Why am I obsessing over morality when I can barely feed myself?
Because moral dilemmas bother me more than hunger.
These dilemmas leave me conflicted, lacking complete consistency in principle, unsure how to act.
Three years ago I wrote thousands of words analyzing why I wanted to emigrate, discussing practical, cultural, and political reasons—but I never mentioned morality.
Yet the fundamental issue was actually moral: Is it morally acceptable to live in a totalitarian society that contradicts your values?
I’m not writing this to provide ready answers, just to help myself think clearly.
1. Are cultures hierarchical?
If you read the previous essay “What is Morality?” and accept the objectivist position, then cultural hierarchy becomes self-evident.
Culture here doesn’t mean aesthetics—it means values.
Calligraphy and literature are merely culture’s surface; philosophy is culture’s core.
Chinese culture can never become universal values.
I’ve studied the Chinese classics and Western philosophy. By comparison, Chinese culture lacks philosophical depth.
Confucianism is just practical ethical wisdom—a scatter of surface-level teachings without deep inquiry into ultimate questions. Its foundations can’t withstand scrutiny, so it lacks anything truly persuasive.
And what it builds is always the same: hierarchical societies of superiors and inferiors.
Always ranking through comparison, lacking both inner moral consciousness and respect for others’ autonomy.
The discrimination chains everywhere are evidence enough.
The culture’s riddled with collectivism, nationalism, patriarchy—planting mental barriers against freedom and independence deep in people’s minds.
Compared to the world’s mainstream values of freedom and equality today, Chinese culture’s value orientation has no appeal.
Here’s advice for young people (yes, little sis, I’m talking to you):
If you care about wisdom and self-actualization, abandon Chinese classics. Read more Western books.
2. Who is the moral community?
In other words, who are my people?
Lately I’ve lost interest in arguing with others.
Gone is the passion I had in 2019 to debate continuously for a month or two.
Like I wouldn’t bother arguing with NPCs in games who only repeat scripted lines.
Can humans and NPCs form a moral community?
Who is the moral community?
Reproductive barriers separate different species.
Similarly, I think emotional barriers separate communities.
What’s an emotional barrier? Inability to empathize.
In 2008, whether the Wenchuan earthquake or Beijing Olympics, Hong Kong and the mainland could share grief and pride. Ten years on, estranged like strangers.
Hong Kong protests? You called them “cockroaches.” Russia-Ukraine war? You called Ukrainians “Nazis.” It’s the 21st century and discussing international relations you still quote Warring States parables: “The weak who don’t fear the strong and disrespect great neighbors…”
Sure, civilization and barbarism coexist in our age.
But why no seeds of civilization here?
Worshipping cunning and force alone wins no hearts.
I first encountered the word “freedom” reading City of Fantasy in middle school.
Reaching middle age, I’m still deepening my understanding of freedom’s meaning.
Freedom is a moral principle that can pass Kant’s universalizability test.
But things like patriotic sentiments are merely local, carrying inherent conflict.
As simple emotions they’re understandable, but as principles for living—that’s basically having no principles.
No wonder someone said, “Patriotism is the last refuge of scoundrels.”
Back to who forms the moral community—
For me, it’s people who share my commitment to freedom.
Communities should be built on freedom—from families and friend circles to neighborhoods and societies.
Other factors are secondary.
Just now it hit me: maybe the integration problem so many overseas Chinese agonize over is itself a false problem.
Because the thinking behind it stays collectivist—top-down, outside-in.
A consistent libertarian would approach it inside-out, extending from self to others:
Free association based on consent.
3. Is stupidity evil?
“Stupidity is evil”—I heard this from Gavekal and bought it for a while.
Recently, inspired by Kant, it hit me: that’s not quite right.
People don’t do evil from lacking knowledge or information. They first have evil will, then selectively absorb information fitting that will through their own reasoning, producing evil outcomes.
Being clever isn’t evil. Being stupid isn’t evil. Evil itself is evil.
Everyone carries seeds of evil, but evil people choose to indulge their malice.
This isn’t rational analysis. This is willful choice.
You think leeks empathize with sickles because they don’t understand their leek condition?
No, they’re leeks dreaming of becoming sickles.
Anyone who does evil does so because they harbor evil intent.
Capability and behavioral consequences aren’t standards for moral judgment—will is the foundation of moral evaluation.
So we should:
Appreciate and praise good will, however clumsy it looks in practice.
Forgive all ignorance coming from altruistic motives, free of malice.
And conversely, for consistency:
Withdraw sympathy from stupidity and even the banality of evil.
Malice, big or small, deserves punishment.
4. Is pride always sin?
If so, that’s truly depressing.
Because pride has surpassed lust as my favorite deadly sin.
If not, what kind of pride is acceptable?
If first-order pride—pride in power, money, or talent—is unacceptable,
Then is second-order pride—pride in morality—permissible?
I’ve often wielded pride as a weapon against irrationality (nonsense).
Basically defensive retaliation—pride for pride, tit for tat.
Plainly: I can’t stand idiots overflowing with confidence.
But now that feels unnecessary.
Reason and forgiveness are enough.
For reasonable people, use reason.
For unreasonable people, use pardon.
No need to constantly deploy pride, a weapon that’s often rationally risky.
I used to meet pride with pride because I got stepped on without knowing the problem.
Now that I see the problem clearly, pride becomes far less necessary.
So is pride always wrong?
I googled “why is pride a sin.”
Religious folks say it’s because humans presume to become God.
But non-devout people like me don’t quite grasp what’s wrong with pursuing perfection and approaching divinity.
Though moral philosophy sees no necessary connection between “is” and “ought,”
Reality does consistently slap those trying to become supermen.
All glory fades with wind and rain.
However brilliant, we’re always far from perfect rationality.
The more you know, the more you feel your ignorance.
Perhaps the only truth is that humans can’t claim truth.
Though pride confined to oneself without oppressing others can pass the consistency test, beyond reproach—
Isn’t any degree of pride a slippery slope, a beginning that rational consequence-consideration should reject?
Maybe. I vaguely sense this.
Time to consider quitting my favorite of the seven deadly sins.
I remember what Shenpp said years ago:
“Always be a docile lamb before God.”
5. False hope vs. false despair
A while back someone in my WeChat feed said:
“False despair’s poison exceeds false hope’s—the latter only disappoints, the former numbs and leads to cynicism.”
Reading this, I couldn’t help thinking: why spin in circles of falsehood?
Because reality’s too harsh?
So what? Must you pick between false options?
Can’t you have faith grounded in real reason?
Sure, so-called gradual reform and enlightenment are illusions—but why not just say openly “I object”?
The fundamental reason nothing changes is simple: not enough people oppose it. That simple.
I’m struck by how dominant consequentialist ethics are here.
Both sides, same culture, never questioning whether there’s a methodological flaw.
Before doing something, they ask: does it benefit me? Will it succeed as I want? This lacks moral consciousness.
Isn’t something being morally right enough reason to act?
Sounds grand, but practice is far from simple.
What I’m offering is just another angle on the problem.
And I think it’s a more consistent, more scrutiny-proof way to live morally.
On morality I’m still a beginner. Let me share with you just four words: “Do good deeds.”