On Morality Within Relationships

Last year, one of my best friends cheated on his partner. Unbeknownst to us, for an entire year, he was flirting with other people, eventually being caught by his girlfriend red-handed. This was taken incredibly seriously by all of his friends, including me, who have terminated any relationship they ever had with him. A deep, decade-long friendship was taken behind the barn and, within about six months, never mentioned again.

What struck me in the aftermath of this scandal was just how good a friend he had been to me. Not just passively good, but actively supportive. He was a warm and comforting presence whenever I needed him, always willing to compromise, kind to my family, and never judgmental. He was, without a doubt, a fantastic friend to all of us who were close to him. This knowledge led me to reflect on the coexistence of two truths. On the one hand, the ethical way he conducted himself as a friend, and on the other, the clear lack of ethics he displayed as a partner.

Ethics arise from society. It’s hard to imagine an ethical code for a lonely human drifting in space. When we live among others, ethics is something we practice to maintain healthy relationships—minimising pain and suffering and increasing pleasure and fulfilment. Thomas Hobbes framed this as a social contract, one we enter with our governments by giving away some of our freedoms to ensure order. I am not free to burn your house, just as you aren’t free to burn mine, and together we avoid a society governed by spontaneous arson.

However, while this social contract between the state and citizens can be understood as the law, similar contracts also exist in a more implicit form between community members. These silent agreements may follow what Rousseau called the “general will”—our shared commitment to promoting the common good. They might dictate acts such as stopping to help an injured person on the roadside or assisting an elderly person with their shopping bags.

Yet, depending on the specific relationship between individuals, these contracts impose different terms and clauses. Some philosophers distinguish between our “natural duties” to strangers and our “special obligations” to loved ones. As Diane Jeske explains, there are many types of special relationships in our lives—such as those with parents, friends, compatriots, neighbours, and professionals—each generating unique obligations inherent to those relationships.

We can intuitively recognise different obligations for each relationship type. For example, not providing food, shelter, and a welcoming environment for your child makes you a bad parent, but failing to do so for your Spanish teacher does not make you a bad student. Being a good friend requires offering emotional support while being a good neighbour does not. To be a good boyfriend, I shouldn’t forget my partner’s birthday, but while remembering my co-worker’s birthday may be nice, it’s not necessary to be considered a good colleague. These differing moral standards across relationships allow us to behave ethically in some areas of our lives and not in others. I may be an ethical housemate with my tidiness and consideration, but an unethical boss with my micromanagement and perfectionism.

This point may seem straightforward, but it is often ignored in our modern moral landscape. Exiling our cheating friend from our lives showed that we were not capable of believing that an unethical partner could have remained an ethical friend, even though the obligations for each relationship are different.

Furthermore, the belief that “character” permeates every aspect of a person’s life is reflected in our courts and how we assess our leaders. For instance, character evidence is often used in criminal trials. A woman might try to prove the abusive behaviour of her husband, and his community might contribute evidence of his good nature, kindness and sensitivity. But often those providing evidence only experienced him as a friend, colleague, or brother—not as a husband. This evidence, taken seriously by the courts, validates that viewing someone as kind in one arena of life necessitates that quality translating to other arenas. It supports the belief that morality and immorality cannot exist simultaneously and it is no coincidence that this very practice is currently being reviewed by the New South Wales Department of Communities and Justice.

Here I present a view that morality is segmented and is bound to human relationships. I argue that, due to different obligations and hence ethical standards, a person can be considered “bad” in one relationship (such as a romantic one) and “good” in another (such as a friendship).

Some may object to this, arguing that ethical standards are universal. Principles like “do not murder” or “do not lie” seem to be irrefutable. If someone commits murder, they are universally unethical, not just unethical in their role as, say, an ex-husband or a compatriot. While this is a strong objection, it does not refute my argument that we can fail at one moral relationship but not another. For example, I may have successfully followed the “no murder” rule as both a father and a partner but failed as the former by not providing my children with an adequate education. Besides, we cannot be certain that a type of relationship permitting murder does not exist. It can be argued that a hostage may be justified in killing their kidnapper, and some argue that doctors should have the power to end a patient’s life based on their own assessment. This poses a challenge for Kantian deontologists, who seek universal moral principles, as there are often scenarios where these principles do not apply. The same challenge applies to the objection raised here.

It is difficult to reconcile that someone who hurts another so badly does not make them wholly unethical. This is the difficulty I faced after the scandal mentioned in the opening paragraph. However, upon pondering, I found that ethics matter in the context of the relationship. When I ask “Is x person good?” I ought to add a qualifier: “Is x person good as a friend? ” For my cheating friend, the answer may as well be yes. I will simply not remember him as an unethical friend, just as a terrible, unethical partner.