Since antiquity, humanity has engaged in the ceaseless task of distinguishing good from evil, right from wrong. These distinctions have materialized as laws, religious commandments, and cultural norms. Yet, when stripped of their sacred and eternal masks, what remains is not divine decree but human invention. Morality is a construct—born from necessity, shaped by survival, and refined by the pursuit of stability.
This realization is not an endpoint but an invitation. Once the illusion of universality dissolves, the individual is left standing before the blank canvas of existence. The question emerges: What shall we paint?
Morality arises not from metaphysical certainty, but from pragmatic necessity. Early human communities, fragile and vulnerable, confronted the indifference of nature with limited means. Survival necessitated cooperation; cooperation demanded regulation.
The binary structure of morality—good versus bad, permitted versus forbidden—emerged as a functional framework, not a cosmic revelation. As Friedrich Nietzsche remarked, "Morality is herd instinct in the individual." Every moral code is a boundary, a deliberate mark separating what stabilizes from what destabilizes social life.
Consider the solitary human in the wilderness. In such a condition, morality is rendered superfluous. The isolated individual is governed solely by necessity. The procurement of water, food, and shelter requires neither deliberation on good nor bad, but immediate and pragmatic action.
Morality, therefore, is not a product of the individual confronting nature but of individuals confronting one another. It is the mechanism by which societies mitigate conflict, secure cohesion, and maintain predictability. Absent others, morality evaporates.
Human history presents itself as a gallery of moral architectures, each reflecting the anxieties, aspirations, and ecological constraints of their respective societies. From the stern codes of ancient tribes to the more permissive ethics of modernity, the diversity of moral systems is evidence not of relativism alone, but of the inexhaustible creativity of humankind.
Michel Foucault observed, "Power produces knowledge and not the other way around." Moralities are no different. They are not neutral; they are produced, shaped, and maintained through structures of necessity, tradition, and power.
Yet this recognition does not demand dismissal. Rather, it invites us to walk the halls of the museum of humanity, appreciating the variety and craftsmanship of each moral expression.
If morality is indeed a human creation, then each conscious individual stands not merely as a passive observer but as a potential creator. The ethical artist neither rebels blindly nor conforms unthinkingly. Instead, the ethical artist engages in the deliberate act of value-creation.
To live as an ethical artist is to accept the burden and privilege of crafting a personal moral framework—one that acknowledges the necessity of social stability while preserving the sovereignty of individual freedom.
The dissolution of moral absolutism is not grounds for nihilism but rather the precondition for authentic freedom. Freedom, however, is not license for chaos. As the skilled painter understands the principles of form and harmony, so too must the ethical individual cultivate judgment and coherence.
The absence of universal morality liberates the individual from blind adherence but simultaneously demands the exercise of reflective responsibility. As Albert Camus wrote, "The absurd is the essential concept and the first truth."
To live as an ethical artist is to dwell within the creative tension between freedom and responsibility. Every choice is a brushstroke; every action, a color added to the canvas of life. The ethical artist does not aim for perfection but for sincerity.
In accepting the absurd condition—that the universe is indifferent to human longing—the ethical artist discovers not futility, but creative possibility. Without appeal to higher powers or fixed codes, the individual stands free to shape meaning, to craft order amidst chaos.
Thus, I am both the artist and the canvas, the architect and the inhabitant of the moral world I construct.