Right. Wrong. The words that taught me that I'm an idealist at heart. I am a poet, well-associated with shades of gray; but even so, I find that moral assessments force me to place every action into one of those two categories: Right. Wrong. Around midnight I was struck with that frantic energy that I have decided is a symptom of hug deficiency. I got up and filled a cup with ice, and faced a very simply decision. Water. Orange soda.
I'm twenty years old--this should not be an issue. But I thought to myself: if there is a question between the two, and I feel that they would bring me more or less equal pleasure, shouldn't I drink the one that will hydrate me and cleanse me of toxins and doesn't contain hundreds of calories? The semantics of moral consideration: Should. Should not. In my mind it was as clear as day that water was the right choice. Sunkist Orange Soda was the wrong choice. And so I filled the cup with water, even so I wondered to myself how much of life's texture I have leveled with my stubborn insistence on moral absolutes.
Absolute moralists are all about the black and white. Relative moralists are all about the shades of gray. But what kind of moralist sees in color?
Dan