[I do not give permission for others to use this essay in any way, shape, or form without informing me. If you would like to use parts, or refer back to parts, ask me and I will consider.]

One Cigarette –Edwin Morgan

This poem shows its readers a beautiful relationship between two lovers. The speaker’s lover is metaphorically introduced as a cigarette, while also being shown as a human, the speaker’s addiction, and the smoker of a cigarette as well (line 3). The lover is genderless, deepening the sense of a cigarette being personified as a lover and all at once, actually being the lover. The poet’s diction includes such words as “fire” and “glowed” (1, 3) which serve to accentuate a feeling of a rich flame, one that indicates the omnipresent sexuality of the poem.

The title, “One Cigarette,” is our first peek into the message this poem contains. The word “one” indicates that the speaker is not a chain smoker (or, if we take into account the metaphor of the cigarette being the speaker’s lover, then we can conclude that the speaker is probably not promiscuous and has only one lover). The feeling one gets from the title is that of intimacy in reference to one versus many, and how truly special one over many can be.

Line one begins a trend, as it contains the assonance sounds of a long “o,” demonstrated in the words “No,” and “smoke.” The trend continues in line three, with “glowed,” not to mention the words “long,” (4) “wonder” and “who” (5). This is only a small sampling of this sound, as the rest of the poem demonstrates the sound as well. The repeated long “o” sound gives the reader a sense of drifting, lazy smoke. There is no mood of hectic action in the poem, merely that of the time after a sexual experience, and the association between fire and literal sexuality.

“No smoke without you, my fire” (1) lets the reader know that without the initial existence of the “fire” (or, metaphorically, sex), there can be no aftereffects of “smoke.” This smoke embodies the satisfaction and lingering pleasure that comes once a fire is created, and in turn, that fire could not be created without fuel, the love the speaker has towards his cigarette.

When the speaker tells us how “After [his lover] left, / [his lover's] cigarette glowed on in [his] ashtray” (2, 3), one can assume that the love he felt for his lover stayed with him, once again supporting the title’s suggestion that this is not simply a one-night-stand, or somebody who means little to the speaker. The cigarette is a metaphor for the speaker’s lover’s heart, and how the lover is willing to entrust his or her heart to the speaker.

“One cigarette / in the non-smoker’s tray” (6, 7) gives us the idea that the lover is allowing the speaker to tread new ground–indeed, this lover is a new experience, much like smoking is a new experience for a non-smoker. The lover may not be someone the speaker might traditionally choose to be his lover, yet somehow he finds himself caught up with this burning, beautiful cigarette.

Line eight brings to light the word “spire” which introduces imagery of a stately steeple, perhaps a slender point of some sort. The imagery reflects onto the lover, and the readers know that the lover is beautiful, yet powerful. A conflict of images occurs in line nine, as the spire “trembles up, a sudden draught.” Although powerful, the spire is trembling, suggesting that there may be some weakness and humanity, despite how overbearing (in a good sense) the lover is to the speaker.

In line twelve, the lover is there “again, and [the speaker is] drunk on [the lover's] tobacco lips.” The key word in this line is “drunk,” and although the speaker is not literally drunk, the word has drug-like connotations, which connects one’s mind with that of cigarettes, the theme of the poem. By referring to the lover’s lips as “tobacco lips,” the speaker furthers the metaphor of the lover and a cigarette. The lips can be tobacco-like because the lover as a human was smoking beforehand, or because a cigarette that the speaker is smoking tastes of tobacco.

“Out with the light. / Let the smoke lie back in the dark” (13-14). These lines contain a great deal of assonance, with the “li” sound in “light” and “lie,” not to mention alliteration contained in the very distinct “k’s” of “smoke,” “back,” and “dark.” These stiff sounds signal a transition from warmth and light, to darkness and rest, leading into the next few lines, which describe the speaker’s gradual rest after a long night of love, or the period in which he is simply finishing his cigarette.

When the “ash / sigh[s] down among the flowers of brass” (15, 16), we can find more personification. A cigarette does not “sigh,” but a human does. The image of “flowers of brass” is harsh, again going along with the alliteration of “k’s” we found earlier. Those special flowers are the bedposts of the speaker’s brass bed frame, and both the speaker and the remnants of the lover are settling down to rest on the bed, whatever part of it.

“I’ll breathe, and long past midnight, your last kiss” (17). The caesuras in the line suggest the pace of the speaker’s breathing. Almost no other lines in the poem contain breaks, and so we can perceive that the speaker’s breath is now falling into the steady rhythm of sleep, as the poem draws to a close and the feelings of excitement and power gained from the lover’s presence fade away. The “kiss” at the end of the line is a double entendre, meaning either the touch of the speaker’s lips on his cigarette as he takes his last draw, or the literal goodbye kiss from his lover.

Repetition of the word “cigarette,” in the title as well as in lines three and six gives the reader a heightened awareness of the theme of the poem. The ever-present connection between a cigarette and the speaker’s lover melds the idea of love being an addiction, but not altogether an entirely unhealthy one.

As this is a free-form poem, showing little to no rhyme scheme, except in the cases of occasional slant rhyme such as with the words “face” and “taste” (10, 11), the feeling of wild and careless love emerges. Coupled with the fiery diction used by the poet, there can be no question that this is a scene taken from the most intimate experience.

[I do not give permission for others to use this essay in any way, shape, or form without informing me. If you would like to use parts, or refer back to parts, ask me and I will consider.]

Throughout the novel, we are often led to question the gender roles into which the men of Howards End are forced. As the novel is highly feminist, due to the ideas, words, and actions of both the Schlegel sisters, it is merely inevitable that the concept of masculinity should be in the novel as well, for its existence only supplements the feminist themes. However, the pervasiveness of masculinity is multifaceted. We are made aware of Henry’s powerful masculinity, but also of Leonard’s meeker acceptance of manhood not as something taken for granted but as a privilege, a thing to be desired. Coupled with Tibby’s queerness, the range of masculinity portrayed in the novel breaks the mold of stereotype.

In this time period, being a man means acting in such a way as to imitate a Wilcox man. This involves essentially running England (albeit perhaps to a lesser degree than the Wilcoxes) while still maintaining one’s gentility. “If Wilcoxes hadn’t worked and died in England . . . There would be no trains, no ships . . . no fields even. Just savagery” (149). It takes masculinity to essentially run the country, and the Wilcox men have this. They are the ones who have built up society and as such, they are the ideal men to follow in example.

A man is allowed to participate in general society much more than a woman–in fact, often he can do whatever he wishes (within basic means) and end up in less trouble than a woman. This is shown clearly when Henry Wilcox is thought just a little bit lesser of when his affair with Jacky is found out, compared to the societal shun that the Schlegels expect once they discover Helen is having a child.

Being a man ideally does not mean succumbing to temptation, although Henry, Charles, Leonard, and Paul all succumb to this temptation. Henry succumbs through having an affair with Jacky, and Margaret realizes that “men must be different, even to want to yield to such a temptation” (205). Paul gives in to temptation at Howards End when he kisses Helen, caught up in a false love. Leonard gives in to temptation several times, first when he loses his virginity to Jacky (although he tries to repent and take responsibility for his actions by marrying her later on) and secondly when he indulges in a one-time love affair with Helen. Charles is perhaps the only one of the men who commits a grave deed that is not sexual; he lets his anger overcome him and frightens Leonard to death by attacking him with the flat side of a sword.

All of these acts shame each of the respective characters because they all feel the need to live up to a manly ideal, and yet, they have each failed, even the Wilcoxes who are assumed to embody the stereotype of man.

But what of the character’s masculinity in terms of the individual? Henry Wilcox, Leonard Bast, and Tibby Schegel all differ regarding their realization of their manliness (or lack thereof) and how they act depending on what their interpretation of how they should act is.

Henry is thoroughly dedicated to his idea of masculinity as that which ultimately wins out, so to speak. Before the readers even meet him, Helen remarks in her letters to Margaret and Aunt Juley that Mr. Wilcox does such things as engage in the act of “bullying porters” (3) and says “horrid things about women’s suffrage” (5). It is clear that Henry draws a distinct line between how men should act and how women should act. He is confident in his masculinity and will hardly admit otherwise.

But Henry is not so much stubborn as simply unable to see that he can be another way; it is in his nature to be strong and to carry masculine traits. Henry “[can] not bear to be understood” (205). He cannot identify with similar situations in the lives of females–he draws no connections between the two. Although he expects to be forgiven for his affair with Jacky, he cannot accept nor forgive Helen when she is with child. “He simply [does] not notice things” (159).

After Margaret discovers the facts of Henry’s past affair with Jacky, Henry weakens a little. He opens up and speaks his feelings, tells how he “ha[s] been through hell” (210), but tries to transform these weak feelings into something that still upholds his vision of himself as an upright, manly male. After gaining Margaret’s forgiveness, “the old Henry . . . competent, cynical, and kind” (211) once again emerges. A simple chink in the armor does not faze Henry for long, as steadfast as he is in his masculinity.

The moment comes when Henry, the character considered so unbreakable, finally breaks. The trigger is the incarceration of his beloved son, Charles. Once Charles is put in prison, Henry realizes that even masculinity, which he holds in such high regard, can be suppressed in a moment. Charles is deprived of his physical freedom, his freedom of speech, his ability to mold society around him, and every part of his life is supervised, minute to minute. He is controlled and not in control. This defies everything Henry believes in concerning the male role, and ultimately is what defeats him, molds him into a nearly different person.

Leonard’s gender role is tied up in social class. He is forced to act less ideally manly because his lack of money restricts what he can do. He cannot escape from perceived “weaker” masculinity, as he cannot “invoke railways and motorcars to part [himself]” (52) from difficulties. He simply does not have the means to change the world–he cannot even keep up on how the world is changing at times, because he is not able to afford the newest books or materials that are available, those being too expensive. He reaches for these standards but cannot quite make it. Masculinity of that sort is a prize coveted by those who can afford it, and Leonard knows he is not one of those people although he strives to be.

In terms of pre-marital obligations, Leonard is not quite so masculine, as he feels a moral obligation to marry Jacky although he probably does not love her. If one thinks of the role of the man as being exempt from certain obligations, Leonard breaks this role. He marries Jacky because he had sex with her, while Henry has nothing to do with Jacky after his affair. She is a prostitute and that is her role; he is a married man and that is his role. The two, in Henry’s eyes, need not be changed. Leonard does change those roles, and acts out of character by doing so.

Tibby simply does not care about fitting into gender roles whatsoever. Indeed, it is doubtful whether he is even aware that society wishes him to belong on the less effeminate side of the gender division line. Tibby has not been raised in a household of men, contrary to the Wilcox family. All he knows are the actions and attitudes of his sisters and his aunt, as he has few friends, and “ma[kes] no friends” (90) at Oxford. His effeminate ways are certainly partially derived from these circumstances because Tibby has not “learned” to act like a man, not being exposed to them often. He is “sensitive to beauty” (90), so contrary to the Wilcox men (who can hardly stand Howards End when they are there) and so alike to his sisters.

Although Tibby is considerably closer to femininity than the other males in the novel, he is still objectively a male. When he walks into a room that contains his sisters, the two cease to talk because “the barrier of sex . . . is still high, and higher on the side of women” (55). Tibby is man enough to keep the sex barrier intact, suggesting that perhaps the attitude of man means nothing, rather, men simply are what they are, unchangeable beings.

Both Tibby and a few of the Wilcox men contract hay fever, but while Tibby makes his sickness widely known and even forces one of his sisters to give up a trip in order to “hear [him] sneeze” (3), the Wilcoxes are entirely opposite. When Charles gets hay fever, he “gets quite cross when [Helen] inquires after it” (3). The Wilcoxes are so stagnant in their roles of manliness that they are reluctant to even admit that they could be weak enough to contract an illness. In their eyes, weakness is a characteristic of the female, and certainly not the male.

Masculinity is not limited simply to one model in Howards End, that of the Wilcox men, but it is in fact malleable. Although it is not always beneficial (especially in Leonard’s case) to not fit the stereotype, the fact remains that one can still be a man, per se, without having to live up to the stereotype. Indeed, the eccentricity of Forster’s characters allow for the stereotypical male to seem ridiculous and out of place. The novel’s true heroes are those who do not conform (or are not able to conform) and thus break out of their stifling gender roles.

[I do not give permission for others to use this essay in any way, shape, or form without informing me. If you would like to use parts, or refer back to parts, ask me and I will consider.]

Although not introduced until the final scenes, we as readers are aware of the importance of Jim long before he physically appears. Tom indicates Jim’s importance even during his very first monologue, insisting that “[Jim] is the long delayed but always expected something that we live for” (1155). Along with being “the most realistic character in the play” (1155), Jim stands for the something that Tom’s family is missing–reality and ordinariness. Jim has aspirations as well as a desire to regain his former status in a sense. But what makes him so different from the Wingfield family when it comes to achieving this former status, is that he does so in a normal, non-conniving way, fully embodying the idea of the American Dream. The American Dream, which allows every American to accomplish previously unthought-of goals simply through hard work and dedication. Jim is able to go out and improve his life normally, while Tom, Laura, and Amanda depend on him to fulfill their longings. Each fully expects Jim to be the solution.

Jim appears to be aware of his past high school popularity and his steady decline from that popularity. He “hoped when [he] was going to high school that [he] would be further along at [the time of the play setting]“ (1192). One would naturally assume that Jim would feel sore about this, but instead he takes measures to deal with this issue, such as “taking up public speaking” (1194) and “taking a course in radio engineering” (1195). He even claims that he is “disappointed but . . . not discouraged” (1193). On the other hand, Tom, Laura, and Amanda are knowledgeable of their respective falls of glory or dissatisfaction, but go about resolving these problems in different, often harsher ways.

In fact, the family’s lack of ordinariness is what makes their struggles to resolve their issues that much more difficult. In a roundabout way, Jim’s introduction is fiercely needed to help Tom, Laura, and Amanda find their solutions, whether or not those solutions are actually found.

For instance, when Jim departs the house after his visit, Tom and Amanda engage in a violent polemic of sorts set off by Jim’s announcement of his engagement. This fight motivates Tom to finally leave the house for good, to “go to the moon” (1202). Beforehand, Tom is stuck in a catch 22; he wants to leave, but loves his sister too much to leave at the same time. Laura also depends on Tom, as she is extremely fragile and hardly able to survive easily on her own. Tom had still held out a fraction of hope before Jim revealed news of his engagement that he would indeed court Laura, leaving Tom with an opportunity to escape without feeling guilt over abandoning his delicate sister. As it happens, Tom does escape responsibility because of Jim, although it is not Jim himself who stimulates Tom into leaving, it is the consequences of Jim’s visit that night that allow Tom to finally free himself.

Amanda views Jim as her way out as well, but in a different sense. She mourns the loss of her girlhood and all the amenities that went along with it, such as “receiv[ing] –seventeen!–gentlemen callers” (1156) at times and the assurance of wealth. Her two children are now her only assets, and Amanda knows that one must put assets at risk to gain more in the long run. She uses Tom for his money-making competence, but this simply isn’t enough. She knows that in order to gain back even a tiny portion of her former glory, she must do so through marrying Laura off, and is extremely pleased when Jim appears as a potential suitor. Were he to marry Laura, Amanda thinks, then there is a chance that she may regain her gentility. But unlike Tom, Amanda does not find Jim useful for solving her problems, and in fact his appearance leads to the accumulation of more problems when Tom leaves.

Laura uses Jim as well, but does not realize she is doing so. She idolized Jim in her high school years, the only boy she ever liked (1161). Without being aware of doing so, Laura attaches herself to Jim during their long conversation after dinner. When Jim starts giving Laura advice, she is slightly put off, but delighted that he must care about her. Laura sees this as an opportunity to indulge herself in the experience of talking to this man she was always too afraid to talk to when he was a boy. In a sense, she is using Jim to a far lesser degree than either Tom or Amanda do, but Laura is a quiet person and this is a quiet step for her.

Laura’s problem is that she is so shy that she is barely able to speak aloud to others without some considerable effort. Her beginning solution to this problem is to let Jim sweep her up, to deny hurt when her glass unicorn breaks, and to fall in love, something she has never done before. She also gets validation from Jim that she is not freakish and that he never “heard any clumping” (1191) in reference to her leg brace, an issue that always bothered her. However, Laura’s solution to her problem also crashes and burns once Jim announces his engagement, thus making any improvement achieved thus far invalid.

On the other hand, Jim knows he will probably achieve his goals, which are not particularly lofty in the first place. He is content to fall in love, start a family, live in a house with a white picket fence, and hold a good job. It’s easy to be confident in regards to these things, for Jim has “social poise” (1184) which has “done a helluva lot for [him]” (1183). Coupled with his tendency towards normality, Jim is the utter opposite of the Wingfield family. He tends to talk about chewing gum and innovation, while only occasionally reverting to the past (and only then because high school was all he and Laura had in common). He speaks of what is and what is certain to be, while the Wingfields obsess over what was and what they desperately wish could be. The evening spent with Amanda, Tom, and Laura is inconsequential to Jim; in fact, he will probably hardly remember that night in the future. At the very least, it is guaranteed to make not a single dent in his life at all, while the Wingfield’s lives were changed drastically in the space of a few hours because of Jim.

By throwing down the facts of his engagement, Jim truly makes “the sky fall” (1201) for the Wingfields. Every plan that had come to fruition that night was dashed against the earth, except perhaps for Tom’s plan, although it indeed did not turn out as well as expected. But without Jim, each character would have most likely never proceeded as far in their strategies as they did. Jim plays a crucial part in their lives, for the circumstances surrounding his visit caused a huge change. Although we as readers cannot fully determine the outcome for Laura and Amanda after Jim’s visit and Tom’s abandonment, one can infer that with the lack of steady income, and Laura’s distraught emotions, the two women are thrust into poverty, and it is easy to assume that there is no happy ending.

The family’s search for normality brought them to a desperate end, but at the heart of this search is Jim. Jim is the turning point, the crux, the climax, the whole reason for much of the tension found in the drama. Being mentioned by Tom so early in the play, we as readers sit on the edge of our seats waiting for him to appear, as do the rest of the Wingfields, on a desperate search for solutions.

Works Cited

Kirszner, Laurie, and Mendell, Stephen, eds. Portable Literature: Reading Reacting Writing. Boston: Thomson Wadsworth, 2007.

[I do not give permission for others to use this essay in any way, shape, or form without informing me. If you would like to use parts, or refer back to parts, ask me and I will consider.]

In California six years ago, a prison inmate serving fourteen years received a heart transplant for a viral heart condition, amongst much debate (“Prisoner”). Prisoners are citizens who have committed what is deemed by society as a wrong, and thus experience the revoking of certain freedoms and privileges. Should a prisoner be denied health care as well? What about the more specific case regarding an organ transplant? What are the ethical implications of allowing or denying inmates medical care of any sort? I shall look at the situation with the guidelines of the consequentialist theory of utilitarianism, thinking about both the Act-utilitarianism and Rule-utilitarianism sides and using both to further the assertion that denying most prisoners organ transplants would be in the best interests of our society.

Utilitarianism can be defined as a view which insists that “an act is morally right if and only if that act causes the greatest happiness for the greatest number” (Sinnot-Armstrong). When considering whether a choice is morally feasible or not, one must look at the consequences of the decision. Using a general statement, if the decision hurts more people than it helps, it is often considered morally wrong. On the other hand, if the decision helps and makes happy more people than it may hurt, the decision is morally the correct one to make. Utilitarianism, at its roots, is designed to procure more happiness than sadness for the greatest amount of people. There are two factions of Utilitarianism, the more traditional being Act-utilitarianism and the other being Rule-utilitarianism, a newer view. Act-utilitarianism is similar to the definition of utilitarianism as a whole; that one must, through choice, bring about the best results for all involved (“Utilitarianism”). Rule-utilitarianism, on the other hand, is the act of adopting a set of rules that are optimal to happiness and judging an act to be right or wrong based on these rules (Rachels 111).

When the case study is regarded in terms of Act-utilitarianism, one must consider the benefits and consequences of the act of the transplant. If the prisoner receives the transplant, a non-prisoner must wait longer for one, perhaps experiencing death during the wait. If the non-imprisoned citizen receives the transplant, the inmate may never receive a transplant in favor of other non-imprisoned people, and thus may die of a heart condition. Which end furthers the greatest good?

I will begin by analyzing different prisoner situations, starting with the example of a transplant being given to someone on death row. Assuming that every person who is involved in the case has equal standing, interest-wise (that is, no one person’s interests count for any less than another), Act-utilitarianism, acting at its very barest, would say that the prisoner should not get the transplant. It would be in more people’s best interests to have the heart go to another, non-imprisoned person, someone who would have more of an opportunity to accomplish something useful for society, while if the heart was given to the death row inmate, he is hardly likely to accomplish anything useful at all. In fact, his death is guaranteed in a matter of time, which gives him limited time to accomplish what little is possible inside of a cell. Thus, there is potential for happiness in all the friends and family of the free citizen, not to mention the others he or she could touch by exercising this freedom, in comparison to the small amount of happiness a prisoner could bring, probably only to his cellmates, or the few members of his family left supporting him after his incarceration, and only for a limited time. To give the heart to the inmate would be a waste of a good and very limited resource.

If the prisoner is only sentenced for a few years and is guaranteed to leave prison at some point, such as the inmate described above who received a heart transplant, Act-utilitarianism still insists that the organ would be put to better use on a non-inmate. Again, an inmate has reduced potential to cause happiness to many. Even when he leaves prison, he may be ostracized by others because of his imprisonment, denied jobs that guarantee status advancement, and could possibly end up back in jail, where he will again be considered next to useless because of his limited freedom and privileges.

American taxpayers also have the advantage over the prisoner in question. The estimated total cost to the taxpayers for the California inmates’ heart transplant was about one million dollars. Not only does this prisoner fail to contribute to society once he has this transplant, but he is taking money out of the taxpayer’s pockets as he does so, something that is certain not to make these taxpayers happy. One person’s happiness versus thousands? The equation is easy to solve.

Let us now progress to Rule-utilitarianism. “30 years ago, the U.S. Supreme Court ruled that prisoners were entitled to receive adequate medical care, effectively creating prisoner’s rights to health care” (Kahn 365). If we follow the basis of Rule-utilitarianism, a society would be better off with this rule than without. In this sense, the prisoner has every right to gain access to transplants, defined as “adequate medical care” and should not be denied one. However, a weakness of this argument lies in the fact that not all Americans are guaranteed medical care. In fact, many who are not prisoners are denied access to the transplant wait list. This is in direct defiance with the Rule-utilitarianism idea that all people should be created equally, another rule that society runs better with than without. Which rule should take precedence over the other? That all Americans should receive adequate and equal medical care, or that only prisoners should be guaranteed health care? Hopefully most would agree that the former is more feasible. But, this in turn validates the reason that prisoners should perhaps be able to have organ transplants, because they are equal. Quite a circular argument is created.

We must consider though, the role of prisoners. They have forsaken their privileges as members of normal society because they have not adhered to society’s rules, which in many ways, are similar or equal to those considered morally right by Rule-utilitarianism. Are they not now exempt from the rules promoted by society and Rule-utilitarianism? It is in our best interests to keep prisoners (excluding those who are in jail for a very short period of time) from receiving transplants, for that reason.

Naturally, Utilitarianism is not the end-all of moral stances, and should not ultimately decide whether or not prisoners should be able to have organ transplants. But from a purely consequentialist view, the idea is abhorrent in a sense. As I have outlined, the benefits of not allowing inmates transplants outweigh the benefits of actually doing so, and there I must remain.

Works Cited

Kahn, Jeffrey. “The Ethics of Organ Transplantation for Prisoners.” Seminars in Dialysis. 16.5 2003: 365-68.

“Prisoner Gets $1M Heart Transplant.” CBS News 31 Jan. 2002. .

Rachels, James and Stuart. The Elements of Moral Philosophy. New York: McGraw Hill, 2007.

Sinnot-Armstrong, W. “Consequentialism.” Stanford Encyclopedia of Philosophy. 2006. 7 May 2008. .

“Utilitarian Theories.” Online Guide to Ethics and Moral Philosophy. 2002. 7 May 2008. .

[I do not give permission for others to use this essay in any way, shape, or form without informing me. If you would like to use parts, or refer back to parts, ask me and I will consider.]

Ethical absolutism and ethical relativism are two philosophical concepts which deal with interpreting moral actions and the ideas behind how we can decide what is morally “good” or “bad.” There is no definite answer, but that certainly does not mean that neither are right–to explore each concept is indeed one of the main goals of philosophers and truly the only way we can satisfy ourselves as humans. However, in this essay I will focus mainly on the failings of absolutism in comparison to relativism.

Absolutism can be described as a view held by those who call themselves “absolutists” in which it is believed that there are certain morals which can be considered “right,” despite any contradicting argument. In a sense, these moral rules are “binding on us absolutely . . . [and] allow for no exceptions” (Driver 143). This means that specific moral rules, either spiritually based or otherwise, must be followed, always, with no room to deviate.

For example, if one says that it is wrong to lie, no matter what, then one cannot lie, ever, no matter the situation. If a person commonly accepted as a “good” person’s life were in danger and telling a lie was the only way to save that person’s life, even then it would be morally wrong to tell a lie, according to the definition of absolutism. Absolutism leaves no leeway and no objective views, but only one answer for all situations within the sphere of an absolute rule’s influence.

On the other hand, it is possible that we may view absolutism in a positive light. Can we truly say that certain incidences of rape are justified? Most would say no, that rape is morally unacceptable in any situation whatsoever and therefore wrong. In this case, absolutism makes our judgment much easier and does not allow for any individual to try and justify rape. As one can see, there is no way to deem an absolutist’s view as correct or not, it merely stands as it is, but can be contradicted by differing views, such as relativism.

Ethical relativism is in a sense, the opposite of absolutism. It maintains that there are no absolutes in ethics, and that every situation can be looked at objectively. There are no rules that say something is always “right” or always “wrong.” Relativism also contains a component called cultural relativism which looks at the fact that there are differences between cultures, and that there “is more than one way of living a decent ethical life” (Tasioulas 172).

An example would be that of abortion. An absolutist may say that abortion is always wrong, no questions asked. But a relativist can accept that abortion may be wrong in some cases, as when the mother has no excuse other than her own dislike of children to abort the baby. However, there could be cases deemed morally right, as when a young woman is raped and becomes pregnant. Many relativists might say that it is okay, in this instance, to abort the fetus at an early stage due to circumstances.

The strengths of relativism can be most clearly shown through the weaknesses of absolutism. Because where absolutism fails, relativism shines through.

One of the main failings of absolutism lies in the idea that if two absolute moral rules clash, one of the “absolute” rules must not be absolute. If there are only two options in a situation, and both involve absolute moral rules, it is improbable to assume that the individual could choose both ways; he or she can only choose one. If that individual is an absolutist, he or she would be forced to “break” an absolute rule, therefore breaking absolutism down, as there would be a moral exception to an absolute rule (Rachels 127).

Any moral exception to absolutism shows the validity of relativism, as it allows for exceptions, and in this way, does not create any major ethical dilemma. Instead of viewing two issues in black and white, one can analyze the facts contained in each issue and decide which one is more morally acceptable, instead of having to desperately choose between two absolute statements.

C.A.J. Coady states that “it may be that there are some moral prohibitions that are absolute, but it is important to note that the most plausible version of this outlook holds that there are very few of them” (131). This states that some rules that say such things as “one must not kill innocents” can be absolute, while those along the lines of “one must never lie” are open to debate and are often viewed in a relativistic way.

Absolutism also leaves little room for definition. If we wish to use metaethics in our evaluation of a philosophical problem, we must entirely define the parts which make up an absolutist statement. If we say “do not kill an innocent person,” we must define what a person is before we can make these instant judgments (Driver 145-146). Relativism allows for these definitions–indeed, it promotes such clarity. Without being able to decide what something really means, it is therefore much harder to make an accurate judgment regarding something that is undefined. A definition can go a long way towards making a commonly accepted “correct” decision in the end.

In defense of absolutism, we can affirm that it gives humans a standard off which to base our morals. Without that standard, there is no saying whether we can ever ultimately decide whether anything is right or wrong. Indeed, without some basis of absolutism, everyone would have a reason for any moral decision they made, right or wrong, and it would be impossible to deem that decision morally unacceptable if need be. Genocide and other horrors could be carried out on the basis that they are “right” according to moral relativism.

I tend to agree more with a ethical relativists point of view than an absolutists. For one, I am not religious, and while one does not necessarily need to be religious to be an absolutist, religion certainly follows an absolutist set of moral values.

The divine command theory states that God (or the god(s) of any religion) is all-powerful and essentially incapable of making mistakes. Since God issued the rules by which mankind should follow, they must be perfect since God is perfect and cannot make any mistakes. Therefore, one must follow all of God’s rules without any exceptions. This theory completely utilizes the ideas of absolutism and leaves no room for exceptions, even if very good reasons may justify these exceptions. I cannot blindly follow rules laid down by a God whom I do not believe exists, and for that reason, I follow the idea of relativism for the most part, upon a desire to be able to make choices of my own regarding ethics.

For that reason, and those which I have outlined above in my defense of relativism, I am positive that a relativist point of view is better for me than an absolutist view. It has been beneficial to analyze absolutism, and it has only furthered my liking for relativism. That, I feel, is extraordinarily important in a philosophical way.

Works Cited

Coady, C.A.J. “The Moral Reality in Realism.” Journal of Applied Philosophy 22 (2005): 121-136

Driver, Julia. “Moralism.” Journal of Applied Philosophy 22 (2005): 137-151.

Rachels, James and Stuart. The Elements of Moral Philosophy. New York: McGraw Hill, 2007.

Tasioulas, John. “Consequences of Ethical Relativism.” European Journal of Philosophy 6 (1998): 172-203.

Even though I usually get over fifty profile views a day, I get one comment every three months.

Odd.

If you’re not willing to comment, go check out my other, newly created blog:
HURR

[from Nov 2007]

I went this morning (at 9:00…on a Friday…ewwww) to go get the second vaccination out of the three-vaccination anti-HPV/cervical cancer thingy, and I wasn’t so worried about it. The first installation barely hurt at all, I just slightly felt the needle a bit.

So I walk into the room, the doctor gets the shot ready, we chat a little, you know, the awkward fill-the-silence chat that goes on when you don’t know someone and there’s like a thirty year age difference, and then she starts administering the shot.

PAIN! SHOOTING, SHARP, INTENSE, PAIN!

I sat there whimpering the whole time because it hurt so bad–worse than any shot I’ve ever gotten in my life–and the doctor was going “I know it hurts…it’s okay, it’ll just be a few more seconds” and finally…it was over…I had to rub it afterwards, which REALLY HURT SOME MORE but at least it stopped stinging so bad.

Then I nearly passed out and my stomach started hurting really bad, like I was going to throw up, and the doctor’s standing there going…wtf…haha I am not kidding, I almost blacked out after the shot…I don’t think it was the needle, because I usually don’t have problems with needles as long as I can’t see them going into my body, and I didn’t watch that one. I just had some sort of sudden severe reaction. Odd.

Anyway, I had to lie down for ten minutes and the doctor is running around, putting wet towels on my face and the back of my neck, etc. She was sooo sweet about it, treated me like I was her kid. I like nice people that take care of me randomly.

So that was my big adventure for the day. The end.

[from Oct 2007]

To-day was nice.

1. Woke up, got a phone call RIGHT AFTER–grogginess…

2. Got ready, went down for breakfast, went back up to my room to eat in solitude.

3. MySpaced it, got bored, watched tv, got bored, went back to myspace, got bored again got frustrated, walked back downstairs, turned around, walked back upstairs to get my stuff.

4. Wandered towards downtown Ashland, changed my mind halfway there, turned around and came back to campus, went to the art museum, got befuddled by the modern art there, walked back out.

5. Walked back to my dorm room, checked myspace, walked back downstairs, decided to skip class, sat on the lawn and called my mom, walked to another sunny area, sat there, got my jeans dirty, walked back up to my room to scrub the dirt out, walked back downstairs, realized there was nothing to do because everyone was in class.

6. Did homework for two hours.

7. Went to class–boring. After class, walked directly to Market of Choice, bought DANISHES and MILK and ICED TEA, carried the twenty pound bag back up to my room, wishing I hadn’t asked for paper, unpacked.

8. Went to the bathroom.

9. Took out my trash.

10. ATE DANISHES

11. Woke Melissa up, went with her and David to eat hamburgers at a sports bar downtown, ate candy apples, whooped it up at the plaza!

12. Watched Degrassi with Melissa, went to the weight room and lost 50 calories before getting bored.

13. Talllked forever woohoo.

14. Went up to my room, BORED OMG

15. Randomly went over to Cedar and hung out with random person I only knew on Facebook. Decided I didn’t like his taste in television but decided to stay anyway for lack of anything better to do.

16. Walked back here got on facebook, myspace, poked people. Bam. Day DONE!

I applaud you if you bothered to read that.

[from Oct 2007]

So many people smoke here on campus, and I’m around the smell of cigarettes all day, it even drifts up through my window, I guess people sit underneath it somewhere and smoke, I don’t know. But anyway, I was walking back to my dorm this morning after class and I thought “God, I really could use a smoke about now.”

Then I was like…wtf…I don’t smoke!

So I think I am now addicted by osmosis. :p

Haha but in all seriousness, do not fear, I won’t start smoking.

[from Oct 2007]

They seem to have an odd effect on me. I just drank an entire one (16 oz) and I feel like I’m tipsy, like I just drank a large glass of wine.

I’m guessing that’s probably not normal sooo….no more energy drinks pour moi. Nuh-uh.

By the way, in one of my classes I have to write a paper on
STAR TREK OMG LOL ROTFLMAO-SNAZZLE!