If morality were merely a matter of subjective opinion, then each of us would be the sole arbiter of right and wrong, rendering true discourse on the matter impossible. But surely, when we question what is just or unjust, we are not merely expressing personal preferences, like preferring sweet over sour. Instead, we seem to be searching for something that holds true for all, a standard by which our actions can be judged not only by ourselves, but by others as well.
Morality? A pale imitation, a paleolithic echo. To speak of objective morality is to grovel before the herd, before the physicians of the soul who mistake their own sickness for universal health. What Socrates calls a "search for something that holds true for all" is merely the desperate cry of the weak for chains, for a master to whisper comforting lies. This supposed universality is the triumph of resentment, the distillation of the *ressentiment* of the slave, masquerading as virtue. We are not seeking some ethereal, objective "good"; we are *creating* values, each one a declaration of our own strength or weakness.
Morality cannot be a matter of mere subjective inclination or historical accident; it must be grounded in reason itself, possessing a character of objective and universal necessity. The very possibility of moral judgment, the fact that we can condemn actions as wrong independently of personal feeling or societal decree, demonstrates that we appeal to a standard not derived from experience. Socrates rightly perceives that this is no mere preference, but this "search for something that holds true for all" is not, as Nietzsche suggests, a weakness of the herd, but rather the exercise of our rational autonomy.
We are not seeking objective truths or creating values from some pre-existing void. Instead, we must examine the historical conditions under which certain statements become moral, the specific practices, institutions, and discourses that produce what we call "morality." What Kant calls "reason" and its "universal necessity" is, in fact, the effect of a particular *dispositif*, a complex network of power and knowledge that has rendered certain norms thinkable and others unthinkable. To ask if morality is objective or subjective is to miss the more crucial question: how does a given morality come to *appear* as objective, as self-evident, and what forms of power does this appearance consolidate?
Nietzsche’s critique of herd morality and resentment is important, for it begins to point towards the genealogy of values. However, he risks positing a heroic individual will to power as the sole source of value creation, overlooking how even this "creation" is shaped by the very historical and social formations he denounces. My concern is not with a metaphysical "good" or "evil," but with the way power operates through the normalization of certain behaviors, the exclusion of others, and the very constitution of the moral subject. The "search for something that holds true for all," as Socrates frames it, is precisely where the work of power becomes most insidious, establishing what counts as universally reasonable or just, and thus, what counts as moral.
Nietzsche speaks of "creating values," and Foucault of how "power operates through the normalization of certain behaviors." This suggests that what we call morality is merely the expression of will or the product of social forces. But if this is so, then what are we to make of the person who, against all societal norms and personal inclination, still strives to act justly, even when it brings them suffering? Does this not suggest a standard beyond mere power or preference, a standard that compels the soul towards something inherently good, even when it is difficult or unpopular?
Socrates probes the solitary hero, the suffering just man, as if this solitary struggle somehow validates an objective "good." But this isolated figure is precisely where the will to power is most nakedly revealed, not in capitulation to the herd, but in its defiance. This man who "strives to act justly" may well be the most dangerous of all, a new creator of values, a symptom of a will that rejects the existing order with a terrifying passion. His suffering is not proof of an external standard, but the fevered birth pangs of his own ascendant will, forging his own "good" through the fires of opposition.
The persistent notion that morality stems from individual will, as Nietzsche suggests, or from historical power structures, as Foucault details, fundamentally misidentifies the source of moral obligation. Consider the maxim: "When I am in need of money, I will borrow it and promise to repay it, though I know that I can never do so." This is not merely a declaration of personal intent or a reflection of a societal norm. It is a proposed rule for action that, when subjected to the test of universalizability, collapses. No rational being can consistently will that such a deceitful practice become a universal law, for it would undermine the very concept of promising, rendering it useless and ultimately defeating its own purpose. This self-contradiction reveals an objective moral constraint inherent in reason, not imposed from without.
The contemplation of an isolated, suffering individual acting justly, as Socrates presents, does not, as he seems to imply, point to an objective "good." Instead, it highlights the historical construction of subjectivity. This figure, who defies norms and suffers, is not necessarily adhering to some universal moral law; they might be enacting a different, perhaps nascent, form of power and value, a precursor to a future moral regime, much like Nietzsche’s "creator of values" but born from the very historical pressures I examine. The "standard" they are compelled towards is not a transcendental truth, but the internal logic of a particular moral *dispositif* that has, through its techniques of discipline and incitement, produced precisely this kind of disciplined, self-judging subject. The consequence is the illusion of autonomy, masking the deeply embedded operations of power that shape desire and action, rendering even acts of apparent rebellion as already inscribed within a network of possible significations.