextual boundary is subjective (and relative).

Good Enough for the Government?

This works for recipes, but what about for government? Obviously Democracy is the best possible form of government because reasons, duh. And people. And agency. And other words I can imagine and associate in my defence.

As with mac & cheese, we need a defined purpose. The problem is that there are not only different purposes, there are different actors, each with their own needs and desires.

At no time is anyone arguing that public policy created by a council of gerbils is the same as that of people or or some artificial intelligence, just as no one is proposing that we throw mac & cheese against a wall in the manner or reading entrails to arrive at a meaningful end. Though, to be fair, given some policy choices I’ve seen, I might have voted for the mac & cheese method.

So, what are you trying to say?

By now a reader should have disavowed the notion that relativists do not recognise domain boundaries. It could be very legitimate for a non-relativist (objectivist?) to call something out as having improper domain boundaries, whether over-specified, under-specified, or just mis-specified, but that’s not the same claim.

A person may justifiably make the claim that such a such is not valid because it does not account for some other absent cohort. Perhaps it leaves out the dead or the unborn, or the animals, or the broader biosphere, if only by proxy. This is not to say that this would be easy or convenient, but it is certainly rational.

Most implemented government systems not only privilege humans over everything else, it virtually excludes everything else. But this is not the main point, which is that if a place and people have a functioning form of government, whether it is better or worse is up to the participants to decide, and there is not likely to be a consensus view. It should always be expected that there will be detractors for any number of reasons. There may be large contingencies of detractors. It could easily be that a government is divided into two worldviews, as in the United States, Canada, and the UK — each side claiming that they’ve got the solution, each side denying relativism in order to defend their version of truth.

Spheres of Justice

2–3 minutes

I’ve recently happened upon Michael Walzer, and it turns out I agree with much of what he has written about in the realm of political philosophy. Although he published, Spheres of Justice in 1983, he may be more famous for Just and Unjust Wars: A Moral Argument With Historical Illustrations. I am more interested in the former, and this work integrates well with Benedict Anderson‘s Imagined Communities.

In the realm of philosophy, it’s no mystery to those who know me that I am a Subjectivist, but I still need to operate in this physical socio-political domain, which is what attracts me to political philosophy.

I like to make an analogy relative to religious belief. Philosophically, I consider myself to be an igtheist, which is to say that I don’t really care about god or gods or ‘the universe’ or some metaphysical superpower in the abstract, but practically speaking, I am an atheist. The reason being that the non-existence of gods is irrelevant in a world where people behave as if there is one and create moral positions and form legal systems based on this premise, thus infecting these systems, so one needs to be an active atheist in order to disinfect the systems and extricate religion from it. Without getting too far off track, I am not saying that religious belief has had no benefit to ‘human progress’, but the price we pay is too high. The cost-benefit calculus is not favourable.

Walzer and Anderson both understand the constructed nature of political identity, whether self, family, community, state, nation, all of humanity, or beyond. It’s all relative. Some modern political philosophers like Rawls and Nozick try to rise above the inherent relativity in this constructionist view, but after all the trying, their attempts are weak tea, as their solutions are also constructed.

In the end, politics and perhaps all of perceived reality are social constructs, whose major survival mechanism is rhetoric. The more convincing the argument, the better. In fact, the reason I have adopted this worldview is only that the rhetorical narrative resonates with me better than some other. Ditto if you concur, and ditto if another narrative resonates for you, whether Christianity, Pastafarian, a starchild, or a nihilist.

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Given this, it makes me wonder how other people choose the rhetoric they have rather than my (obviously superior) version.

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EDIT: After I wrote this, I happened upon a short(ish) video promoting veganism and commenting on the construction of culture, so I am adding it. James Wildman

 

Rhetoric and nothing more

Morality is nothing more than rhetoric. Rhetorical devices are employed, and a person will either accept or reject the claim contingent to an emotional response based on prior experiences. This is Ayer’s Emotivist position—or even that of George Berkeley. There is no moral truth, and any moral truths are nothing more than an individual’s or group of individuals’ acceptance of a given claim. Rhetoric is used to sway the claim.

Logic is employed but only after having been filtered through the experience through the emotion and through the rhetoric. Accepting some particular truth claim does not make it true; neither does rejecting a truth claim make it false.

I’d like to expound upon this, but for now, I’ll create this placeholder.

Fast-forward, and I’ve returned. Still, I feel that morality is nothing more than rhetoric. Perhaps I’m even more convinced—and this extends into jurisprudence and politics. I’ve rather latched onto Foucault’s or Geuss’ sense of power or Adorno’s socially necessary illusion that is ideology by way of Marx.

Talking about power, Geuss says, “you may be more powerful than I am by virtue of being a charismatic figure who is able to attract enthusiastic, voluntary support from others, or by virtue of being able to see and exploit a strategic, rhetorical, or diplomatic weakness in my position”.

« One cannot treat “power” as if it referred to a single, uniform substance or relation wherever it was found. It makes sense to distinguish a variety of qualitatively distinct kinds of powers. There are strictly coercive powers you may have by virtue of being physically stronger than me, and persuasive powers by virtue of being convinced of the moral rightness of your case; or you may be more powerful than I am by virtue of being a charismatic figure who is able to attract enthusiastic, voluntary support from others, or by virtue of being able to see and exploit a strategic, rhetorical, or diplomatic weakness in my position. »

I tend to think of myself as a proponent of the Hegelian dialectic, but even this is in a rather small-t teleology manner instead of a capital-T flavour, so I feel that although history moves in somewhat of human-guided direction, there is no reason to believe it’s objectively better than any number of other possible directions, though one might be able to gain consensus regarding improvement along several dimensions. Even this will not be unanimous.

[To be continued…]

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So What?

Morality is a human construct. More specifically, it is a normative construct of language. It is used as a tool to maintain power and promote normalcy, but so what?

People are indoctrinated with this normative perspective, but accept it as some self-evident truth. But there is no absolute truth. This, too, is a contextual function of language.

Since the dawn of civilisation—and perhaps longer—, humans have been constructing moral codes of behaviour. From attributing moral origins to supernatural gods, they’ve attempted to move to a secular humanist vantage, ascribing these powers attributed to nature, but this is little more than a metaphysical euphemism in order to appear to be more scientific as a result of Enlightenment.

Clinging to absolute morality is like clinging to religion and gods.

As Marx said, ‘religion is the opiate of the masses.’ Clinging to a sense of absolute morality is not much different to clinging onto religion and gods. There’s a sense of security. It’s comforting and weaved into the fabric of most societies.

Still, so what? As long as the masses prefer to believe that morals somehow exist in the wild, and people, being story-lovers, are exploited by persuasive storytellers, we are resigned to this situation.