The Ethics of Shadows

 [ Every harm leaves a shadow. Even if you walk through necessity, the shadow remains. You don’t deny it — you notice it, bow to it, and carry it with humility ]

Do you know the feeling when you have a long, meaningful conversation with someone but end up feeling misunderstood, judged, and troubled with all the “what ifs”? What if I had said this or that instead of what I actually said in the moment? Maybe I could have expressed myself better, maybe they would have understood me better, maybe I should not have said anything at all.

All these thoughts raced through my mind as soon as I left my friend’s place one day, after discussing life, family problems, and ultimately a very tricky conversation about the world being mostly grey — and whether we can really put things into a box of black and white, or right vs wrong.

It was a discussion I started off thinking would be a normal conversation like the ones we’ve had before, but this one changed something inside of me. It led me to learn many new things, made me cry, made me think to never engage in such conversations again, to shut myself down, to not give things a lot of thought. Yet, for some reason, I kept circling back to it. One day, I just could not handle the chaos in my brain and started having a conversation with AI to understand what I was thinking: philosophical theories about the discussion we had, concepts I might be missing, and things I was unaware of. I got a huge rush of thoughts and emotions, and a push to write everything down for the first time in a long while.

This sudden burst of putting things into perspective — making note of what I understood, what I felt, and what I learned — led me to create a view I would like to call “The Ethics of Shadows.”

It was a usual day. My husband and I went to meet our friends — sweet, modern, creative, humble, and generous people who had brought us gifts from their Vietnam trip. We went to their place around 10 PM, our usual meeting time to discuss life and thoughts and lose ourselves in the ghost of time. I thought it would be a usual evening, but as we sat there talking about life in general — the troubles of modern women struggling to live in a patriarchal world, fighting their way through it, making their own choices yet somehow feeling they are not doing enough or maybe doing too much — I realised this conversation was different.

We discussed how women struggle to make themselves understood in a world where the notions of patriarchy are so deeply rooted that we always have to decide whether or not to fight a battle. At the end of the day, there is only so much one can fight and change.

As we engaged in conversations about patriarchy and human nature, we also talked about how both our husbands are people pleasers, according to us, and how they kept fighting not to be labeled as such. We tried to understand what it actually meant to be a people pleaser, whether we were reading it wrong, whether it was just that they had a higher tolerance for life’s bullshit, or whether they were simply more empathetic than us.

While this thought might be true, the idea of me not being as empathetic troubled me a little. Perhaps I was carrying an ego that did not allow me to believe otherwise, or maybe all I have ever tried to do in life was to be empathetic while remaining practical — not letting people walk over me, being observant of those who try to take advantage of others, and eventually building a shell that is not very tolerant of first-world problems that do not require so much handholding. All these thoughts and justifications made me learn things that are hard to accept about yourself but also create space to be more aware.

As my mind raced, the conversation shifted toward the idea that maybe we don’t take people’s problems as seriously — but perhaps they are serious, because the world is not black and white, but rather a spectrum of grey.

While it started off as my friend and I being spokespersons for some things being absolutely black or white, the men stood up for a view that sees the world as a grey spectrum, where nothing is absolutely wrong or right.

To understand the arguments on either side, we need to define a few terms we often use interchangeably without knowing their precise meaning. There were many such words we used that day:

• Morals: Often subjective and differing greatly from person to person.

• Ethics: While rooted in morality, seeks to provide a more systematic and objective framework for evaluating actions.

• Facts: Statements verifiable as true or false through evidence or observation; objective and not influenced by personal feelings or beliefs.

• Opinions: Beliefs, feelings, or judgments that cannot be proven true or false; subjective, depending on personal views, preferences, or experiences.

  
  

I stood my ground that day, calling harm to animals for food a fact, because it involved physical harm. My friends called it an opinion, stating it is wrong as per them, but that we can’t call it absolutely wrong — it is a grey act that might be right in certain situations out of necessity and that makes it an opinion.

The battle I fought that day was a wrong one, because sometimes we get stuck on words rather than the meaning and impact of a conversation. When I said that it was a wrong act And, we have to call it one.

The argument I received was that people do it out of necessity. What if someone has to eat meat while living in Antarctica? Or what if it’s part of someone’s culture? Coastal countries rely heavily on fish consumption — can we call their survival methods wrong? Should we try to convince them otherwise?

Although the argument seems fair, a question bugs me: should I not tell people that this act is morally wrong because, in their opinion, it is not? Is this a question of opinion? Would people say the same thing when it comes to the rape of a woman?

I could not hold my thoughts and asked the same thing: would you say rape is absolutely wrong?

The response was obvious — yes.

Yet somehow, calling animal cruelty absolutely wrong is still treated as an opinion. We can’t call it one because, in certain contexts, it might be a matter of survival — a person living in Antarctica or near the sea, for example.

I tried to portray my thoughts as clearly as I could, but now I see it wasn’t enough. It reflects what my husband always tells me to focus on — communication skills. I now understand better than before that to engage in such conversations, one cannot have a disconnect between mind and words.

There are many challenges in having these difficult conversations. The top one is that it can be perceived as an attack on the person performing the act. But honestly, it is not about calling the person wrong; it is about defining the act as morally wrong. The person might be wonderful in other aspects of life, but they may not grasp the morality of causing harm to an animal while being aware of morality in harming humans — “Speciesism.”

While juggling these thoughts, I asked another question with whatever limited thought-to-speech connection I could establish:

“Will you not teach your child that hurting animals is wrong?”

The response: “It is important to impart wisdom rather than opinions. I would not tell the child whether it is right or wrong. I would just let the child know that killing animals causes hurt. Whether it is right or wrong is for the child to decide. What if the child is in Antarctica and has to eat meat out of necessity? By calling it wrong, should I make them live with guilt forever?”

This thought mixed emotion, logic, and bias. Reflecting now, I realise I could have asked:

“Suppose at gunpoint, someone forces you to rape or slaughter a woman, and you do it because there is no other choice — a matter of survival. Would you call it wrong, or term it a grey act because it is usually wrong, but in this situation, it becomes necessary or “Right” ?”

I did not ask this then, but now I think about it. Perhaps the bias arises from two things:

1. Speciesism: Criteria for human life are treated differently.

2. Guilt-free necessity: We avoid guilt for acts done out of necessity, which is a happier way to live, but does that lead to a kinder world?

   
   

So many thoughts cross my mind every day. Sitting in silence, I feel the need to do what is within my capacity: to shift my own mindset and others’ toward a kinder world, to honour the efforts of environmentalists, animal activists, and those fighting for social justice, education, and equality. All I can do is respect these efforts and try to spread awareness about harm caused by some of our actions.

The world will always be divided into multiple fronts, opinions, and debates. It has been and will always be evolving, leaving us to question: does it really matter? Am I not just a tiny dust particle in this vast universe?

The answer is yes. You are nothing, but you are also everything. The nothingness humbles you, and the wholeness empowers you. Whatever your beliefs, you are here, and you matter.

In Conclusion

All I wanted to say that day was:

“If we call necessary harm ‘right,’ we risk washing away the moral weight of what we’ve done. It becomes a kind of self-absolution. Yes, sometimes we must commit wrong to prevent worse wrongs — but we should never rename it ‘right.’ [Right = no harm. Wrong = harm]

For me, this is the only honest way to face harm: to admit it, to apologise for it, and to accept that sometimes there was no better choice. Beyond my own story, I believe this stance carries something universal — morality is preserved not by erasing harm, but by acknowledging it. In that humility, we remain both truthful and human.”

Reflections from Philosophical Thought

This perspective resonates with many ethical thinkers:

• Simone Weil: True morality is recognising harm cannot be erased, only acknowledged.

• Levinas: Responsibility to the Other never disappears; even necessary violence carries guilt.

• Tragic ethics (Nussbaum, Williams): Sometimes moral life means making choices that remain painful and morally stained, not “cleanly right.”

  
  

These ideas echo the central message of The Ethics of Shadows: even necessary harm leaves a trace, and acknowledging it honestly is the only way to stay morally grounded.

But if every harm leaves a shadow, the real question is: how often do we pause to face it?

 Are we doing enough — in our choices, our words, our daily lives — to lessen the shadows we leave behind?