By questioning this rule, however, we move into the ethical level of discourse. This is the level where philosophers like to spend a lot of time, perhaps in part because this is the level where a justification seems possible. Communication on the ethical level is highly general and often claims to be objective, as it questions moral rules based on abstract ethical concepts such as, for example, justice, benevolence, or the principle of greatest happiness. Speaking on the ethical level does not imply an imminent moral dilemma; it may serve no immediate practical purpose, but it hopes either to get at the fundamental essence of right and wrong, or at least to reorganize the moral codes to better fit within a certain ethical framework. To propose that something cannot be (morally) good if it doesn’t make somebody feel (emotively) good, we now see, is simply to propose a new, exceptionally questionable ethical principle. The final level of moral discourse is the post-ethical level. It is at this level that we approach the question, “should I even play the morality game?” This is a highly important question, because it concerns the implicit decision to “be” moral which every theory of morality must take into account. The feminist ethic views this decision to be a non-issue for anyone with a mature enough self-concept, so anyone who’s asking likely isn’t yet capable of coming up with an answer. For Hobbes, this decision amounts to signing the social contract, as it were. It may not be incumbent, but not doing so is a very bad idea for many practical reasons (mainly that it would terminate your right to interact with society and take advantage of the benefits offered by it). Other theories have no good explanation of why this decision should be made in favor of morality, and so conclude that because almost all of us have made it anyway, it must be something we as humans are driven to do by our sentimental nature. At any rate, this “all or nothing” decision is the concern of the post-ethical (though perhaps pre-ethical would be an equally apt term).

One rather interesting suggestion which might be mentioned here is that the very concepts of “right” and “wrong” are the remnants of a divine law ethic that is no longer in place. Both these words have within them the concept of judgment, and this judgment in the divine law morality was carried out by God. To say something is unjust or unkind was to say something in particular about the nature of the act; but to say something is right or wrong was simply to communicate the result of God’s judgment. This fact, it is proposed, explains why these words have such a powerful psychological force to them, while really appearing to mean very little on most levels of discourse. The arbiter has been abandoned, and now we are left to use these terms ourselves, when what we really mean is something else.

All this is not to say that there can be no consistency whatsoever to our use of terms such as these. An argument can be made for a consistent basis to morality if, for all x, the statement “x is good” can be shown to be true or false. This would, of course, require us to use a definition of “good” that is logical in nature, but many theories (utilitarianism, Kant’s categorical imperative, etc.) claim to provide that logical basis. Aiken feels that this renders ethical judgments subject to proof or disproof, and thus means that we can provide a series of steps that will show our decision to be, if not justified, at least justifiable. The decision then cannot be accused of arbitrariness; we have established our definition of the word “good”, and it can easily be determined whether our use of it is consistent with that definition. Our decision can only be argued against on the basis of the ethic used to come to that conclusion. Such an argument, then, is morally correct, in that it follows from the ethical principle; it can only be argued against on the ethical level. This is the mark of a mature principle-driven morality.