One of the more disturbing trends to emerge in public discourse recently has been the idea that we live in a ‘post-truth’ era.

While the phrase has most often been used in reference to President Trump’s frequent and shameless self-contradictions, it is also reflected in other debates. The anti-vaccination movement’s rejection of medical science, increasing distrust of the media, the success of political nihilism, as pioneered by 4-Chan, and the Flat-Earth theorists.

All of these movements reflect a growing idea: truth is simply a matter of opinion. The field of philosophy that deals with such foundational questions is metaphysics. It holds the honour of being both the most important, and most utterly infuriating pursuit one can engage in. On the one hand, metaphysics provides the foundation for all subsequent philosophy and ethics. On the other, it posits questions that are impossible to answer without being an omniscient deity.

But just because metaphysics cannot provide certainty, doesn’t mean it cannot provide conclusions. And in an age where “Well, that’s just your opinion” is considered a legitimate rebuttal, I feel that now is a good time to review a few popular myths of metaphysics:

Nihilism means I can do what I want

It should come as no surprise that post-truth enthusiasts have taken to the concept of Nihilism – or at least a simplified form of it. They argue that since life has no demonstrable ‘purpose’ everything we do is pointless. Ergo, if there’s no grand point to life, our actions are meaningless and we can all do whatever we want.

Nihilism is a serious philosophical theory worthy of deep consideration. It is also fairly easily debunked by slapping its proponents across the face. Life may or may not have a ‘purpose’, but the idea that such a vacuum would single-handedly annihilate the value of ethics blatantly ignores the very tangible existence of consequences.

All rules are constructs, therefore all rules are false

Any thorough analysis of a deontological system of ethics will quickly find exceptions. Since the value of a rule-based approach depends on our ability to rely on those rules, it is both intuitive and compelling to suggest that since all rules are social constructs, none hold inherent meaning.

But the conclusion that follows from this argument would agree that science is wholly void because it doesn’t yet offer us a perfect understanding of the universe. While rules-based approaches will inevitably be flawed to some degree, their ability to provide external accountability makes them invaluable ethical tools. They should be judged according to their merit, not their nature.

A lack of definitive proof makes your position false

Metaphysics is uncertain by nature. Questions like the nature of reality, for instance, cannot be answered while we are simultaneously immersed in it. As such, nearly every ontological theory very well could be true. We could be living in a simulation, we could be programs in a hyper-advanced computer, and it could even be possible that all things cease to exist when you’re not looking at them.

But while such uncertainty cannot be eliminated, we do have tools for managing it. Think of the scientific method, which demands objective evidence before conclusions are drawn. Thus far we have myriad proofs that reality is objective, even if our understanding of it is very much subjective. It is indeed possible that reality can be changed by our perception of it, a la The Secret and it’s ‘law of attraction’, but thus far lacking any evidence whatsoever to support such a theory, we can happily discard it.

My opinion is valid, because it is my opinion

Perhaps the most common post-truther stance is the argument that every opinion is valid, simply because someone holds it. You may believe racial segregation is a destructive force in society, but they believe it is better for all communities. You are entitled to your opinion and they are entitled to theirs – so the correct course of action is to vote and see which idea wins ‘on its merits’.

This argument plays strongly into the popular ideal of ‘freedom of speech’. It also happily bypasses the idea that opinions should be held accountable against available evidence. Apply such a standard, and the argument “I’m entitled to my opinion” quickly gains a qualification: You are not entitled to be wrong.

Who are you to tell me I am wrong?

Finally, we reach what in many ways is the foundation of the post-truth trend: who are you to tell me that something is wrong or right? These are my beliefs. How dare you attack something so important to me?

The practical answer to this question is quite simple: I have a right to challenge your opinion to ensure that factually invalid ideas do not lead to harmful conduct. But the psychological implications are far broader. It’s one thing to demonstrate your opinion is better supported by evidence than another person’s, but that isn’t the goal, is it? We can’t just point out another person’s error and expect them to immediately change their mind. In fact, cognitive biases such as the Backfire Effect, demonstrate that we are likely to get the opposite result.

The question of how best to engage with those that disagree with us is an important topic. But if the purpose of ethics is to help us decide what is right, then efforts to undermine ideas by appealing to uncertainty, relativism, and personal opinion must be seen for what they are: pure intellectual cowardice.

Only two years ago, I said the question of feminism’s success was over. Sure, there was still plenty of mopping up to do – ingrained practices and subconscious beliefs that needed to be rooted out – but the war was won. Feminism was now the socially and institutionally accepted norm in the developed world. Everything else was just details.

As you can imagine, I’m no longer so sure of that stance.

The Trump era demonstrates that for many, the war is far from over. Whether we’re talking about the Men’s Rights Movement, hypermasculine pick-up artists, or the extremist fringe Incel movement, a resurgence of anti-feminist sentiment in recent years raises some serious concerns for the future of the debate.

Sociological analysis of platforms such as YouTube, Reddit, and 4chan have noted that – quite contrary to the overall changes to social norms – anti-feminist sentiments appear to be resurgent in online forums. Feminist campaigners and scholars have approached this issue by attempting to demonstrate the feminist goals of dismantling gender roles and toxic masculinity are beneficial to men too, not just women. In spite of their efforts, anti-feminist sentiments are re-emerging in ‘real world’ political and social discourses.

But I believe that such approaches to this debate miss a key factor that underlines this revival of patriarchal masculinity.

“In the battle of the sexes, there can only be one winner. And it wasn’t men.”

Competing for power

For women, the development of feminism was an experience of expanding freedom, autonomy, and the right to both. Restrictive ideals of ‘feminine’ careers and pursuits were slowly dismantled, economic mobility and independence was gradually wrested from the patriarchy, and both political freedom, and the recognised right to that political freedom, became enshrined in law and the policy of private companies.

While nobody can reasonably deny this hard-earned progress towards equal rights was the ethical imperative, we should recognise that this newly-won power for women came from somewhere. It came from men.

If we understand power as the ability for an individual or group to control their circumstances, and if that power within a given context cannot be shared, it must instead be competed for by the parties involved. And while women have had every justification in seeking their fair share of power in order to control their circumstances, seeing their public role in the world burgeon as a result, this same process has seen men’s shrink.

In the space of one generation they have gone from the undisputed leaders of society and the family unit, to adrift in a sea of uncertainty as the new world order of equal rights asserts itself.

The Incel movement – “involuntarily celibate”

All of this is nicely illustrated by the emergence of the Incel subculture. ‘Incel’ is an abbreviation for ‘involuntarily celibate’. It is a community comprised of young men who feel that sex – or even the opportunity for sex – has been denied to them by women, both individually and collectively. The layers of psychology surrounding this are many and complex, as captured in excellent detail in this piece by philosopher Amia Srinivasan. But while it is both easy and accurate to describe a perceived entitlement to sex as severely problematic, doing so ignores one very important reality: in many regards, men used to have that power.

Even as recently as the 1990s, a masculine trope where men were responsible for providing for and protecting their families was still quite well established. They were told they should be upright, decent, considerate, and strong. And in return for all of this, they would attract female partners who would recognise these qualities, and those female partners would reward them with sex.

Needless to say, this is an incredibly simplistic and largely inaccurate perception of traditional gender roles, ignoring as it does the vast number of people that did not experience this simple equation or who were victimised by it. But the fact remains it was also somewhat true. Where strict gender roles are enforced by society, a man is offered a very simple formula to follow to get female companionship and/or sex. Fulfil the traditional role of a ‘man’ and women would inevitably seek out your company – usually because their traditional role as ‘women’ meant they had few other options.

The rise of feminism has seen increased freedom and opportunity for both genders, but while it saw the role of women grow, it also saw this traditionally dominant role for men shrink. Many men have seen this as an opportunity to grow beyond the old restraints of masculinity, but others have found themselves adrift, lacking even the old traditional guidelines to tell them what their purpose is and how they should conduct themselves.

“Masculinity today is in crisis. Old ways for men to understand themselves, their role and their purpose, have fallen apart.”

Faced with the potentially colossal existential crisis this presents them with, many men are turning to reactionary anti-feminist movements in psychological self-defence, preferring to externalise their crisis into a fightable enemy rather than undertake the daunting task of creating a new and better self – a project which by its very nature must be undertaken alone and is often very painful. The question before us is what we can offer those seeking an identity in this new, dynamic age that can provide that precious sense of self, which doesn’t also depend on unrighteous dominance over others.

This question is neither the fault, nor the responsibility of women. But faced with the reality of a resurgence in patriarchal political sentiment, it is a problem that feminists and their allies are forced to deal with – whether we like it or not.

Beachgoers would have noticed our lucky country has been hit with a rather European trend. Or is it South American?

Women and girls of all ages and shapes were donning g-string swimsuits and Brazilian bottoms. Arse cheeks were out and as sun-kissed as a brown forearm, curiously suggesting they had never been covered up. Insert thinking emoji face here.

If conversations and interactions underneath Instagram posts are anything to go by, people seem to care a lot about this newish oceanside fashion. People have been looking and commenting and rubbernecking and commenting some more. Was that the sound of a drone hovering over the group of young women lying belly down on the sand?

“Whether a bit more butt cheek is nudity or not, our different reactions to the sight of peach shaped posteriors reflect so much on our different ideas of bodies, gender, and sexuality.”

Whether a bit more butt cheek is nudity or not, our different reactions to the sight of peach shaped posteriors reflect so much on our different ideas of bodies, gender, and sexuality. Australia is one of the most diverse countries in the world, so it makes sense some sort of overarching cultural attitude to how much skin we should show doesn’t exist. Even individuals will sometimes revere and scorn the sight of skin – context is everything.

Nudity can be a beautiful thing. It’s darn delightful to see the kids running around the backyard in the nutter on a hot day as the sprinkler runs, free of all the bodily self-consciousness that will hit them in adolescence. Such sweet, innocent freedom.

But by the time we’re all growed up, we’re sexual beings and our bods better be covered or it’s just down right creepy – unless you’re at the beach of course. It’s often said women are more free to dress how they like in any environment but even a boringly functional shoulder on a hot summer’s day is wildly inappropriate in some workplaces. Then again, imagine a man exposing his knees by wearing shorts in a corporate environment or strutting into the boardroom in flip flops.

Shoulders, knees and toes, so risqué. No wonder people love to get semi-nude when they’re near sand and saltwater. The working week’s uniform is so prudish when compared with the itsy bitsy teenie weenie things we’re permitted to sport in public at the beach. And perhaps that’s the beauty of this summer’s bare butt trend – a liberation of the social and cultural expectations most are happy to play along with but only for limited week day bursts.

Maybe it’s the influence of Kim Kardashian’s glorious glutes. Maybe HBO started the nudity thing years ago – Australians tend to follow northern hemisphere trends a season or more later. Maybe it isn’t about popular culture at all and it’s just that women want more skin tanned and are seeing it’s now acceptable. Could we stretch this to a health argument by bringing up vitamin D? Or is it just that despite the good advocacy work of the Cancer Council, people can’t resist the warm, fuzzy feeling of sunrays touching their arse?

“On one hand, you could argue the butt cheek trend is marking a positive social shift in attitudes to women’s bodies – one where we’re less concerned about the shape or size of anyone’s booty.”

On one hand, you could argue the butt cheek trend is marking a positive social shift in attitudes to women’s bodies – one where we’re less concerned about the shape or size of anyone’s booty and getting it out there shows women and girls in particular aren’t as hung up about their physical selves as we once believed.

On the other hand, you could argue this is a submission to sexism. Plenty of people don’t like to see women and girls enjoying their bodies this way. While arguments in favour of modesty can attract accusations of a controlling type of chauvinism, they are often made in defence of women’s liberty. Why must the so called fairer sex feel an obligation to display so much skin? Can’t women and girls have fun in the sun without feeling they need to sexualise themselves? Is all this bum display a nasty product of patriarchy getting its insidious tentacles into our beachside R&R?

I descend from a people not known for bodily inhibitions. If Hungarians aren’t presented with a sign in public baths telling them to don swimwear, the only suit necessary is the one your mama gave you. Some baths even supply disposable coverings for men and women’s nether regions in case they forget to pack something (although I suspect there are a few Magyars who don’t own a cozzie).

The other side of my family values dressing modestly in public. Headscarves are worn to social gatherings and ankles covered. Someone walking bare butt into a space, let alone naked, is unimaginable.

So, do we care which direction Australian beaches head? And how does a culturally diverse country make a general rule around appropriate levels of dress?

Torn between rights and obligations, a long-suffering widower agonises over how to divvy up his assets, while an aunt’s growing nest egg is in danger of being squandered. This month we are talking about inheritance on Ethi-call.

Disclaimer: The cases shared here are fictional accounts of typical dilemmas faced by callers who use The Ethics Centre’s free helpline Ethi-call. This is not a substitute for an Ethi-call counselling session.

Inheritance is a sticky issue. No matter your role – the writer of the will, the executor, the recipient, or the advisor – each individual has a view of how important justice, fairness, obligations, or rights are in making their decisions. If you’re lucky, these views are shared among all involved. At Ethi-call, The Ethics Centre’s free counselling service for ethical dilemmas, we know they usually aren’t.

Take this typical scenario:

Peter is a widower with two children in their late 40s. His daughter is a university educated high earner with a husband and two children. His son doesn’t have qualifications and although he works hard, he changes jobs frequently, never having found a satisfying career path. He is divorced and also has two children.

Peter has a degenerative disease and knows he will not live to see his grandchildren grow up. His will provides a 50/50 split of his assets between his children but he feels his son needs more help.

Peter tried talking with his daughter about this but she was upset he was considering treating them differently. She said she should not be penalised for her hard work and her brother is not entitled more because of his own life choices. Peter loves both his children and doesn’t want his daughter to feel undervalued. Some of his friends have even said she deserves more than half as a reward for the disciplined life she’s led. His wife who died four years ago wanted to make sure all her grandchildren were provided for generously and Peter wants his will to be fair, without causing pain or ill will. He just can’t see how he can achieve this. He is very distressed about the decision he has to make.

Ethics asks, “What ought one do?” I put to you, “What should Peter do?” He knows he must consider everyone who might be impacted by his decision and he has already identified the following:

• Wanting to be fair and equal to his children
• The capacity for inheritance to be perceived as a reward or punishment
• His role as a grandfather and the duty he feels to support his grandchildren
• An absolute desire to preserve his relationship with his children and their relationship with each other

If Peter were to contact Ethi-call, some questions he might be asked include:

• What is the purpose of a will?
• What has been your experience of receiving inheritance in the past and do you think it was handled well?
• What are the religious or cultural norms that guide your decisions in life?

There is no doubt his children may each desire different outcomes. But if he has to choose, what is most important to him when allocating his estate?

At least for Peter’s children, his final wishes will be sorted before he passes away. What if the writer of the will is already gone, and the family can only guess what the intentions were behind it?

Take this situation:

Before Sarah’s mother died, she said she wanted her young granddaughter Alexis to inherit a significant sum of money when she turned 18. She asked her only daughter Sarah, Alexis’ aunty, to be trustee of the funds until she turned 18 because Alexis’ father had passed away. Sarah’s investing has seen the funds grow significantly. Alexis’ maturity? Not so much.

Now months away from being eligible to receive her inheritance, Sarah is concerned about Alexis’ behaviour. She dropped out of school, is not working, and smokes a lot of pot. Sarah hopes this is just a phase but sees Alexis’ mum in her and worries it might just be her personality or chosen path.

Alexis and her mum struggle financially. Sarah has no idea how they get by and can see a cash injection could relieve pressure. But she is also concerned they won’t have the willpower, skills, or knowledge to look after the funds appropriately. She believes the signs show if Alexis doesn’t squander it, her mum will.

Sarah is torn between her duty to fulfil her mother’s wishes and her loyalty to her and her memory. She was a woman with a strong work ethic, who was dedicated to growing her personal wealth through prudence and patience. Sarah has every intention of following the requirements of the will, but she is struggling with how much control she is entitled to. What ought Sarah do?

• Should she try and help Alexis learn about money management?
• Is it her right to make suggestions around how the money is invested or saved?
• Whose wishes matter most – Sarah’s deceased mother, Sarah as trustee, Alexis, or Alexis’ mother?

Sarah is a woman of integrity and will respect Alexis’ right to inherit the money. But is there a way she can fulfil her mother’s wishes and do the best she can to ensure Alexis respects her legacy?

Both of these fictional cases depict someone struggling with what to do in a situation. An Ethi-call counsellor will never tell someone what to do. Instead, they follow a framework developed by The Ethics Centre over the last 25 years. This framework is driven by a wide range of questions that can often help unpack a dilemma in a way that the caller was not able to do on their own. And while a counsellor may seem to ask a lot of questions at first, there is a reason for them.

Struggling with inheritance can feel like being inside the home of the loved one you have lost. Memories, treasures, and sentimental trinkets pull you in multiple directions. But every house has a door. And every dilemma has a beginning.

There is no magic dust to make what is difficult, easy. But Ethi-call can help you find relief with understanding. A counsellor’s impartial and expert advice can be a guiding hand through neglected corridors and cobwebbed cupboards. Sometimes, someone removed from the trauma of a loved one’s death is exactly who you need to help you make your way through what is one of life’s hardest challenges.

Tough decisions are part of being human. We can help. Let us show you how. Book your free Ethi-call session here.Sally Murphy is an Ethi-call counsellor and manager of education programs at The Ethics Centre.

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