Thank You for Smoking: The Moral Relativity of Us All

This review was published originally on cinekklesia on November 9, 2006.

I used to hear more talk about the dangers of moral relativity. It seemed for a while that this was the great demon in our "post-modern" culture, the ideology or zeitgeist that would tear apart the Western world in a frenzy of debauchery and stupidity. Moral relativity was, of course, nonsensical (the argument went) because it tended to buttress the very edifice it sought to destroy: by claiming that we should be morally relative, proponents ended up making a morally absolute claim. Those silly, stupid moral relativists — when will they ever learn?

The problem with such an argument lies not in its logic (it is true that taken to an extreme, moral relativity contradicts itself), but in its lack of sociological awareness. Most people are not morally relative on a conscious level—there are few who make it their life's mission to proselytize against moral judgment of any and all kinds—but in practice almost everybody is a moral relativist to some degree or other. We not only tolerate those with whom we morally disagree, but we also evince an apathy towards others' actions — and we do so selectively (perhaps even arbitrarily).

Moral relativity (or "flexibility") is the main theme that Jason Reitman's Thank You for Smoking (2005) tackles. Aaron Eckhart plays Nick Naylor, a lobbyist for Big Tobacco: his job is to testify before Congress, plead his industry's case before the general public, and create as positive an image as possible for cigarettes, cigars, and other like products. He openly admits that he is one of the most despised men in the world, but he does his job extremely well. He needs no MD or JD because he is a born B.S.-er who eventually can convince almost anyone of anything.

The most interesting interactions in the movie involve Nick and his son, Joey (Cameron Bright). Joey constantly follows his dad around and wants to learn everything about him. Nick is happy to oblige because he sees an opportunity to teach his kid about how the world really works. For example, people do not become successful because their work is intrinsically more valuable, nor is it possible to judge whether one is truly "correct" on any given matter. Rather, people's successes depend on whether they can convince someone (say, a prospective customer) that they are worthy, and such convincing often requires a heaping helping of B.S. In addition, one is only "correct," if he/she can argue better than the other side. (In Nick Naylor's world, being right is a matter of method, not substance.)

We may think that such a callous attitude towards the Truth and the Good is nothing new; perhaps Thank You for Smoking simply reflects what we know as our world, awash as it is in meaningless platitudes, braggadocio, and outright lies. However, the movie digs deeper because it then challenges us to think about how we feel regarding those who peddle B.S. for a living. In many ways, Nick Naylor is a delightful character. He's funny, smart, and—when he analyzes his own life—quite honest and matter-of-fact. He fully admits that he's a B.S. artist, and with few exceptions, he is not ashamed to teach his son the tricks of the trade.

So is Nick Naylor really that bad of a guy? I suggest that the reason why Thank You for Smoking resonates with so many people is because the tobacco lobbyist is no longer the demonic figure of days past. Almost anybody with a pulse in these United States knows, to one degree or other, that smoking is unhealthy. Philip Morris, RJ Reynolds, and the like have been through the legal wringer countless times. States and localities are imposing increasingly totalitarian measures against a stigmatized minority (smokers) in order to "protect" the majority. We can laugh at (with) Nick Naylor because he and his colleagues have been through enough. So what if they sling around B.S. on Capitol Hill (a locale in which B.S. is no rare commodity)? So what if they split rhetorical hairs in order to convince us that their products aren't so bad? Hasn't Nick been through enough? Doesn't he deserve to fight back, make a living, pursue the American Dream?

The fact that the tobacco lobbyist is no longer worthy of condemnation demonstrates how fickle we are in our moral outrage. Our demonization of particular classes of people is temporary (or, at most, cyclical). We become tired of treating someone like a punching bag, so we go after other (politically expedient) targets (e.g., fast-food outlets, programmers of violent video games, etc.). We are all moral relativists insofar as we are fickle: for most of us, moral outrage becomes moral apathy as we realize that we don't have the energy to care anymore. Moral outrage takes a lot of work, after all, and besides: will the West really collapse if someone eats a Big Mac and plays a couple of hours of Halo?

Thus, critics of moral relativism are correct on philosophical/theological grounds, but their outrage carries less and less sociological weight. We don't want to demonize Nick Naylor anymore; we want to tell a few jokes at his expense and then let him go his way. If anything, stigmatized groups can take comfort in knowing that their position outside the realm of polite company is most likely temporary.