Recent developments in the greater philosophical community have given way to an area of study in which the majority of its participants find the belief that, “There are moral underpinnings in all philosophical and sociological writings” to be something of an archaic nature that is only prescribed by simpletons who cannot see the world for what it really is. When one is pre-emptively declared to be a laughing stock of a highly academic field, he encounters considerable difficulty when attempting to convey his ideas to the whole.
It is thus necessary for such a philosopher to take a step back from the use of his methods, and to craft explanation for both the use of his methods, and for the reasons why rhetoricians move so quickly to silence such methods.
I come from a philosophy department that, rather than getting bogged down in whether a writing was from “early, middle, or late Plato,” would rather begin by taking a chance; accepting a premise. The premise that is taken is derived from the writings of Plato and Aristotle: that man is an inherently moral creature who is governed by something greater than himself. The department understands what is would be like to read authors without accepting any premises. The absurdity is shown in the reading of Descartes’ Meditations on First Philosophy. If one allows himself nothing other than the inherent truth that he exists, then all other “certainties” that come from such a standpoint will be relative.
This is not to say that the acceptance of the premise “man is an inherently moral creature who is governed by something greater than himself” is an arbitrarily selected premise, or that it is the fulfilment of some sort of “longing” for a morally governed universe that is a result of man’s fear of the unknown. It actually makes the most sense to view the universe in this way, as the idea is more in tune with man’s senses than those of the relativist.
On the relativists’ attempt to decry the “moralist” as a simpleton:
A world in which absolute morals exist requires the existence of a higher force, or a lawgiver. The methods through which this force brings about beings who are able to understand and obey its laws are not important. In this universe, it is still possible that life started because a lightning bolt struck into a puddle of water of some uninhabited planet, and charged proteins in such a way that they became animated and began to self replicate. (Doesn’t it seem strange that in this freak accident, which is how relativists tend to explain the origin of life sans God, that these one-celled organisms had the inherent capacity for mutation and change? But I digress…). It seems that relativists get hung up on the idea that all of this occurred randomly, and in a universe that had no set beginning. A universe without a beginning would require no conscious prime mover, as matter would be the “absolute” that governs all other activity. It would be necessary for this universe to expand and contract ad infinitum, as it could not diffuse outward infinitely without something “creating” new matter.
Supposing that man’s sense of the finite is not faulty (which makes more sense), and that the universe occurred with a beginning point and will end with an ending point, a conscious prime mover, which would be the repository for all other created things, must exist. The mind who wishes to see the universe as a continually expanding and contracting entity does so on faith, as he is unable to step outside of the universe and watch it replaying itself over and over. Because we have now ascribed the term “faith” to the relativists, who claim to be the paragons of objectivity, they are now levelled with the moralists, but at a disadvantage. The moralist believes that his sense of time is a reflection of how the universe actually works, and thus has no problem accepting the rule of a governing authority that is greater than himself. By seeing this, it is obvious that the relativist “wants” the universe to exist as a continuous entity, separate from authority, so that he is free from judgment. However, in doing so, he renounces his perception of time as an accurate measuring tool for “how things really are,” yet seems to have no problem explaining the “real” motives of human activity.
It is through my training to see the moral underpinnings of such writings that I see that one who renounces his perception does so to create a moral loophole. Because the pointing out of this loophole is inconvenient for the relativist to get around, he does much better to gain popularity by claiming the moralist is an “old-fashioned” simpleton whose ideas have long since expired. This frees the relativist from a tremendous amount of argumentative inconvenience and the initiative to change his views.
On the non-objectivity of those who must renounce the value of human perception:
It is in this way that Kierkegaard explains, “The aesthetic has exiled himself from human discourse.” The man of the aesthetic (not ascetic) life, the life of immediacy, free of moral obligations, must renounce his senses to accept the premise that he lives in a universe that is governed by nothing. In doing so, he has muted himself from speaking on any other matters.
The aesthetics are still talking.
On the fallacy that those who subscribe to the idea of the moral universe do so out of fear of the unknown:
It is by seeing that the man who looks for moral underpinnings in all discourse is simply accepting the validity of his given perceptions that his views become much more respectable and grounded in reason. The relativist can certainly propose the infinitely fluctuating, never-certain universe, atop from which he spews his various and passion-driven pontifications, but what are those ideas worth when one has renounced human perception as some “conveyor of flux” whose grasping of ideas is inadequate?
A man who trusts his perception of the finite is not one who is driven by the fear of the unknown. If anything, he is the most sane of the lot. He experiences beginnings and ends and, within those finite parameters, holds a sense of purpose. The relativist must agree that his sense of purpose is merely an outgrowth of random chance, and should thus cease all other inquiries. His tendency to pursue such inquiries in order to demonstrate his “fitness” as a mate (and thus propagate his genes) demonstrates his fear of the unknown, and his inability to accept his temporality.
Now that the tables have been thoroughly turned, I can begin anew.