We always operate under the assumption that the other’s actions follow an ethical framework, however rudimentary it may be. And as it may turn out, that framework may end up seeming quite foreign to us.
Still, this framework could actually be better at producing the very effects we hope our own would achieve (that is, the intended effects).
We won’t know whether this is the case unless we talk to them in an attempt to unravel this doubt. This is all provided that they are even conscious enough of their framework to succeed in explaining it to us.
As with many of us, ethical frameworks can become so deeply internalised that we apply them intuitively, prompted by a perceived incongruence akin to flinching at a misplaced note in a piece of music. Perception overtakes analysis; identification over explanation.
We perceive in the other’s framework an incongruence with ours, and we assume bad faith before witnessing the outcomes of their actions. But somehow, in the end, their actions achieve the results we were seeking. The difference is the path they took toward the result, the series of decisions that led them there, is different.
This is not another case of “the end justifies the means”. I’m pointing to the sheer strangeness of the other’s ethical framework. It does not inflict any more harm than the path we would have chosen; it simply follows different principles that lead to different decisions, eventually resulting in the intended result that our own framework failed to deliver.
Well-intended unconventionality is indeed a tricky thing to interpret. How do we approach it? Not by assuming we will always hit the mark with our assessment. That is a losing battle. Instead, we may start by sharpening our understanding of our own ethical framework, improving our ability to read the unexpected ethics behind others’ actions, and —possibly most importantly— becoming better at talking about them.