Philosophical daydreams
By John Kim
Notions of absolute justice and conscience seem to set humans apart from animals. Why do we behave morally, or condemn others for not behaving so?
Some scientists say it’s due to our advanced, highly-evolved herd instinct. But ethicists have noted that humans are unique in that we often defy our instincts in our moral decision making. Something trumps the Darwinian instinct.
What is it? What drives a young man, for example, to dive into the river, risking his life for an old, ailing stranger who’s completely unrelated to him? Indeed, the exercise of justice and moral duty set humans apart from animals on a daily basis.
The ancient Greeks believed moral values came from Zeus, as Plato makes evident in ``Protagoras.” We may think that sounds mythical and crazy, but two things are notable: First, Plato attempted a coherent answer. Second, he cared to ask. But we still cast Zeus aside today, which must mean one thing: We have a better answer than Plato.
But do we? The question we ought to ask is not whether or not we see right and wrong apart from a belief in Zeus. The question we ought to ask and answer is whether we have good reasons to think right or wrong exist ``at all.” If not believe in Zeus, then on what basis do we claim our moral nature? What gives us the right to laugh Zeus off?
Scientists, psychologists, and philosophers have come up with roughly four answers, three of which, in my view, fail miserably, and the fourth makes Plato’s among the best we’ve had.
1. Could it be me? Could I myself be the source of my own moral nature and convictions? But if I derive my sense of justice and conscience from myself, how am I then able to communicate morality to others? I can’t be the source of what commands the world, can I? Can I? (Please?)
2. Could it be society? Are we merely educated to hold the moral beliefs we hold? Is my conscience conditioned by my society, based on something utilitarian? If I was born and raised elsewhere will I hold different moral views? But what are we to make of men such as Dietrich Bonhoeffer, or Martin Luther? And with whom will I side with when societies collide with mutually exclusive moral codes? I end up falling back on my own subjective judgment to choose from the two. So by ``society” I really mean myself, and myself I do not trust.
3. The universal majority? Shall we take a vote and go with the flow? But, alas, people change. Better yet, they violate their own moral rules. How then do we trust ourselves with what is absolutely good? How do we reconcile the changing universe with unchanging moral principles, like the Golden Rule? I’m convicted that there is an absolute, and numbers don’t add to its absoluteness.
4. Then is it Zeus? Some kind of god? Who can implant, no, invade the secret chambers in my heart and say unto me absolutely, ``Thou shalt not?” What else can command so absolutely and speak to my soul? Buddha? Jesus? Do I care enough to find out? Do I care about the truth?
The reason we reject Zeus is not so much because of his ``fairy-ness,” but more so because he is not as absolute and perfect as we’d expect the ultimate source of morality to be. But if it’s evident that nothing natural can account for the absolute nature of our moral convictions, then we know Plato was onto something here.
And we can share on his quest. We have the same evidence Plato had in our own hearts. The only thing left is for us to go where it leads, until we meet the one who knits our inmost being.
The writer is English teacher in Seoul. He can be reached at dr.sufjan@yahoo.com.