On Moralism

Author(s): ROBERT K. FULLINWIDER

Source: Journal of Applied Philosophy , 2005, Vol. 22, No. 2, SPECIAL ISSUE: MORALISM
(2005), pp. 105-120
Published by: Wiley

Stable URL: https://www.jstor.org/stable/24354874

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Journal of Applied Philosophy, Vol. 22, No. 2, 2005

On Moralism

ROBERT K. FULLINWIDER

ABSTRACT The term 'moralism' is often used to pick out a set of vices
hypocrisy, officiousness, arrogance, presumption, and sanctimony. I relate
of standing and office and the roles they play in proper moral judgment.
I suggest, lie broad moral injunctions to think generously of our fellows and
These injunctions are manifested in both serious discourse and popula
explore the possibility that the distinction I urge between moralism (the cou
(the genuine) can't ultimately be sustained, and conclude that the disti

1. Introduction

Oh, moralists, who treat of happiness and self-respect, innate in every sphere
and shedding light on every grain of dust in God's highway, so smooth belo
carriage wheels. . . . Charles Dickens [1]

Wagner: ... It does seem so sublime,

Entering into the spirit of the times
To see what wise men, who lived long ago, believed,
Till we at last have all the highest aims achieved.
Faust: Up to the stars — achieved, indeed!
My friend, the times that antecede
Our own are books safely protected
By seven seals. What spirit of the time you call,
Is but the scholar's spirit, after all,
In which times past are now reflected.
In truth, it often is pathetic,
And when one sees it, one would run away:
A garbage pail, perhaps a storage attic,
At best a pompous, moralistic play
With wonderfully edifying quips,
Most suitable to come from puppets' lips. J. W. Goethe [2]

When a recent participant in an Internet discussion group described the objects of his
ire — a bunch of preachers — as "brain-dead moralistic morons," he did not mean
'moralistic' to diminish the force of 'moron' but to augment it [3]. His employment of
'moralistic' to disparage is a common tactic [4], but one by no means limited to our
times. In 1660, John Nashe, the Elizabethan playwright, utilizing the Prologue of his
comedy, "Summers Last Will and Testament," to shape his audience's response,

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106 Robert K. Fullinwider

warned away a particular segment: "Moralizers, you that wrest a never meant m
out of every thing, applying all things to the present, keepe your attention fo
common Stage: for here are no quips in Character for you to read" [5]. The mo
then and now, is not esteemed for his manner of "reading" character, nor for his
reasonableness and open-mindedness.
Yet alongside the pejorative application of 'moralist' and its cognate terms persists a
more innocent, even honorific, use. A moralist is one who teaches morality or gives
counsel on moral matters [6]. A moralizing account or explanation is one framed in
moral terms [7].
The teacher, counsellor, and explainer of moral matters may occupy a special "office,"
charged to pronounce on the moral dimensions of public and private life. At least in
an earlier time the presiding bishop, college warden, civic leader, and distinguished
journalist were expected to "treat of happiness and self-respect, innate in every sphere
of life," as those values applied to individual cases or to the body politic [8].
But the office of moralist, as legitimate as it might be, easily lends itself to certain
failings, as Charles Dickens so sharply observed. The purview of the moralist can
extend to "every grain of dust" — indiscriminately putting every item of our behaviour
under the moral magnifying glass, no matter how inconsequential or trivial — while at
the same time finding "so smooth" and easy the path to conclusive judgment.
Furthermore, the moralist may become swollen up with self-importance. In the
words of Faust, the moralist can be pompous and fond of edifying quips fit for a
puppet's lips — combining, in other words, self-inflation with a rote and mechanical
application of moral principles [9],
It is not surprising, then, that the term 'moralist' stands for both the judge of moral
concerns and the special failings attaching to such judges.
While the passages from Dickens and Goethe explicitly identify several vices,
they implicitly point to more. People pretend to the office of moralist through self
appointment. They take it upon themselves to criticize the foibles and failings of their
colleagues, neighbours, civil servants, rival sectarians, and the like. We call such people
busybodies and meddlers. They stick their noses in where they don't belong. Second, and
relatedly, persons imbued with a passion for judging others seem always to arrive at
negative, not positive, assessments. They find others wanting in the moral rectitude
that they, themselves, possess (in their own eyes) [10]. This tacit moral ranking
on their part invites from us the retort that they are sanctimonious, holier-than-thou prigs
(a more stilted way of calling them brain-dead moralistic morons) [11].
The pejorative use of 'moralist,' then, all-in-all picks out a rather unattractive
figure.

2. A Portrait

The most sublime portrait we have of this unattractive figure is the one
Dickens of Seth Pecksniff, the central character in Martin Chuzzlewit.

It has been remarked that Mr. Pecksniff was a moral man. So he was. Perha
there never was a more moral man than Mr. Pecksniff: especially in his
conversations and correspondence. ... He was a most exemplary man: fu

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 On Moralism 107

of virtuous precept than a copybook. Some people likened him to a

post, which is always telling the way to a place, and never goes there:
but these were his enemies; the shadows cast by his brightness; that was all.
His very throat was moral. You saw a good deal of it. You looked over a very
low fence of white cravat. . . and there it lay, a valley between two jutting
heights of collar, serene and whiskerless before you. It seemed to say, on the
part of Mr. Pecksniff, "There is no deception, ladies and gentlemen, all is
peace, a holy calm pervades me." So did his hair. ... So did his person. ... So
did his manner. ... In a word, even his plain black suit, and state as a widower,
and dangling double eyeglasses, all tended to the same purpose, and cried
aloud, "Behold the moral Pecksniff" [12]!

The moral Pecksniff skillfully — almost instinctively — turned every occasion into a
testimony to his own moral gravity. For example, inquiring after an ailing man, Pecksniff
repeats back the nurse's report that the patient is better.

[T]hough the statement was Mrs. Lupin's and not Mr. Pecksniff's, Mr.
Pecksniff made it his own and consoled her with it. It was not much
when Mrs. Lupin said it, but it was a whole book when Mr. Pecksniff said it.
"I observe," he seemed to say, "and through me, morality itself in general
remarks, that he is better and quite tranquil" [13].

Pecksniff, as a father, holds an "office," of course, one that entitles him freely to
pense moral instruction to his two daughters; but the reach of his moral opinions
moral posturing extends far beyond his family circle to encompass a range of assoc
and acquaintances. One occasion is illustrative. While temporarily residing at M
Todger's establishment in London, Pecksniff witnesses this fine lady playing up to
pride of one of her complaining boarders to mollify his anger and alter his n
of quitting her lodgings. While Pecksniff's daughters are amused at Mrs. Todge
tergiversations, Pecksniff himself becomes stern and angry.

"Pray, Mrs. Todgers, if I may enquire, what does that young gentleman
contribute towards the support of these premises?"
Why, sir, for what he has, he pays about eighteen shillings a week!" said
Mrs. Todgers.
"Eighteen shillings a week!" repeated Pecksniff. ..
Pecksniff rose from his chair, folded his arms, looked at her, and shook his
head.

"And do you mean to say, ma'am, is it possible Mrs. Todgers, that for
such a miserable consideration of eighteen shillings a week, a female of your
understanding can so far demean herself as to wear a double face, even for an
instant?"

"I am forced to keep things on the square if I can, sir," faltered Mrs.
Todgers. . . . "The profit is very small."
"The profit!" cried that gentleman, laying great stress upon the word. "The
profit, Mrs. Todgers! You amaze me!"
He was so severe, that Mrs. Todgers shed tears.
"The profit!" repeated Mr. Pecksniff. "The profit of dissimulation! To
worship the golden calf of Baal, for eighteen shillings a week!"

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108 Robert K. Fullinwider

"Don't in your own goodness be too hard upon me, Mr. Pecksniff," c
Mrs. Todgers, taking out her handkerchief.
"Oh Calf, Calf!" cried Mr. Pecksniff mournfully. "Oh Baal, Baal! Oh
friend, Mrs. Todgers! To barter away that precious jewel, self-esteem,
cringe to any mortal creature — for eighteen shillings a week!"
He was so subdued and overcome by the reflection, that he immediately
took down his hat from its peg in the passage, and went out for a walk, to
compose his feelings. Anybody passing him in the streets might have known
him for a good man at first sight; for his whole figure teemed with a con
sciousness of the moral homily he had read to Mrs. Todgers.
Eighteen shillings a week! Just, most just, thy censure, upright Pecksniff!
Had it been for the sake of a ribbon, star, or garter, sleeves of lawn, a great
man's smile, a seat in parliament, a tap upon the shoulder from a courtly
sword; a place, a party, or a thriving lie, or eighteen thousand pounds, or even
eighteen hundred; — but to worship the golden calf for eighteen shillings
a week! Oh pitiful, pitiful [14],

Pecksniff's severity against Mrs. Todgers' dissimulation for small gain sits com
fortably enough with his own truckling behaviour when large sums are at stake. As
Martin Chuzzlewit unfolds, events afford Pecksniff the opportunity to ingratiate himself
with distant relatives that he might fall heir to the wealth of one of them, old Martin
Chuzzlewit. Pecksniff spares no chance to advance his cause, though one of his kinsmen
— Anthony Chuzzlewit, a man whose sole guiding star is the main chance — arraigns
him as a hypocrite, a creature "trading in saintly semblances for the very worst realities."
Old Anthony isn't offended by mere hypocrisy but by Pecksniff's excessive embrace of
it. "You may overdo anything, my darlings," he remarks to Pecksniff's daughters.
"You may overdo even hypocrisy itself" [15].
Though some individuals with a moralistic bent may exhibit a mechanical, rule
bound rigidity — as Faust complains — Pecksniff himself never risks being mistaken
for a puppet. He exhibits a supple and subtle way with moral principles — the only
constraint on their implications being the invisible one that governs all his actions: that
they put him in a favourable light or confirm his course of action. Few can exceed, or
even match, the imaginative powers of Pecksniff!

When Mr. Pecksniff and the two young ladies [his daughters] got into the heavy
coach at the end of the lane, they found it empty, which was a great comfort;
particularly as the outside was quite full and the passengers looked very frosty.
For as Mr. Pecksniff justly observed — when he and his daughters had burrowed
their feet deep in the straw, wrapped themselves to the chin, and pulled up
both windows — it is always satisfactory to feel, in keen weather, that many other
people are not as warm as you are. And this, he said, was quite natural, and a
very beautiful arrangement; not confined to coaches, but extending itself into
many social ramifications. "For" (he observed), "if everyone were warm and
well-fed, we should lose the satisfaction of admiring the fortitude with which
certain conditions of men bear cold and hunger. And if we were no better of
than anyone else, what would become of our sense of gratitude; which," said
Mr. Pecksniff with tears in his eyes, as he shook his fist at a beggar who wanted
to get up behind, "is one of the holiest feelings of our common nature" [16].

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 On Moralism 109

Thus does Pecksniff discharge his duty to edify his daughters.

'Moralism' as a term of opprobrium spans a motley crew of vices, but
ied in Pecksniff seem good candidates to be central. Among the most sal
Pecksniff's moralism are these. First, he exhibits his moral demeanour in
and correspondence." His moral views issue in public, out-in-the-open pr
He is free with such moral judgments, both in regard to object and audi
in so freely dispensing judgments, he assumes prerogatives that aren
Third, his judgments are underwritten by a strong sense of personal rec
as his "enemies" accurately perceive, Pecksniff the "sign post" doesn
governed by the strictures he applies to others — Pecksniff's morality is
exact real sacrifice from him. Pecksniff is the sanctimonious hypocrite
gauged by Anthony Chuzzlewit.

3. Judgmentalism

Whatever else moralism may include, its core lies in the proclivity, well-exhibited by
Pecksniff, to judge others uncharitably, typically in spoken or written public form. The
bad odour of moralism, in short, arises from judgmentalism, the habit of uncharitably
and officiously passing judgment on other people.
Why is judging other people's moral faults a dubious activity? One answer may be
that supplied at Matthew 7:1: "Judge not, that ye be not judged." Whatever standard
you apply to other people, you must be prepared to apply to yourself (or have applied
to you). This answer may duly caution many of us, but not the moralist, whose sense
of rectitude supplies the calm assurance that his character and conduct can pass the
most exacting tests. "There is no deception, ladies and gentlemen, all is peace, a holy
calm pervades me."
However, it is not the moralist we need to convince but ourselves. Why do we
shy from the judgmentalism that pervades the moralist's character? To avoid injustice,
one might reply. If we want to avoid doing injustice, we will want to avoid falsely
or incorrectly imputing to others bad character or conduct. To avoid such imputing,
we must reckon seriously with our epistemic deficiencies. We seldom have a good basis
for judgment. We observe bits and pieces of others' conduct, but we often lack a full
context in which to place them. Moreover, we seldom apprehend the underlying
motives of others' actions. Thus, we should be cautious in judging others, exercising
the same epistemic charity we hope others extend to us — this would be one way to
understand the warning in the gospel of Matthew.
This is an answer both Immanuel Kant and Bishop Joseph Butler endorse. We
must "be religiously scrupulous and exact to say nothing either good or bad, but what
is true," insists Butler. This standard should restrain us severely, Butler believes,
not only because we are often deficient in information but because we are equally
deficient in disinterest. Our judgments of others are too easily distorted by prejudice
and partiality [17], For his part, Kant concurs in Butler's wariness about partiality
in judgment and further emphasizes the opacity of motivation. Not only is it difficult
to know the true motives of others, we cannot even be certain about our own [18].
The self-confidence we feel in our own rectitude may have no more objective basis
than Pecksniff's [19].

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110 Robert K. Fullinwider

As far as it goes, this worry about the shaky espitemic grounds of our unfa
judgments of other people is meritorious, but it doesn't go far enough. Ev
judgments are undoubtedly true, that is not a license to broadcast them to the
We must never be "disposed to speak evil of any," declares Butler, "unles
some other reason for it, besides barely that it is true" [20],
"Uncharitable Truth" — to use the name of a section in Richard Allestree's The
Government of the Tongue (1674) [21] — can reek of moralism as indubitably as fal
defamations. Thus, the vice of judgmentalism comprises more than failure to adher
properly stringent epistemic standards. It reflects myopia about two further dimensi
of morality.
First, as a general matter, morality imposes a basic division of labour: it requires
from us charity toward others and strictness with ourselves. In Kant's terms, morality
sets for us two ends: our own perfection and the happiness of others [22]. We carry out
the former end by passing judgment on others silently, in our hearts, not in order to
think badly of them but to buttress our own efforts to be better persons. Where silent
negative judgment of others is not linked to the project of self-reformation or some
duty of justice, it is gratuitous and out of place [23]. We carry out the second end by
restraining our uttered-out-loud judgments. Our duty towards others, according to Kant,
is "not to take malicious pleasure in exposing . . . [their failings] so that. . . [we] will be
thought of as good as, or at least not worse than . . . [they are], but rather to throw a
veil of philanthropy over their faults, not merely by softening our judgments but by
keeping those judgments to ourselves" [24],
Kant's admonition does not mean we must forsake publicly-expressed judgments
about others. Sometimes another person's bad character needs exposing, perhaps to
prevent an innocent person from being duped or defrauded, or to prevent a wider
public wrong; and where we find ourselves in a special position to prevent such
injustice or wrong, we may be duty-bound to speak up [25]. Even in such cases as
these, however, special care is required; in the words of Bishop Butler, "no words can
express too strongly the caution" we should exercise [26].
The public exposure of the faults of others lends itself too easily to our own
corruption rather than perfection. It breeds — and feeds on — malice, envy, and
jealousy; and on a prurient delight in the miseries, secret failings, and sufferings
of others. It also breeds — and feeds on — a puffed-up pride and arrogance,
an arrogance manifested in our arrogating to ourselves an office not truly ours. Thus,
another way to read the gospel of Matthew is to see it counselling us away from
such pretension. This is the reading Allestree gives to it, and to other parts of scripture
as well:

[Consider] our Saviour's words, Who made me a judge? (Luke 12:14). And if
he disclaimed it [i.e., the office of judge] . . . what a boldness is it in us to
assume it. . . ? As God hath appropriated vengeance to himself, so has He
Judicature also, and tis an invasion of His peculiar, for any (but his Delegates
the lawful Magistrates) to pretend to either [27],

But though God has made judgment his prerogative, men nevertheless promiscuously
and enthusiastically pretend to the office themselves, with the uncharity noted by Kant
and Butler. Comments Allestree:

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 On Moralism 111

When we set our selves in the Tribunal, we always look down with contempt
on those at the bar. And certainly there is nothing does so gratify, so regale
a haughty humour, as this piece of usurped Sovereignty over our bretheren [28].

Like Kant, Allestree tells us that judgment begins at home.

[W]ould we but look into our own hearts, we should find so much work for
our inquisitions and censure, that we should not be at leisure to ramble
abroad for it [29].

Behind Allestree's observation lies the same idea of a general division of labour
indicated by Kant. Morality assigns to us a severe regard for our own failings, and we
may judge (silently) the faults and follies of others to learn from them and improve upon
our own moral dispositions. It also assigns to us a charitable and generous outlook
towards others, and a duty to hold our tongue when nothing good can come from our
words of criticism and condemnation [30]. Judging supposes a judge; a judge occupies
an office; our primary office is to bring our own characters to the bar, not others'
When we bring others' characters to the bar for no good reason we are officious and
arrogant — assuming a status or standing beyond that to which morality entitles us.
While morality's general rule is that we refrain from public judging, there are numerous
exceptions, and this is the second dimension of morality subject to judgmentalism's
trespasses. Some exceptions have been noted above, such as the case where circum
stances require our public judgment against someone's character in order to prevent
a miscarriage of justice [31].
There are also exceptions to the rule in the form of special "licenses" as well. As
I noted at the outset, some people, because of their training, experience, or assignment
hold an "office" of moralist. Their role permits them to speak to public and private
conduct that violates moral norms. The role requires great delicacy; and those who
hold it — clergy, intellectuals, public authorities, and the like — can easily become the
moralists Dickens describes, persons glib and facile in making easy work of every grain
of dust on God's highway.
In addition, there are offices that give their holders limited licenses. Pecksniff, for
example, holds one such office: parent. This office requires him to provide moral
instruction to his daughters. To them he may need to comment about other people's
conduct and character, and comment about their own as well. The prerogatives and
limits of this special office are given by the salutary educative effects of the parent's
comments. Similarly, teachers, church ministers, civil servants, and others possess
offices that license their moral tuition of larger and smaller audiences.
Indeed, actual moral life is saturated with roles and relationships, some quite formal
and specific, others informal and vague. For example, in marriage, each spouse
solemnly promises to "love, honor, and obey" the other until death (a promise whose
terms are no longer enforced by law or general social feeling). Rights of mutual
judgment inhere in this promise. By contrast, in a newly-developing friendship the
parties have to feel their way towards the proper level of intimacy. Though friends may
owe a special duty to correct one another's faults, a fault-finding remark may easily
overreach, and thus breach, the tacit bounds of the relationship.
Further examples come to mind. As a member of the legal profession, you may be
required to judge the moral character of new candidates to the bar. As a citizen, you

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112 Robert K. Fullinwider

must assess the moral fitness of contenders for office and decide when the public
good justifies revelation of their private faults. As a teacher, the limits of your authority
to assist students' moral learning can vary enormously, depending upon the source of
that authority (public or private) and the reach of parental prerogatives. All of these
offices, which involve passing judgments of various sorts, overlay the basic division of
labour already noted: in the absence of special privileges, our primary moral task is to
improve our own character and think generously of others; and the warrant for our
private and public judgments arises therefrom. While Pecksniff holds an office entitling
him to scold his daughters (as the occasion may warrant), where did he gain his
standing (unless it lay in his own Goodness) to scold Mrs. Todgers, especially when
the homily he read to that belaboured lady served no purpose other than to massage
his own ego?

4. Standing, Authority, and Relativism

I have put special emphasis on the connection between judging and "office." A judge
is one who holds an office authorizing the act of passing judgment. The connection is
quite obvious in many special roles such as parent, teacher, magistrate, and com
munity leader. Even in less formalized settings, however, the idea of office hovers as a
ghostly background to judgment-making. If in the preceding sections I overdo the idea
of office, it is to point up this ghostly hovering and illuminate a common confusion
about moral relativism.

Teachers of philosophy encounter in their students various expressions and attitude

— "if it's right for them, then it's right;" "who are we to say?" — that they then
transform (naturally, being philosophers) into meta-ethical theses. As reformulated b
the philosopher, the students' halting expressions amount to "the denial of univer
moral principles" [32] or to the claim that "no moral judgments are objectively tr
[33]. The students are then quickly inducted by teachers into an intramural philosophic
debate about the meaning of these theses. Can they be asserted in a non-self-defeatin
way? Do they actually support particular attitudes such as tolerance of others?
Once channelled toward these reformulations, students may embrace them (despite
their teachers' best efforts) as more adequate expressions of their visceral aversions
to people's "imposing their values on others" [34]. They may think their instinctive
anti-judgmentalism is best defended by hunkering down within the foxholes of subject
ivism ("whatever a person thinks is right is right for her") or parochialism ("whatever a
group thinks is right is right for it"), even though they take high casualties from the
philosophical artillery easily mustered against them. While thoroughly bloodied, most
students nevertheless remain unbowed, looking upon their teachers' clever demolitions
as so much wordsmithery.
However, if teachers listened with better ears, they might hear their students
objecting not to claims of moral truth or knowledge but to claims of moral standing.
When students demand, "Who are you to judge?" they are questioning your authority
to judge, not your knowledge or coherence. When they rhetorically ask, "Who are we
to judge?" they are repudiating not their cognitive but their "juridical" competence to
judge others. And when, in angry self-defence, they retort: "You have no right to judge
me; you're no better than I am," they tacitly invoke the idea of office. "Judges," they

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 On Moralism 113

are saying, "hold an elevated office but you are no higher than me, so w
to judge?"
It is natural that adolescents and young adults should come at these matters through
authority since that is the way morality has been packaged for them since they were old
enough to understand permissions and prohibitions. Their parents and grandparents,
teachers and caretakers, and adults of all stripes have "laid down the law" to them.
As they have grown from children into adolescents and adults, and begun to slip the
fetters of authority, they make sense of their own emergent liberty and independence
by disavowing what previously constrained them, namely others' authority to impose a
rule or judgment upon them. "Don't impose your views on others" is the way they
generalize the new freedom and independence they prize; "who are you to say?" is the
way they jealously guard against unmerited and unearned authority to re-impose rules
and restrictions.

Soon enough, however, young people go on to become moral authorities and

rule-imposers of their own. They become parents; and they assume occupational,
professional, and communal roles that entitle them to judge "happiness and self
respect, innate in every sphere of life," at least as these apply to one or another limited
set of individuals. Young people grow up to become moral teachers and moral judgers.
Even so, they may still retain their nonjudgmentalism in general and their habitual
ways of expressing it. In his "Middle Class Morality Project," an extensive survey of
American adults carried out in the 1990s, the sociologist Alan Wolfe notes the preval
ence among people of what he calls the "modest virtues." Although some persons are
harsh and sweeping in their judgments of others' behaviour, most of those surveyed by
Wolfe instinctively echoed the admonitions of Kant, Butler, and Allestree. One of the
interviewees, Mrs. Tompkins, was typical, writes Wolfe. She "believes there are right
and wrong ways to act. But because she is modest in her beliefs, she also believes that
however strongly one applies principles of right and wrong to oneself, one ought to
hesitate before applying them to others" [35]. This reluctance of people to judge
others is not at odds with their religious beliefs, either. Indeed, many of them tend to
be quite sensitive to the biblical injunction in Matthew, even if their preachers are less
so, and Wolfe sees their reluctance as honouring a tacit Eleventh Commandment:
"Thou shalt not judge" [36].
Wolfe roots the tolerance of Americans in their belief that "nonjudgmentalism
implies that one should show respect to everyone" [37]. This puts it the wrong
way around. It is respect for others that entails putting the brakes on judging them.
Appropriate nonjudgmentalism conveys a proper humility about one's prerogatives and
competence, and expresses a proper charity toward others.
Wolfe worries, however, that American nonjudgmentalism may be a sign that
Americans no longer believe anything passionately and whole-heartedly. Now, while
whole-hearted belief is not incompatible with appropriate reluctance to judge others,
nonjudgmentalism certainly has its own corrupt forms, just as presuming to judge has.
In particular, nonjudgmentalism can reflect a thorough-going critical flabbiness. The
nonjudgmentalist is unwilling or unable to apply any categories of assessment to
the conduct of others. Such a promiscuous nonjudgmentalism that makes no distinc
tions among people, or such an indiscriminate tolerance that makes no objection to
anything, isn't humility and generosity in action; it is mindlessness. Richard Allestree
was firm on the difference. After inveighing in severe terms against our proclivity to

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114 Robert K. Fullinwider

haul others before the bar of our uncharitable inspection, and reminding
central requirement of Christian charity, he remarks: "I do not here advise such a
stupid charity as makes no distinction of Actions" [38]. We must make distinctions —
and learn from them — if we are to improve our own characters. We must make
distinctions if we are to carry out our many special offices that require correcting
and guiding others' conduct. Indeed, we must make critical distinctions if we are to
practise a real rather than spurious humility, and a genuine rather than counterfeit
generosity toward others.

5. Moralism and Morality Joined at the Hip?

Philosophers, thus, might do better to attend to issues of standing than of truth if they
want to illuminate common morality and help students (and adults) better formulate
their anti-judgmentalism [39]. How can standing be earned, how conferred? When is it
pretended to, when abdicated or forfeited? These are complicated matters, but they lie
at the heart of any attempt to draw distinctions between moralism and morality so that
the two are not conflated.

Standing, especially, underlies students' responses to hypocrisy, a common feature of

the presumptuous judgmentalist. Pecksniff, for example, found "shedding light on
every grain of dust" so easy and smooth that his fault-finding set a very high standard
indeed for motive and conduct — a standard only a saint could meet. This didn't
trouble the brow of Pecksniff because his own vast powers of self-deception kept from
him any awareness of his own failings. His grand self-deception took in many others as
well, including poor Mrs. Todgers, who felt especially stinging the criticism of such a
Good man as Pecksniff. Sharp-eyed Anthony Chuzzlewit, however, could see right t
the core of Pecksniff.

As they grow into maturity, young people develop a sharp eye for hypocrisy, too. In
fact, in their Holden-Caufield-stage of life, their eye is over-developed, and they see
"phoniness" everywhere — in their parents, their teachers, their doctors, their political
leaders, indeed, in all the institutions they are expected someday to inhabit and sustain
[40]. Political argument among the young often amounts to sustained exercises in
'hypocrite'-mongering. How can the Republicans charge Democrats with using ob
structionist tactics in Congress when they do the same thing! — so screams the young
Democrat. How can the Democrats charge Republicans with unseemly (and illegal)
scrounging for every possible campaign dollar when they do the same thing! — so shouts
the young Republican. Of course, neither retort denies the truth of the initial charge.
But to young minds, scenting out odious Hypocrisy is enough; for the Hypocrite has
no standing to judge by a standard he does not observe himself. And if he has no
standing to judge, his judgment may be repudiated, rejected, thrown back in his face.
The philosophy teacher has work to do, then, in surveying the precincts of
"standing" and in convincing her charges not to confuse moralism with morality,
judgmentalism with fair comment, and hypocritical claims with false ones. The work
may be hard but, in principle, doable. If moralism, judgmentalism, and hypocrisy are
vices, then we should be able to identify and illuminate their counterparts on the side
of virtue. A careful and rich description of what morality is might forestall these
common confusions.

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 On Moralism 115

This would be a desirable outcome. But perhaps it is not in the cards after all.
Perhaps the distinction between moralism and morality is one more "phony" business
we adults put over on students (and ourselves). Perhaps hypocrisy and duplicity are
not simply endemic failings in the practice of morality but essential to morality itself.
This, anyway, is one of the challenges the philosophy teacher will have to answer when
some of her Holden Caufields step up to a more high-powered model, Friedrich
Nietzsche. Morality grows out of the very will to power it seeks to condemn, insists
Nietzsche [41]. The morally virtuous man does not transcend evil. Instead,

it is with man as with this tree. The more it wants to rise into the heights and
the light, the more determinedly do its roots strive earthwards, downwards,
into the darkness, into the depths — into evil [42].

Something like this idea of the unity of good and evil finds contemporary expression in
the philosophy of Jacques Derrida, whose famous deconstructions are meant to show
us that all our discourses, including moral ones, covertly incorporate and depend upon
the very things they seek to exclude and mark off as different, deficient, devalued [43].
The smell of hypocricy surrounding the moralist derives from yet another feature of
morality, in Nietzsche's view, namely (to use Alexander Nehamas's words) "its avowed
aim to be unconditional and universal and apply equally to all human beings on the
basis provided by some features in which we all essentially share" [44]. The repellent
absolutism governing the moralist's judgments isn't something extraneous he imports;
it is the heart of morality itself. This challenge of Nietzsche's is likewise echoed in
Derrida's work, which emphasizes the "violence" that comes from fitting particulars to
general categories [45],
How seriously are we to take these attacks? Do they undermine the project of
distinguishing between moralism and morality? Within the tradition of Nietzsche and
Derrida, John Caputo's Against Ethics provides an instructive lesson. Caputo stakes out
an apparently bold and radical position, to be "against ethics." Looked at closely,
however, Caputo's argument shows he is against moralism, not morality. The heart of
Caputo's argument is a thesis about judgment.

[T]o speak of being against ethics and of deconstructing ethics is to own up to

the lack of safety by which judging is everywhere beset. The thing that concerns
me, and that I name under the not very protective cover of deconstruction, is
the loss of the assurance, the lack of the safe passage, that ethics has always
promised. Ethics makes safe. It throws a safety net under the judgments we
are forced to make, the daily, hourly decisions that make up the texture of our
lives. Ethics lays the foundation for principles that force people to be good, it
clarifies concepts, secures judgments, provides firm guardrails along the slippery
slopes of practical life. . . . [E]thics wants to make judgment safe. . ." [46],

What is this "lack of safety" besetting judgment which "ethics" wants to hide?
The problem with judgment is that it involves applying general rules to singular events.
Such an application can't be "closed" in the sense of making the event and rule
coincide perfectly. Precisely because it is general the rule contains both more and
less than the event. Precisely because it is singular the event can't be fully captured by
the general rule. There is always a "gap" between the rule and the event that has to be
crossed by a:

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 116 Robert K. Fullinwider

leap into the abyss, a plunge into the density and impenetrability of
event, the novelty and surprise of singularity. Such a leap is never quite sa
[47],

Because there is never a perfect "fit" between rule and event, we can never be certain
beyond all doubt that we have applied a rule justly. We can never relax in total
assurance of success. We have to apply rules but the rules have no rules [48]. Every
application involves an ineliminable act of decision, choice, gamble, creative leap —
and within that act, there is room for going off the road. There are no guardrails.
The first thing to say about Caputo's argument is that it achieves too much. It is not
an argument against "ethics" in particular but against any and all description or
classification. Rule-applying is but one instance of the general activity of subsuming
particulars under categories. There is no more, and no less danger, in this respect, in
calling this apple "red" and "round" than in judging this case a failure in "courage"
[49]. I do as much violence in my apple description as in my moral description.
In neither case can I assume that my description perfectly and without remainder
captures the whole of the singular thing described.
Of course, one might object that the stakes are different in the two cases. The
"violence" I do the apple in giving it a too-tidy classification is unlike the violence I do
to people in failing to respect the heterogeneous and unique singularity in their
persons. This objection fails on one count and succeeds on another. True enough,
nothing of any consequence (we imagine) rides on my apple description. If, by contrast,
something of consequence does ride on my moral description, it is not merely because
my description is an act of classification. In this respect the objection fails, since viewed
as mere classifications the two descriptions are on all fours. The objection succeeds, on
the other hand, if there are certain kinds of significant effects my moral description
brings about. Perhaps by relying on a calcified and unduly rigid conception of courage,
I unjustly include as instances of failed courage examples where individuals were
courageous in novel and unorthodox ways. Here I indeed do a quite objectionable kind
of "violence" (even if it is metaphorical). But notice that now the objection to my
description draws on background ideas about the worth of persons and my duty to
respect that worth — which includes a corollary duty that I recognize worth manifested
in heterogeneous ways that don't fit within comfortably conventional assessments of
people. In other words, the objection draws on the very ground it is supposed to reject:
ethics (moral values or principles).
In short, when Caputo takes a stand "against ethics," his stand is not against judging
and acting on the basis of moral categories.

Deconstruction shows how a film of undecidability creeps quietly over the

clarity of decisions . . ., clouding judgment. . . . But do not be mistaken.
Deconstruction offers no excuse not to act. Deconstruction does not put up
a stop sign to bring action to a halt, to the full stop of indecision; rather,
it installs a flashing yellow light, warning drivers who must in any case get
where they are going to proceed with caution, for the way is not safe.
Undecidability does not detract from the urgency of decisions, it simply
underlines their difficulty. . . . Ethics, on the other hand, hands out maps
which lead us to believe that the road is finished and there are superhighways
all along the way [50].

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 On Moralism 117

What, then, is the "ethics" Caputo stands against? It is easy, incautio

self-certain judgments. What he hasn't shown is the impossibility of
cautious, careful, always-open-to-having-got-it-wrong judgments. In fac
on the very contrast between the two kinds of judgment to make his ar
Caputo's "ethics" is a straw man, one more conflation of moralism and m
than proof that moralism and morality are necessarily the same thing.
Nor would we find such a proof in Derrida's own (more opaque) wr
does not ask us to toss away concepts like truth, goodness, justice, an
couldn't if we wanted to) [51]. Rather, by insisting upon the "gap"
concept and its application, Derrida wants to warn us away from a mech
of thought, wants to emphasize the element of "decision" in every conc
[52]. Consider justice. There is a problem with justice; but the problem l
aspiring to do justice and devising procedures to bring it about. The
our patting ourselves on the back and thinking we have ever fully s
problem lies in our thinking without any residual worry that we have do
or that particular instance. As Derrida asks rhetorically, "Is it ever p
I know that I am just" [53]? The answer is no. I can never know with abs
and certainty. What I can know is this: the human condition require
consequential decisions without the security of guarantees. Nothing in t
cuts the distinction between moralism and morality.

6. Morality as Morality's Judge

This conclusion ought not be surprising. First, consider a very simple picture of mor
ality. Think of it as a vocabulary with certain functions. Using the vocabulary, we can
describe persons as generous, selfish, kind, fair-minded, arrogant, courteous, and the
like. We can distinguish acts of courage, ingratitude, reciprocity, atonement, civility,
retribution, and violation. We can recommend ideals of liberty, community, veracity,
and happiness. We can appraise outcomes as good, intolerable, fault-implying, and
worthy.
By using this vocabulary, we can criticize, reprove, evaluate, guide, blame, instruct,
appreciate, and justify. We can frame and enforce rules of conduct, and formulate
collective and individual goals.
Now, using moral concepts for any of these purposes is itself an act with outcomes;
consequently, such use falls under moral appraisal. Morality stands under its own
judgment. Built into the idea of morality is the distinction between morally better and
worse uses of moral appraisal and judgment. Thus, an effort to tease out the difference
between moralism and morality, far from being doomed at the outset, has at hand all
the conceptual tools it needs.
Next, let us add to our bare conception of morality a more substantive dimension.
Morality, I said earlier, requires that we be strict toward ourselves and generous
toward others. This bit of substance puts additional tools in our hands for drawing
lines between moralism and morality. It helps supply a standard for deciding when
people's judgments toward others exceed proper bounds and when the contents
of their judgments look inappropriate. Is this added substantive element particularly
contentious? Less so than we might think, I suggest.

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118 Robert K. Fullinwider

First, that morality demands strictness toward ourselves and charity toward
a canon of moral and religious traditions deeply influential in our history. Th
Bishop Butler, Richard Allestree, and Immanuel Kant is merely decorative and
ive. To them I could add the weight of countless moralists (in the good sen
antiquity to the present.
Second, the attitudes of ordinary people and their habits of nonjudgme
presuppose something like this canon. With greater or lesser articulateness, th
their conduct to it.
Third, and finally, the contemporary "critique of reason" represented by figures like
Derrida and Foucault, which seems to mark a sharp break from past traditions and
established canons, in fact carries forward a suspicion of reason's pretences common
to religious and philosophical argument over two millenia. Whether from St. Paul to
Montaigne, Kant to Foucault, or Pascal to Derrida, the lesson has been the same,
announced long ago in Genesis 3: "Now the serpent was more subtil than any beast
in the field." The subtility of the serpent — whether conceived in terms of original
sin, human pride, radical evil, or logocentrism — is the problem. In every deployment
of the concrete forms of their reason — the laws, customs, sciences, and philosophies of
their times — humans insinuate malice, self-satisfaction, and complacent oppression
even as they celebrate their enlightenment and rational progress. Humility and charity
are always hard to find, even as people pretend to those very things. Too smoothly run
the carriage wheels over every grain of dust.
Thus, there is good reason to work within the simple canon framing the analysis of
moralism in this essay. And ample reason to work busily at showing the difference
between morality (the genuine) and moralism (the counterfeit).

Robert K. Fullinzvider, Institute for Philosophy and Public Policy, University of Maryland,
College Park, MD, USA. rkf@umd.edu

Acknowledgement

The author thanks the members of the 2001 Moralism Working Group at the University
of Melbourne.

NOTES

[1] (1987) The Life and Adventures of Martin Chuzzlewit (Oxford, Oxford University Pres
published 1843-44).
[2] (1961) Goethe's Faust, trans. Walter Kaufmann, (Garden City, New York, Doubleday), 109 (originally
published 1808).
[3] At <www.biblenet.net/cgi-bin/forum/apologetics/a/3—169>. Visited July 4, 2001.
[4] Some further examples: (1) "[Michael Dorris's The Window] tells a multicultural, family-oriented story
without ever turning smarmy or moralistic." B. Ott (1997) Booklist, 94, 180; (2) "If patriotism is the last
refuge of scoundrels, moralism is surely a rest stop along the way." E. Willis (September 30, 1996)
'Morality isn't all it's cracked up to be,' The New Yorker, 72, 4; (3) "In traditional Marxist parlance, it is
moralism, not true moral judgment, that artificially detaches an action from its determining historical
context and seeks to examine it in isolation." T. Eagleton (1993) Deconstruction and human rights, in
B. Johnson (ed.) Freedom and Interpretation: The Oxford Amnesty Lectures 1992 (New York, Basic Books),
127; (4) "[Isaiah Berlin's] philosophy provides a starting point for those seeking to rejuvenate liberalism,

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 On Moralism 119

to make it a tolerant creed that doesn't seem weak or relativist, a loose-fitting code
not moralistic." D. Greenberg (1999) Civnet Journal, 3 http://civnet.org/journal/vol3
Visited July 4, 2001.
[5] R. B. McKerrow (ed.) (1996) A Pleasant Comedie, called Summers last will and Testame
of Thomas Nashe (Oxford, Basil Blackwell), III, 235, Prologue B2 (originally publishe
[6] Oxford English Dictionary; M. Mothersill (1960) Agents, critics and philosophers, M
[7] R. W. Miller (1985) Ways of moral learning, Philosophical Review, 94, 527 (historians explaining
abolitionism by referring to the moral aversion to slavery).
[8] The tension between the disparaging and honorific meanings of 'moralism' is nicely captured by Alan
Ryan in his review of a book by Michael Ignatieff. "It is not easy to characterize Ignatieff," writes Ryan.
"Cultural commentator is near the mark, but perhaps public moralist would be the proper description,
if only it were not so likely to be misread — if only it did not convey an impression of someone who
gazes on the world with pursed lips and censorious eyes." New York Times Book Review, February 1,
1998, 7.
[9] In his essay, 'Kant's anti-moralistic strain,' Thomas Hill equates moralism with a rigid, insensitive, and
unimaginative application of principles. See T. E. Hill, Jr. (1992) Dignity and Practical Reason in Kant's
Moral Theory (Ithaca, New York, Cornell University Press), 176f.
[10] "[I]t is almost an inborn disease with us to be hard and severe in judging others," notes John Calvin, the
Reform theologian, while we treat ourselves and our interests with "self-indulgence." J. Calvin
(1958) Commentaries, vol. XXIII (Philadelphia, Westminster Press), 302 (first published 1540). A near
contemporary, Montaigne, described the same "disease," calling it "vainglory:" the tendency "to think
too highly of ourselves, and not to think highly enough of others." M. Montaigne (1949) Selected Essays
(New York, Modern Library), 188 (first posthumously published 1595).
[11] Julia Driver notes the general (and generally mischievous) tendency people have in ranking and estimat
ing their worth relative to others. J. Driver (2001) Uneasy Virtue (Cambridge, Cambridge University
Press), 27.
[12] Martin Chuzzlewit, 12-13.
[13] Ibid., 33.
[14] Ibid., 168-69.
[15] Ibid., 200, 181.
[16] Ibid., 116.
[17] J. Butler (1897) Upon the Government of the Tongue, in W. E. Gladstone (ed.) The Works of Joseph
Butler (Oxford, Clarendon Press), II, 76, 75 (originally published 1726).
[18] I. Kant (1785) Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals, 4:407 [in I. Kant (1996), Practical Philosophy,
trans. M. J. Gregor (Cambridge, Cambridge University Press), 61-2].
[19] I. Kant (1797) The Metaphysics of Morals, 6:447 (in Kant, Practical Philosophy, 567): "The depths of the
human heart are unfathomable. Who knows himself well enough to say, when he feels the incentive to
fulfill his duty, whether it proceeds entirely from the representation of the law or whether there are not
many other sensible impulses contributing to it that look to one's advantage. . . and that, in other
circumstances, could just as well serve vice?"
[20] Butler, 76.
[21] R. Allestree (1704) The Works of the Learned and Pious Author of the Whole Duty of Man (printed in the
Theatre in Oxford, and in London by Roger Norton).
[22] Kant, Metaphysics of Morals 6:386 {Practical Philosophy, 517).
[23] C. J. Simon (1989) Judgmentalism, Faith and Philosophy 6, 277ff.
[24] Kant, Metaphysics of Morals 6:467 {Practical Philosophy, 582).
[25] In his great work on loshon hora (forbidden speech), Rabbi Yisroel Meir Kagan noted that although
Jewish law forbids one Jew to speak disparagingly of another "even if the information is completely true,"
certain "constructive reasons" permit exceptions, such as when one must speak ill of another to prevent
harm to a third party or to help that party attain justice. Rabbi Y. M. Kagan (1998) Sefer Chofetz Chaim,
trans. Rabbi Dovid Marchant (Jerusalem, Feldheim Publishers), 1, 112, 39-48.
[26] Butler, Government of the Tongue, 77.
[27] Allestree, The Government of the Tongue, Section VI, para. 24.
[28] Ibid., para. 25.
[29] Ibid., para. 38.
[30] The Epistle of James 3:2-8.

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120 Robert K. Fullinwider

[31] See Allestree, The Government of the Tongue, Section VI, paras. 4-7 for an account of e
[32] T. Scanlon (1998) What We Owe to Each Other (Cambridge, Massachusetts, Harvard Univers
328.

[33] P. K. Moser and T. L. Carson (2001) Introduction, in P. K. Moser and T. L. Carson (eds.) Moral
Relativism: A Reader (New York, Oxford University Press), 3. See also G. Harman and J. J. Thomson
(1996) Moral Relativism and Moral Objectivity (Oxford, Blackwell Publishers), 3.
[34] S. Fleischacker (1992) Integrity and Moral Relativism (Leiden, E. J. Brill), 3.
[35] A. Wolfe (2000) Civil religion revisited: quiet faith in middle-class America, in N. Rosenblum (ed.)
Obligations of Citizenship and Demands of Faith: Religious Accommodation in Pluralist Democracies (Princeton,
New Jersey, Princeton University Press), 41-42.
[36] Ibid., 43, 44.
[37] Ibid., 59.
[38] Allestree, The Government of the Tongue, Section VI, para. 24.
[39] In the Vietnam war novel, Fields of Fire, the character Goodrich, after losing a leg in a war whose
purpose and conduct he disapproved of, encounters his former Harvard classmate, the draft-dodger
Mark, who has slipped back over the Canadian border for a visit. In the midst of Mark's insistence on
the futility of Goodrich's service and the horrible waste of the war, "Goodrich felt the itches of unreasoned
anger. 'Now what the hell do you know about it? What standing do you have to tell me how or why I lost
my leg?'" But shortly after this moment, the police, alerted by Goodrich's father, show up at the house
to arrest Mark; and Goodrich is devastated at his father's action, taking Mark's side on the futility and
immorality of the war: "I didn't want him [Mark] to tell me about Vietnam," says Goodrich to his father.
"But he isn't wrong." Mark's lack of standing to complain about the war to Goodrich had nothing to do
with the accuracy of Mark's complaints. They were all true in Goodrich's view. J. Webb (2000) Fields of
Fire (Annapolis, Maryland, Naval Institute Press), 329, 331.
[40] See J. D. Salinger (1951) Catcher in the Rye (Boston, Little, Brown).
[41] F. Nietzsche (1967) The Will to Power, trans. W. Kaufman and R. J. Hollingdale (New York, Vintage
Books), 156 (originally published 1901-06).
[42] F. Nietzsche (1977) Thus Spake Zarathustra, trans. R. J. Hollingdale (Harmondsworth, Middlesex,
Penguin), 69 (originally published 1883-85).
[43] See J. Derrida (1976) Of Grammatology, trans. G. Spivak (Baltimore, Maryland, Johns Hopkins
University Press).
[44] A. Nehamas (1995) Nietzsche: Life as Literature (Cambridge, Massachusetts, Harvard University Press),
224.

[45] J. Derrida (1992) The force of law: "the mystical foundations of authority", in D. Cornell et al. (eds.),
Deconstruction and the Possibility of Justice (New York, Routledge), 17, 64. See also M. Foucault (1972)
The Archeology of Knowledge (New York, Pantheon), 229 (conceptual schemes are "a violence we do to
things").
[46] J. Caputo (1993) Against Ethics: Contributions to a Poetics of Obligation with Constant Reference to
Deconstruction (Bloomington, Indiana, Indiana University Press), 4, 97.
[47] Ibid., 97.
[48] Ibid., 100. Kant makes the same point in his Critique of Pure Reason, B171-2. See Kant, I. (1787, 1965)
Critique of Pure Reason, trans. N. K. Smith (New York, St. Martin's Press), 177 (originally published in
1787).
[49] "It is not precisely that there are no criteria, for . . . in Aristotle courage has a conceptual coherence and
it does imply certain criteria. . . . The problem is that the criteria do not have criteria." Ibid., 100.
[50] Ibid., 4.
[51] J. Derrida (1988) Limited Inc (Evanston, Illinois, Northwestern University Press), 137, 146.
[52] J. Derrida (1992) Passions: "an oblique offering", in D. Wood (ed.) Derrida: A Critical Reader (Oxford,
Blackwell), 31.
[53] Derrida, The force of law, 17.

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