The Atheist's Noble Lie

     Morality rests on a lie. We labor, after all, to develop virtuous characters capable of compassion, honesty, selflessness, and trustworthiness. In all of this, we aim at ideals that we can never perfectly actualized. When we strive for moral improvement, the ideals recede from us, always just out of reach. We never achieve perfect compassion or become wholly selfless. And we know we never will in this life. Regardless, we hide this knowledge from ourselves, recognizing that if we too carefully observe our own moral limits, we may slacken our push for moral growth. This seems paradoxical. Morality, which (by most estimations) abhors lying, is founded on self-deception, a form of lying.

     Or at least it does for one who does not believe in God. For the theist can recognize his or her own powerlessness in the face of morality's demands, and yet strive for perfect virtue, secure in the knowledge that God will, in the end, bring about perfect conformity with ethical ideals. And this "in the end" is key. The theist knows life continues beyond this moonlit sphere into a brighter and holier one. Given this knowledge, he or she may strive in God with all vigor, undeterred by the inability to perfectly actualize moral ideals here and now. When morality rests on God it is not founded on a lie.

The Nominal Fallacy and the Loss of Personal Relationships

            A fallacy is a form of faulty reasoning. These forms litter our thinking, and one who seeks truth must exercise great caution to avoid them. Take the democratic fallacy (argumentum ad populum) as an example. This form of reasoning holds that a proposition is true because most people believe it to be true. This model of reasoning can lead us to err: if 9 out of 10 people believe the northern star resides in the southern hemisphere, those people are still wrong. The truth of a proposition is not up to a vote.

Perhaps a more pernicious fallacy is the nominal fallacy (from the Latin nomen, meaning name). This fallacy posits that when you apply a name (or label) to something, you have explained it. Put differently, a name transmits explanatory content. So framed, this is a descriptive form of the fallacy: a name describes (i.e. explains) that to which it applies. But I believe the fallacy also occurs in a prescriptive or normative form—a point of relevance to what follows. In the prescriptive form, a name both describes (explains) and evaluates.

The nominal fallacy—in its descriptive and prescriptive forms—permeates all intellectual endeavors. To elaborate, imagine a person attaches the label “democracy” to a particular society. Has he thereby descriptively explained that society or its form of social organization? No. Has he even prescriptively fixed its value or worth as a form of social life? No. The name itself carries no explanatory or normative information. Understanding and evaluating a society requires careful assessment of its institutions, cultures, and mores.

But as intellectually lazy creatures (and we all are), employing a label as a shortcut to knowledge is satisfying. Labels free us of the labor necessary for authentic understanding. In freeing us, however, they deceive us, leading us into an encounter not with the reality we try to understand, but with a pale conceptual counterpart that bears a cartoonish resemblance. The nominal fallacy, therefore, confers the gift of cheap, pseudo knowledge.

Aside from the epistemic error flowing from this form of reasoning, it also carries with it a deeper, existential problem. Specifically, when we use labels or names to explain a person, we no longer enter into a personal relationship with him or her. We instead strap a cartoonish, abstract concept onto that person, which shields us from a direct encounter. So shielded, we do not see a flesh and blood person, a unique individual, but a mere representative of some pernicious or virtuous class or group.

Who hasn’t heard a political opponent charging his interlocutor (if that term even properly applies) as a “racist” or a “liberal snowflake.” In taking up this debate tactic, the political opponent believes he has explained his interlocutor while revealing something about his interlocutor’s worth. But the nominal fallacy, as already noted, bears the cheap gift of pseudo knowledge. It gives rise to an illusion in the mind of the political opponent—an illusion that makes him feel virtuous.

He is far from it, though. Not because he errs, but because he has severed himself from a direct encounter with the person he maligns. His interlocutor is not a person with a family and career, with hopes, desires, and fears. No. For the political opponent, his interlocutor is a racist or a liberal snowflake—a manifestation of an abstract class or group. And the interlocutor knows he has not been treated as a person, but as a proxy for something worthy of derision.

The nominal fallacy—while easy and satisfying—is, I believe, a form of intellectual cowardice. One who employs it is never forced to look another person—a real individual—in the eyes. He instead dehumanizes the other and then looks at a mere object of his outrage. This form of cowardice, therefore, makes political conversations easier and more difficult. Easier because it frees participants from any meaningful intellectual work. More difficult because it raises the cost of engaging in any type of dialogue whatsoever. As responsible citizens, we must avoid this form of thinking like a cancer. Our republic—which depends on our having difficult conversations in a respectful way—cannot long survive its presence.

Is Ethical Relativism Possible?

I fear our era has succumbed to ethical relativism—the view that there are no objective standards of right and wrong holding for all historical epochs, cultures, or individuals. “Different strokes for different folks,” is the anthem of our generation. “It is right for him,” or “that is her morality,” are regular facets of the relativists' discourse.       

Ironically, in my experience, those most committed to ethical relativism are unable to maintain their “enlightened,” views in practice. Emotion filled injunctions against war, torture, racisim and cultural imperialism are equally common facets of their discourse. If you doubt this, I encourage you to tell an ethical relativist that it is your morality to force your morality onto others. See how long they continue to sing their “different strokes for different folks,” anthem. While such observations indicate that ethical relativism is untenable in practice, I maintain that it is self-contradictory, on a conceptual level.

To see this, note that adherents—at least when they are not in an emotional fugue state— marshal arguments against objective moral standards. A common argument points to wide differences in cultural norms and mores, inferring that this evidence conclusively demonstrates the nonexistence of objective moral standards.[1] Whatever the virtues of such an argument are, it is important to note that all such arguments—and all arguments in general—rest on an implicit premise: if the argument is sound or cogent, we ought to accept it. In other words, it would be wrong to withhold our accent. Alternatively, it would be right or good to accent. Apparently, such arguments are supposed to be valid for all historical epochs, cultures or individuals. If I argue that cultural norms have varied throughout history and moral norms are therefore relative to historical epoch and culture, I am claiming that such observations would hold regardless of their time or location of utterance, and that therefore we ought to accept the inferred conclusion.

The normative terms, right, good, and ought, are presupposed with every argument. In fact, ethical relativists cannot offer any argument for their position without presupposing the imperative force their arguments should have for any person, at any place, during any time. The fact that such terms cannot be denied without contradiction indicates that their content—viz., goodness, rightness, etc.—is a basic feature of human cognition. We cannot engage in discourse, nor have knowledge of the world, free of such features.

In fact, an ethical relativist cannot escape the conclusion I have offered here without presupposing the content of those normative terms. For assume that a proponent were to argue against what I have said here. For example, he argues that my observations, as to the normative structure of argumentation, are flawed; or that relativists do not assume that their arguments hold across all times, places, or individuals. In rolling out his argument and positing his conclusion, the relativist would claim that “for these reasons we ought to reject what has been said here.” His argument would apparently apply to any similar observations, as to the normative structure of argumentation, regardless of time, location or person making such observations; or that relativists, regardless of time, location or proponent, do not make such assumptions. In other words, the ethical relativist, whatever the argument, cannot argue against what I have said here without presupposing the normative term, ought, good, or right.

Importantly, the foregoing normative terms are the basic terms employed in all ethical discourse. If they are a basic feature of human cognition, as I have argued here, their use can extend beyond argumentation, touching various fixtures of reality. Ethical relativism cannot argue against the objective existence of such terms without presupposing them. Perhaps I am wrong. If so, I invite the ethical relativist to present an argument that we ought to accept, contrary to what I have said here. In so doing, perhaps the proponent can rescue relativism from its self-contradiction and reestablishing it as a theory that ought to apply to all individuals, across all cultural and historical epochs. Needless to say, I won’t hold my breath. 

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[1] In my experience, if proponents offer arguments at all, they are not much more sophisticated than this. Yet, it must be noted that there are numerous sophisticated arguments for ethical relativism. Presenting such arguments is unnecessary for my purposes. My observations will point out general features common to all argumentation, however sophisticated. 

Leaving Neutral Ground: Same-Sex Marriage and Moral Neutrality Under the Law

It has often been said, by those within my personal circle, "I personally believe that same-sex marriage is wrong, but I don't want to impose my morality on others. The law should be morally neutral on this issue for equality's sake." Those who hold this view apparently fail to recognize that in uttering, "the law should be morally neutral," they are advocating a moral position, the contours of which are elucidated by the statement, "the law should be neutral as between neutrality and non-neutrality"—a logical impossibility. In other words, moral neutrality under the law proposes the cleansing of all moral views from the law, save moral neutrality itself. Uttering this proposition is somewhat like singing, "I am not singing!" Its self-referential inconsistency makes the position rationally suspect. Unfortunately, the proposition's inconsistency is dwarfed by its own absurd implications. As I see it, moral neutrality entails two such absurdities: (1) it undermines the basis upon which laws are said to be just or unjust, and (2) it abolishes the notion of "equality," from the law, or, in the very least, requires a non-moral rendering of that concept. [1]

First, moral neutrality undermines the basis upon which laws are evaluated. Minimally, the Law is that body of propositions which cannot conflict with moral edicts, if there be any—a concession to any moral nihilists which may be reading. For example, if it is morally impermissible to destroy another's property, without justification or consent, the law cannot sanction such acts and remain just. Some proponents of same-sex marriage recognizing this evaluative force say, "marriage is a basic human right," implying that marriage is a malleable form admitting of varying arraignments. If true, then the law is compelled to recognize such unions, unless some overriding considerations compel otherwise [2].  

Advocates of moral neutrality would blind the Law as to right and wrong. After all, if the law draws upon standards external to it, such as "human rights," in evaluating the nature of its own decrees, whether they be just or unjust, then the law is not, strictly speaking, morally neutral. It is non-neutral whenever it applies principles of a moral force to resolve disputes. Neither human rights, non-malfeasance, nor equality can be drawn upon in resolving conflicts. Moral neutrality, in short, removes the law from the burden of objective moral principles, rewarding us with a "government of men, not of law."

Second, moral neutrality either abolishes the notion of "equality," from the law, or scrubs it of any moral significance. As implied above, equality is a concept saturated with moral force. When Jefferson gave expression to the American mind in penning, “all men are created equal, that they are endowed by their Creator with certain unalienable Rights,” he was expressing a fundamental axiom of moral significance, upon which the principles of self-governance would flow with a necessary force. From its initial baptism in that sacred Declaration of Independence, "equality," as a concept, has held preeminence in the American mind, motivating us to consistently abolish our cruder natures in the search of more fuller expressions of justice. Undoubtedly "equality," is a concept with moral force drawn upon by the courts in tailoring just decisions. Yet, moral neutrality, by definition, cannot admit moral concepts into its ecumenical construction of the law. So, "equality," either cannot be used in such a scheme, or it must be understood in a non-moral sense. It is perfect satire that in relying upon equality to motivate moral neutrality, advocates have unwittingly written "equality," out of the law. So much for, "the law should be morally neutral for equality's sake."

Speaking of satire, it is noteworthy that within my personal circle, many advocates of moral neutrality are religious, espousing a belief in eternal, unchanging moral truths. Their desire to be inclusive as to the public sphere, has caused them to exclude from that venue the most important aspect of themselves, viz., their religious standards. My suspicion is that these individuals harbor doubts when they say, "same-sex marriage is wrong." Silently conflicted, they give a "tip of the hat" to traditional marriage, while paving a way for same-sex marriage via moral neutrality.

Tragically, these individuals do a great disservice to both sides of the debate. Not only do they ask their religious communities to exclude that most import part of themselves from the public sphere, viz. their religious standards, they make it reputable to say, "I personally believe," transforming universal moral edicts into the stuff of subjective preference. To open advocates of same-sex marriage, they giveth with one hand and taketh away with the other. In one open palm they grant same-sex marriage while implying, "such an institution can only be acceptable in an environment cleansed of moral significance." In the other open palm, they grant the term "equality," which has now become an empty token, stripped of its original moral force. In giving so little, and in taking so much, moral neutralists also ask proponents of same-sex marriage to exclude an important aspect of themselves from the public sphere: viz., their moral dignity. At least the neutralists are fair. To borrow a phrase from Justice Scalia, these individuals would cheat "both sides, robbing the winners of an honest victory, and the losers of the peace that comes from a fair defeat." [3]

Both sides owe it to the other to be honest and firm in moral conviction. Only then can we subject the very best of ourselves and our ethics to open public dialogue in the hope of establishing just laws. Aside from being destructive, moral neutrality is unnecessary. If same-gender marriage is morally permissible, the law has compelling reasons to allow the practice. If, however, it is morally impermissible, the law cannot allow its practice and remain just. In short, moral neutrality unnecessarily injures both sides of this debate. We should shun it for what it is, intellectual blurred vision. For it is only by leaving neutral ground that we fully recognize both sides, providing the arena each deserves for the fair resolution of so important an issue.

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[1] Many arguments herein rely on implicit premises. I believe such premises will be readily discerned and I have, for stylistic reasons, omitted them. Also, for sake of full disclosure, though this is not the focus of this post, the reader ought to know that the author is a defender of traditional marriage. My purposes in authoring this are to invite fellow interlocutors to leave "neutral ground," and to espouse the virtues of a bright contrast in this particular dialogue. It is my hope to instigate thoughtful and respectful discussion on such an important social issue.

[2] These issues are complex and simplification necessarily yields inaccuracy. Yet, it is important to note a fundamental difference in permitting immoral conduct, conduct which is malum in se, and failing to permit moral conduct. The former is never permissible, the latter, for countervailing reasons of sufficient force, is.

[3] Justice Scalia's dissenting opinion in United States v. Windsor