A Simple Argument of

Objective Moral Laws 

Craig Payne

Craig Payne teaches at a community college in southeastern Iowa.

      Truth is never outdated. Here are the opening sentences of Allan Bloom’s justly celebrated 1987 book The Closing of the American Mind:

There is one thing a professor can be absolutely certain of: Almost every student entering the university believes, or says he believes, that truth is relative. If this belief is put to the test, one can count on the students’ reaction: they will be uncomprehending. That anyone should regard the proposition as not self-evident astonishes them, as though he were calling into question 2 + 2 = 4.

My own experience as an ethics and philosophy teacher at a community college in southeastern Iowa bears out Bloom’s observation. Many students are honestly puzzled, and a few even outraged, at any argument presented for the objective reality of moral laws. By objective moral laws, I mean moral laws to which all of us as humans are accountable, regardless of our circumstances or cultural upbringing.

      However, I don’t think the outrage of the students, at least for most of them, stems from any desire for self-justification of their own moral or immoral lifestyles. From discussions and arguments with my students both in and out of class, my sense is that many have two general obstacles to an acceptance of the idea of objective moral laws.

      First of all, most of them (even those raised in churches and synagogues) cannot remember anyone ever giving them logical arguments for objective moral laws. They all can remember assertions of objective moral laws, but an assertion is not an argument—it does not convince, but only commands. An assertion may be true, but does not show the questioner the process by which the truth is gained, whereas truth based on logic and reason does reveal this process. As Thomas Aquinas puts it, truth based on authority and assertion (matters of faith) is better and more full in terms of content, but truth based on logic and reason is better in terms of the method used to reach it. Someone who is reasonably well convinced of the truth of moral laws is more likely to obey them than someone who is only commanded to obey them without being convinced of their reality.

      Secondly, many students honestly feel that calling another’s moral choices “wrong” is itself actually “wrong” (this is a logical contradiction, of course, but one they are quite willing to live with). Judging another’s morality—especially another culture’s morality—is seen as, well, as judgmental. Those who even believe in objective moral laws, let alone actually assert them, are seen as harsh, intolerant, and perhaps hypocritical. “Who are we to say we’re right and they’re wrong?” is the relativist’s great rallying cry. “After all, cultures everywhere all think they’re right. So who’s to say?” To quote Allan Bloom once more, for the students “the point is not to correct the mistakes and really be right; rather it is not to think you are right at all.”

      On the other hand, some students are truly grateful for the support—both intellectual and moral—of any arguments presented for the existence of objective moral laws, or at least arguments highlighting the incoherence of moral relativism. And these arguments do exist. In this essay, I would like to put forward what I regard as one of the simplest but most effective arguments on behalf of objective moral laws.

      Contemporary philosopher James Rachels points out, in his Elements of Moral Philosophy, “The first thing we need to notice is that at the heart of Cultural Relativism there is a certain form of argument.” This form is as follows:

(1) Different cultures have different moral codes.

(2) Therefore, there is no objective “truth” in morality. Right and wrong are only matters of opinion, and opinions vary from culture to culture. We may call this the Cultural Differences Argument. To many people, it is persuasive. But from a logical point of view, is it sound?

Rachels argues that it is not sound. The reader may ask the question, How does the premise “Different cultures have different moral codes” (which no one would dispute) inevitably entail the conclusion that objective morality does not exist?

The trouble is that the conclusion does not follow from the premise—that is, even if the premise is true, the conclusion might still be false. The premise concerns what people believe—in some societies, people believe one thing; in other societies, people believe differently. The conclusion, however, concerns what really is the case. The trouble is that this sort of conclusion does not follow logically from this sort of premise.

      Pointing out the logical form behind moral relativism, as Rachels does, can be helpful in arguing against relativism. In particular, it can be helpful when contrasted to a similar logical form for objective morality. Consider the following argument for moral relativism (essentially the same argument given above, but fleshed out into the modus ponens, logical inference model):

(Premise 1) If most or all different cultures have different customs and mores, no moral law is objectively true for all people.

(Premise 2) Most or all different cultures do have different customs and mores.

(Conclusion) Therefore, no moral law is objectively true for all people. 

The form of this argument is completely valid, but the argument itself may not be true. The problem, as Rachels points out, lies in that highly questionable first premise. Note that even believers in objective moral laws have no problem with the second premise. “Different cultures do have different customs and mores”—that is an easily demonstrable fact. Whether or not this fact of moral differences would then translate into the claim that no objective moral laws exist is something that would still remain to be seen.

      However, at this point I propose something to my students that typically catches them off guard: a substitution for the first and second premises that they may not have previously considered. This becomes an argument against moral relativism, still using the familiar modus ponens form:

(Premise 1) If most or all different cultures have fundamentally the same basic moral laws, these moral laws are objectively true for all people.

(Premise 2) Most or all different cultures do have fundamentally the same basic moral laws.

(Conclusion) Therefore, these moral laws are objectively true for all people—regardless of superficial differences in customs or mores.

“Wait a minute!” some students howl at this point. “How can you say that most cultures have the same fundamental moral laws?” But Premise 2 from the second argument is just as easily verified as Premise 2 from the first argument. It is certainly true that “Different cultures do have different customs and mores”; however, it is just as certainly true that “Most or all different cultures do have fundamentally the same basic moral laws.” We might, for example, discuss the “Illustrations of the Tao” from C. S. Lewis’s book The Abolition of Man. Most or all cultures have moral restrictions against murder; against completely open sexual expression (rules against rape or incest, for instance); against disrespect for parents; against theft; against dishonesty; and on and on and on.

      When students reluctantly concede this point (some, of course, never do), the next question is simple. Look at the first premise for both arguments: Which seems more likely to be true? The first premise in favor of moral relativism states,

If most or all different cultures have different customs and mores, no moral law is objectively true for all people.

The first premise in favor of objective moral laws and against relativism states,

If most or all different cultures have fundamentally the same basic moral laws, these moral laws are objectively true for all people.

      Since the second premise for both arguments is true, the argument with a true first premise is going to be the argument with the true conclusion as well.

      Although it goes against the grain for many, and can feel to them personally as if I were challenging their very moral identities, most students, if honest, will eventually admit that the second argument is more probably true than the first. This seems to me to be the simplest way I have found to argue for objectively existing moral laws.

      Notwithstanding my earlier comments about student relativism, and without retracting any of them, I would also say we have reasons for hope for these students. The tang of reality introduced into “politically correct” relativism, like salt on bland food, seems to fill some young minds with fresh excitement. Moral truth is a type of knowledge, and humans desire to know, as Aristotle says. The long-neglected tug of conscience responds to arguments for objective moral truths with enthusiasm (and let’s always remember the roots of that word: en-theos, “God-within”). After all, as Paul the apostle writes regarding all humans, the Law of God is “written in their hearts”:

They show that the essential requirements of the Law are written in their hearts and are operating there, with which their consciences (sense of right and wrong) also bear witness; and their [moral] decisions (their arguments of reason, their condemning or approving thoughts) will accuse or perhaps defend and excuse [them] on that day when, as my Gospel proclaims, God by Jesus Christ will judge men . . . (Romans 2:15-16, Amplified Bible). 

It used to be that belief in objective moral laws was the status quo. Nowadays, however, arguing for objective morality makes one a rebel against the relativist “tolerance” of the age. When I present these points to students, I have the sense of working as an undercover operative on behalf of objective morality—I am, as a part of what Chesterton calls the “revolt into orthodoxy,” helping to undermine the relativist orthodoxy too long regnant.

      Yes, it is simple, but we have to start somewhere. Perhaps as these students come to accept the innate dictates of conscience—as they begin to stop denying the spiritual and moral demands and hungers of their true innermost selves—they might also be more receptive to the worship of the Creator who gave them their moral sense in the first place. As I said earlier, we always have reasons for hope.     Ω