On Structural Absurdism

Musings on Philosophy

The universe is both ordered and absurd. Such a universe cannot create a “should” or an “ought” on its own; it can only determine what “is.” To create an “ought” requires intent, which is only effective within one’s own mind. When acting upon itself, the will has the potential to exert control. Outside the self, intent is reduced to a series of actions limited by the body’s capacity to act.

An individual’s actions do not define what others do; they only shift others’ responses based on their own moral code, formed by their own intent. It should be noted that our moral codes are ethical reasons we craft for ourselves, often attempting to replicate what is taught by a moral authority.

Because intent is confined to what we can actually do, we cannot change the world directly. Instead, we rely on doing what works, adopting moral “norms.” Various norms are selected over time within a population, but this does not make them ethical—only effective.

Thus, there exists an internal moral world, constrained within itself, and the shared assumptions about interaction that direct moral reasoning. These assumptions are not based on moral rules but on general expectations about human behavior. After that point, nothing I do actually changes the morality of the person I interact with—it only alters how they apply their existing morality.

To clarify this, I distinguish between morality and ethics. Morality, by my definition, is “the norms selected for within populations or by individuals.” Ethics, on the other hand, is “the study of moral reasoning and the logical definition of ethical principles.”

Ethics exists as an ideal world of reasoning, much like mathematics. It describes ideal constructs—either too perfect to exist or simply tools for illustrating ideas that might not hold in reality.

For instance, I seek to avoid harm to what I possess and definitely harm to myself. We might ask: Is this true for others? To what extent? What would they give to secure this for themselves? Is it reasonable to think that others would consider “Do less harm” a reasonable ethical principle?

If so, we must test the limits of such an idea. “How much of society can do no harm before it collapses from being harmless?” Is it 10%? 5%? 2%? The answer depends on factors such as geopolitics, economics, and history—too numerous to count.

Instead, people follow moral rules only as far as necessary to function within society. If they are reasonable and estimate correctly, they find a balance between supply and demand without causing harm. However, whether industries act reasonably is another question. Evidence suggests that while industries behave rationally, their interests lie in profit rather than the well-being of people.

Ethical principles like “Do no harm” often fail in reality. Meanwhile, moral customs—such as infanticide due to cultural preference for male heirs—cannot be called ethical. Such customs contradict themselves when confronted with ethical rules like “Do no harm” or “A person should have rights once fetal development allows for the experience of pain.”

Consider the effort required to define when a fetus experiences harm and the logic used to ask such a question in the first place. Difficult questions must be addressed: “What justifies preferring a son over a daughter? What makes infanticide immoral? Would others agree? Is there a moral bias in the population that supports such a practice?”

Ultimately, there are no “ought” statements with validity beyond what we create as individuals within an organic social system. When I say, “This is my property; if you take it, I’ll break your doors,” I am creating a personal rule: “If someone takes my property, I will retaliate.”

However, this does not dictate another person’s actions. They must determine for themselves: “Do I want what he has? Do I value my doors more? What are the odds I’ll be caught? He might not even follow through.” By creating a personal moral rule, I establish a situational reality that others must rationalize and use to create their own moral guidelines.

The significance of this is that only “what is” exists in our shared world, and individuals alone create “ought” statements for themselves. If administered effectively, these personal rules can influence broader social norms—especially if others perceive them as beneficial.

Though external forces may coerce or incentivize personal moral rules, individuals retain the ability to shape their own minds—given sufficient effort. However, this requires self-awareness, and some may need assistance to achieve a level moral playing field, raising further moral questions.

Thus, while reproduction ensures species survival, there is no absolute moral rule that anyone must reproduce. If no one did, humanity would go extinct, but that does not necessitate individual obligation.

Some deeply value the continuation of humanity, treating it as an extension of their own being. If a society decided to let itself go extinct, would such people be the 7% outliers? Would they attempt to reproduce regardless? These, too, are ethical questions.

We can predict what “most people” will consider moral based on prevailing social norms. If a society is healthy and growing, it fosters norms that benefit its population and establishes coercive systems—such as laws—to guide behavior. In an ideal setting, free industries would balance these interests naturally through reason. But reason is not always the driving force. This is another distinction between ethics and morality: while ethics appears more sophisticated, morality holds the virtue of survival.

Despite morality’s influence, it does not create a universal “ought” in the ethical sense. Instead, it entrenches what already exists. If history has shown us anything, it is that moral cultures must evolve to adapt to changing environments. Ethical progress is essential in a rapidly shifting, highly competitive world.

In my moral philosophy, an individual’s self-composure—formed through their personal ethical code and guided by individuation—is the source of all moral authority. Each of us inherently recognizes this “moral democracy” and navigates it with tact.

Individuation, along with what I simplify as “taste” (recognition of moral democracy), forms the foundation of moral culture—beyond the basic evolutionary constraints that shape our human experiences.

Though often unnoticed, evolutionary facts shape us in profound ways. We are beings with multiple senses and ranges of movement, capable of conducting science and advancing technology, now reaching a critical point of development.

Individuation and taste belong to the domain of the arts. The influence of art on society—and how tasteless art can contribute to a culture’s moral decline—is one of the more sublime yet crucial truths in ethical philosophy.

Material success is just one form of success. Those who explore the soul and refine ethical distinctions contribute just as much to society as those who achieve economic or familial prosperity.

But what constitutes good “taste”? Industrial societies will have different tastes than administrative ones. Do occupation and industry shape moral and artistic preferences? For example, my musical taste may seem bland and lacking historical depth, while others’ preferences reflect rich cultural attitudes.

Thus, there is no universal “ought” to taste—only what “is.” Music serves different functions for different people. Some use it for emotional regulation, others for aesthetic appreciation. No single path suits all, and artistic and moral tastes vary accordingly.

If moral philosophy is an art, what ethical framework would be ideal? Above all, we recognize harm as an injustice to another being. If we must cut down trees and someone considers the trees an extension of themselves, who are we to destroy them? If harvesting trees is necessary, should we license it? Who determines competency? When does necessary harm become excessive?

Defining harm requires setting limits: preventing discomfort before it escalates, avoiding unbearable pain, and never permitting measurable physical harm.

Look at what we have done to the world and continue to do. Who grants authority to shape society? We do—by relinquishing control of our minds to corporations, schools, and politicians. We rarely understand these systems; we merely function within them.

Good industry remains necessary, but economic forces follow their own logic. Ethical governance of these forces is beyond individual minds, bound as they are by differing moral standards.

Yet, we can still idealize. Can we reduce harm? Can we create opportunities for growth? The answer—though for most, only in small ways—is always yes. Free agents can choose to minimize harm, rewrite history through action, and, at the brink of catastrophe, create True Art.