The End of Moral Certainty: Reimagining Ethics to Rebuild Trust and Dialogue
Across our screens and across our borders, something fundamental is fracturing. The moral scaffolding that once supported social cohesion, democratic legitimacy, and geopolitical consensus is buckling under pressure. The pressure is not merely from populism, disinformation, or rising authoritarianism, those are symptoms. The deeper ailment is this: we are living in a world still governed by competing moral absolutes, but increasingly incapable of adjudicating among them.
This is not simply a theoretical challenge, it is tearing at the seams of public discourse, civic trust, and international diplomacy. From misinformation-fuelled outrage on social media to irreconcilable political cultures between democratic and authoritarian states, the ability to agree on even the terms of disagreement has become elusive. And yet, amidst this chaos, a provocative and promising question arises: what if the most constructive response to our moral crises is to reconsider the assumption that morality must rest on universal, objective foundations, and instead explore how a pragmatic, post-realist ethics might better support pluralism, dialogue, and democratic resilience?
To be clear, this is not a surrender to relativism or apathy. It is a reframing away from morality as a metaphysical truth, toward morality as a contingent and evolving human instrument.
This repositioning does not undermine our ethical lives, but reorients them toward pragmatism, pluralism, and civic resilience. It does not deny that moral commitments can be profound, only that they need not be grounded in objective facts to be meaningful or effective. This distinction is essential: the abandonment of objective moral realism does not entail the erosion of ethical seriousness, nor does it equate all moral claims as equally valid. Rather, it demands greater care, humility, and coherence in how we hold and apply our convictions.
“These positions offer valuable middle paths; ways to anchor moral systems in shared human practices and deliberation, rather than divine decree or empirical fact.”
Three intellectual traditions converge in support of this reframing. Moral error theory, most famously developed by J.L. Mackie in Ethics: Inventing Right and Wrong (1977) and expanded by Richard Joyce in The Myth of Morality (2001), argues that all moral claims are systematically false because they presume the existence of objective moral facts, which, quite simply, do not exist. Neuroethics and moral psychology, particularly in the work of Joshua Greene (Moral Tribes, 2013) and Stefan Schubert, show that our moral intuitions are evolved, affect-driven heuristics, useful for tribal cohesion but often counterproductive for global cooperation or reasoned discourse. Genealogical critique, rooted in Nietzsche and refined by scholars such as Brian Leiter, reveals that many of our most cherished moral values, such as guilt, justice, and dignity, are the historical products of domination, ressentiment, or institutional power, not universal truths.
While these schools challenge the foundations of moral realism, they do not necessarily imply nihilism in the pejorative sense. Nor do they exhaust the philosophical landscape. Constructivist thinkers such as Christine Korsgaard and John Rawls have long proposed that normative coherence can be generated through reasoned procedures and mutual justification, without reliance on metaphysical realism. These positions offer valuable middle paths; ways to anchor moral systems in shared human practices and deliberation, rather than divine decree or empirical fact.
The intention here is not to dismiss these traditions, but to draw attention to the political utility of a consciously post-realist posture: one that enables humility, pluralism, and adaptive cooperation. What these views share, whether constructivist or fictionalist, is a recognition that moral discourse functions best not as an assertion of truth but as a mode of negotiation.
History, in fact, offers precedent for such a posture. Following the Protestant Reformation, Europe endured more than a century of sectarian conflict, each camp invoking its own theological and moral certainties. The eventual turn toward political toleration (not as an affirmation of all beliefs, but as a pragmatic means of avoiding further devastation) was not achieved through consensus on truth but through recognition of enduring difference. Similarly, Cold War détente between ideologically opposed superpowers required practical coexistence without moral reconciliation. In both cases, fragile peace depended not on shared values, but on mutual restraint and the invention of procedural norms for managing conflict. These historical moments remind us that peace and cooperation do not require moral convergence, only moral maturity.
“What we require, then, is not more fervent moralising but a post-moral framework for cooperation. A civic ethos grounded not in universal truths but in mutual recognition of moral fictionality.”
Together, these philosophical and historical perspectives invite us to treat morality not as a battleground of “right” versus “wrong,” but as a shared human endeavour in meaning-making and conflict negotiation. Consider how contemporary political polarisation mirrors the logic of absolutist ethics. If my position is morally right in an objective sense, then your disagreement must be not just mistaken but immoral. In this framework, compromise is not virtue, it is betrayal. Dialogue is not a path to understanding, it is complicity.
This explains why moralised debates over gender identity, racial justice, pandemic policy, and foreign conflict (from Ukraine to Gaza) so often descend into epistemic trench warfare. As Sander van der Linden explains in his 2023 book Foolproof: Why We Fall for Misinformation and How to Build Immunity, we are cognitively vulnerable to falsehoods that flatter our tribal identities. Truth, in such environments, becomes secondary to moral reinforcement. Similarly, Renée DiResta, in Invisible Rulers (2024), documents how misinformation ecosystems flourish precisely because social media amplifies moral outrage and identity affirmation over deliberative reasoning. These platforms are not broken, they are functioning precisely as designed: to elevate that which captures attention, not that which builds understanding. This is not incidental. It is the natural outcome of a digital moral economy premised on conflicting claims to moral truth.
What we require, then, is not more fervent moralising but a post-moral framework for cooperation. A civic ethos grounded not in universal truths but in mutual recognition of moral fictionality. Rather than assuming moral error in our opponents, we acknowledge the subjective architecture of all moral belief, including our own. Rather than measuring norms by their metaphysical status, we evaluate them by their capacity to support dialogue, inclusion, and collective flourishing. Rather than viewing morality as rigid across all contexts, we cultivate norms that are adaptable, humble, and responsive to circumstance.
One way to make this vision more tangible is to imagine how a social media platform might function if designed around post-realist ethics. Instead of privileging content that generates maximum engagement, often through outrage, certainty, and tribal affirmation, it could be optimised for ambiguity, humility, and bridge-building. Algorithms would surface content that models disagreement without hostility, that acknowledges contradiction without collapsing into equivalence, and that rewards openness rather than affirmation. User design would discourage performative virtue-signalling and promote dialogic inquiry. Verification tools would not just fact-check, but context-check, revealing not only what was said, but under what assumptions and within which moral frameworks. Such a platform would not eliminate disagreement; it would scaffold it, humanise it, and render it generative.
This ethic of moral pluralism is not confined to the digital sphere. It carries implications for how we structure journalism, education, and policy. In journalism, it demands a shift from adversarial framing toward contextual analysis. Reporters would be trained not merely to reveal contradictions but to situate them within broader moral landscapes. Education systems could nurture what political theorist Danielle Allen calls "democratic knowledge": not just factual literacy, but ethical agility and civic empathy. Students would learn not what to think, but how to hold multiple truths in tension. Policy, too, could benefit from this sensibility. Instead of treating disagreement as a problem to be overcome, governance could treat it as a permanent condition to be accommodated with institutions designed not for unanimity but for deliberation.
In this vein, Aviv Ovadya and Luke Thorburn’s 2023 paper Bridging Systems: Open Problems for Countering Destructive Divisiveness offers a compelling vision of digital platforms designed to incentivise empathy and deliberation rather than outrage. Their work proposes algorithmic interventions that favour bridge-building narratives over polarising ones; an ethical architecture based not on truth but on civic functionality. Similarly, UNESCO’s Global Dialogue on Social Media Regulation (2023) and the EU’s Digital Services Act mark institutional attempts to reassert epistemic responsibility without invoking absolute moral frameworks, recognising the dangers of both censorship and laissez-faire deregulation.
One might ask: does adopting these ideas mean abandoning religion, spirituality, or classical moral commitments? The answer is: absolutely not. What these frameworks challenge is not the practice of morality, but the claim to its universal, objective status. One can live a morally committed life, pray, meditate, serve others, uphold inherited values, while acknowledging that these values are chosen, contingent, and meaningful within one’s tradition, rather than universally binding. This is what philosopher Richard Joyce calls "moral fictionalism": living as if moral claims are true, while understanding them as useful social myths. It parallels how many modern believers engage with sacred texts, not as literal histories, but as narrative tools for ethical development and communal identity.
Indeed, much of contemporary theology already engages with these tensions. Kierkegaard’s conception of faith, for instance, accepts the absurdity of moral commands yet embraces them as existential commitments. In Jewish thought, rabbinic pluralism has long upheld the coexistence of conflicting truths within halakhic interpretation. Buddhist traditions, too, often view ethical practice as skilful means; tools adapted to context, not eternal laws. These approaches do not negate spiritual integrity; they cultivate it through humility and reflection. In each case, faith is not weakened but deepened when it acknowledges the partiality of its lens and the pluralism of the human condition.
“Democracy, at its best, is not simply a system for managing disagreement. It is a collective commitment to coexist amid difference.”
Democracy, at its best, is not simply a system for managing disagreement. It is a collective commitment to coexist amid difference. While liberal democracy does rest on normative foundations (equality, dignity, and participation) those foundations need not be metaphysically guaranteed to function. They can be upheld pragmatically, through mutual recognition and deliberative renewal. Acknowledging this does not diminish the moral worth of democratic values; it invites us to steward them more responsibly. In this sense, reconceptualising morality in post-realist terms can help us rebuild public trust by distinguishing shared problems from absolute positions, disarm radicalisation by reducing moral stakes and expanding moral imagination, and revitalise civic dialogue by privileging empathy, irony, and narrative over doctrine. As Dame Sara Khan’s 2024 report on extremism in Britain warns, the most potent threats to democracy today often come not from ideological violence alone but from norm erosion, epistemic instability, and affective polarisation. Combating these requires not stronger convictions but better conversations. And to converse better, we must first unburden ourselves from the tyranny of being right.
We live in a time that demands moral courage—not the courage to enforce our truths, but to question them. To live with conviction, but without certainty. To embrace difference not just as a democratic value, but as an ethical necessity. What if, instead of fighting for the “right side of history,” we chose to co-author its next chapter together? This is the invitation of post-realist ethics. It is not a denial of morality, but a reframing: from domination to dialogue, from truth to trust, from righteousness to responsibility. It will not be easy. But it may be the only way forward.
Sources
DiResta, R. (2018). The Digital Maginot Line. Stanford Internet Observatory.
Greene, J. (2013). Moral tribes: Emotion, reason, and the gap between us and them. Penguin Press.
Joyce, R. (2001). The myth of morality. Cambridge University Press.
Khan, S. (2023). The independent review of social cohesion and democratic resilience. UK Government.
Leiter, B. (2002). Nietzsche on morality. Routledge.
Mackie, J. L. (1977). Ethics: Inventing right and wrong. Penguin.
Ovadya, A., & Thorburn, J. (2022). The Wisdom Gap: Why the future of democracy depends on a broader epistemic commons. ThinkerAnalytica.
Schubert, S., & Caviola, L. (2023). Moral circle expansion: A promising strategy to impact the far future. Global Priorities Institute.
Van der Linden, S. (2023). Foolproof: Why misinformation infects our minds and how to build immunity. Fourth Estate.