I treated utilitarianism like a tool. Like a product I could test in my real life. I used it at work, at home, even when choosing where to give money. It wasn’t a lab. It was messy life stuff.
For the blow-by-blow diary of that experiment, see my longer reflection I Tried Living by Utilitarianism—So Is It Objectivist or Relativist?.
Here’s the thing: people ask if utilitarianism is objectivist or relativist. I asked that too. After a few months of trying it, here’s my plain take.
Quick explain: what are we even talking about?
- Utilitarianism: do what brings the most good for the most people. Add up the happiness, subtract the pain. Pick the choice with the biggest net good.
- Objectivist: there’s one moral rule for everyone, everywhere.
- Relativist: what’s “right” depends on culture, group, or person.
So which box does this thing fit? Let me tell you how it felt when I used it for real.
When It Felt Objectivist: One Rule, Big Enough for All
Most days, utilitarianism felt like one clear rule. It didn’t ask who I was. It didn’t care where I lived. It just asked, “What brings the most good?”
(If you want the flip side—what it’s like to aim for moral certainty by living as a strict objectivist for a spell—I captured that experience in this review.)
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At work, I manage a small support team. We had budget for snacks or faster laptops. I ran numbers. Faster laptops helped more customers, saved more time, and lowered stress for the team. So I picked laptops. It felt fair. One standard: more good for more people.
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During a local blood drive, the nurse asked donors to wait while they handled two urgent cases. Saving more life-years came first. No special treatment. Same rule for all. I stood there thinking, “Yep, that tracks.” (The same reasoning shows up in vaccination policies that aim for herd immunity—see these real-life utilitarian examples.)
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With donations, I checked groups like GiveWell and looked at the Against Malaria Foundation. Bed nets save a lot of lives for not much money. So I gave there. That math wasn’t cozy. But it felt clear.
In those moments, utilitarianism had one yardstick. No favorites. No side deals. It felt objectivist.
When It Felt Relativist: The Numbers Move With People
But then, the world got fuzzy.
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My kid wanted me to read a bedtime story. I also had a work email that could help a client. Which brings more good? A happier kid who sleeps well? Or a smoother day for a client and my team? I picked the story. Tiny choice, big ripples. And honestly, it felt right. But the “most good” was hard to count.
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I gave to malaria nets one month. The next month I gave to a local food pantry. Why? Because a neighbor told me they were running low and folks were skipping meals. Same wallet, different pull. Culture, community, and mood shaped the “good.”
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At our neighborhood meeting, people argued about speed bumps. Some wanted safety. Others hated the noise. What’s “more good”? It depended on whose pain you counted more. Parents? Night shift workers? Delivery drivers? It shifted as voices came in.
So is that relativism? Kind of. The rule stayed the same—maximize good—but the facts changed. What brings good depends on people, place, and time. That’s not “anything goes.” It’s more like “the math uses local data.”
The Subtle Fix: Context isn’t the same as “anything goes”
I got this wrong at first. I thought, if results vary by place, it must be relativist. But you know what? The core rule didn’t change. The inputs did.
I’ve also spent a whole year trying to live by a fully objectivist philosophy; you can read the candid takeaways here.
- Same rule: count everyone’s good, equally.
- Different inputs: different needs, costs, risks, and joys.
So I’d say utilitarianism is objectivist at its core, but it’s context-sensitive in practice. It can look relativist because life is wild and people are different.
Real wins, real worries
What I liked
- It kept me honest. I couldn’t play favorites.
- It made me plan ahead, not just fix the loudest problem.
- It helped me say no. That was new. And needed.
What bugged me
- It felt cold at times. People aren’t numbers. They’re… people.
- It’s hard to measure all the good and harm. You never see it all.
- It can tire you out. Constant trade-offs? That’s a lot.
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A few stories that stuck with me
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School snacks: We had $150 for a class event. Cookies for all? Or fruit plus a quiet corner for kids who get overwhelmed? We did fruit and a quiet space with soft lights. Fewer sugar highs. Calmer kids. Teachers thanked us after. Not flashy, but more net good.
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Team overtime: One person offered to take all the late shifts for extra pay. Seemed kind. But burnout risk was high. We split the shifts and sent dinner vouchers on late days. Happier team, fewer mistakes. I could feel the air change.
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Streetlights vs trees: Our block wanted more light for safety. But folks loved the tall trees. We added lower, warm lights along the path and trimmed branches. Safety up, trees kept. Not perfect, but better for more people.
So… objectivist or relativist?
My verdict: Mostly objectivist. There’s one rule—maximize overall well-being—and it applies to everyone. But the way you count the good depends on real people in real places, so it can feel relativist. Think of it like one recipe with local ingredients.
If you want a deeper dive into how moral frameworks juggle universal rules with local context, check out the concise explainer at Full Context.
If you want to try it (like I did)
Before you dive in, you might find it helpful to skim the notes I kept after a month of binge-reading objectivist blogs—this summary collects the practical gems.
- Ask, “Who’s helped, who’s hurt, and by how much?”
- Count quiet harms too—stress, shame, lost time.
- Use simple numbers when you can. Even rough math helps.
- Check your blind spots. Whose voice is missing?
- Leave space for care. Relationships matter and also shape total good.
Honestly, utilitarianism didn’t make me a machine. It made me pay attention. It pushed me to look past my bubble. And some days, that was enough.