“Who’s to say?” On Faith, Reason, and Being Subject to Truth

It is a common view that in social situations, one ought to avoid discussions that concern religion and politics. Such an injunction has its roots in fundamental confusions about judgments concerning right and wrong, good and bad. Some of the confusion is the result of not distinguishing between the science of ethics, which has as its object how one ought to live so far as reason leads us to discover such truths, and the insights about human behavior that have their source in religious belief. The latter belong to the realm of moral theology (as distinct, for example, from dogmatic theology that concerns the Trinity, Incarnation, sacraments, etc.).

One can examine ethical questions without any reference to religious belief, but, for one who accepts the importance of religious insights, such insights build upon what the science of ethics discloses. To speak of the “science of ethics” is not to identify ethics as one of the natural sciences. Rather, it is to use the term “science” in its broad sense (from the Latin, scientia), simply as knowledge. Ethics is a “practical science,” as distinct from theoretical sciences like chemistry, in that its object is activity (praxis). “Politics” refers to that subdivision of ethics that concerns the organization of life in distinct societies, an organization with the goal of enhancing the common good. Contrary to repeated claims, social settings, especially those of family and friends, are precisely the proper places for discussions about ethics and religion. Each social setting is a little “polis,” a little society that should encourage such discussion.

In what follows, I want to suggest why this is true and why this truth is often resisted.

Ethics and moral theology

Since both ethics and moral theology concern how one ought to live, it is easy to conflate the two, to think, for example, that any claim that an act is immoral is exclusively a religious claim. In conflating the two, it is easy to deny the existence of ethics as its own proper domain of rational inquiry into what is required to live a good life.

One way to express such a denial, when confronted with analyses based on reason concerning what are right and wrong actions, is to appeal to a rhetorical question: who’s to say? Often underlying this rhetorical appeal is the rejection of a distinction between what is and what ought to be, expressed in the phrase “it is what it is.” Of course, it is true to say what is, is what it is, but this ought not to mean that, therefore, we avoid seeking to judge behavior as being right or wrong.

Moral theology, disclosing which actions are sinful, depends upon the rational insights of ethics and, in many cases, appeals to faith to supplement what reason tells us. For example, that abortion is sinful follows from the scientific and philosophical understanding that human life begins at conception and we know through reason it is wrong intentionally to destroy an innocent human life.

In addition to abortion, contentious issues concern topics in bioethics, such as in vitro fertilization, gender ideology, sexual morality, the nature of marriage, and assisted suicide. In every instance, we find both reason and faith engaged in discovering the truth of how to act.

Moral health and first principles

In more than fifty years of teaching undergraduates in North and South America, Europe, and China, I have often encountered the kind of moral relativism evident in the retort “who’s to say?’ or, at times, expressed by saying that ethical questions are only matters of opinion. One of the first tasks in education is to help students learn how to use reason to investigate all the features of nature and human nature–and that, with respect to human nature, there are truths to be discovered about how to live well.

Just like physical health, there is for human beings moral health.

An analogy here would be helpful. To discover the truths of geometry, one must first of all recognize that there is such a thing as geometry, a systematic body of knowledge about certain kinds of mathematical entities. The very existence of this kind of knowing is not something we demonstrate; nor do we demonstrate the first principles (the axioms) needed to acquire knowledge in geometry. Indeed, the very notion of first principles tells us that they are not demonstrable conclusions in geometry, but rather the rational prerequisites for any geometrical knowledge. After all, “first” means nothing prior to what follows.

Furthermore, as first principles, they are true in a more fundamental sense than the conclusions that follow from them. If this were not the case, there could be no demonstrations in geometry, and, hence, no science of geometry. The existence and nature of points, lines, and planes, for example, are discovered by a kind of intellectual intuition that is at the base of all knowing.

Ethics is not geometry, but they are similar in that they are systematic bodies of knowledge that depend upon first principles in order to reach conclusions in their respective domains. A big difference, however, is that for many people it is easy to see that geometry yields knowledge of what is so, whereas there is considerable resistance to affirming the existence of ethics as knowledge of correct action.

So, the first task is to help students see that there is such a systematic body of knowledge (ethics) and then to disclose what the first principles of this body of knowledge are. Neither task (as with geometry) involves proving things. As I have suggested, there is a kind of reasoning prior to and more fundamental than proving things. Before one can reach conclusions about particular actions, one needs to know that there is a systematic body of knowledge (ethics) and what its first principles are.

How should this be done?

What is and what ought to be

Initially, I need to help my students recognize that even though they often retreat to the illusory safety of “who’s to know?” when confronted with particular ethical judgments, they really do not believe what they say.

I give them the following example. If a man takes a three-year-old girl, and beats, rapes, mutilates, and kills the little girl, is the man doing something wrong? Or is it only your opinion that he is doing something wrong? Most students agree that the man’s actions are, in fact, wrong. They thus confront a situation in which they have to admit that to say it is only their opinion that the actions are wrong is not what they really think. They are rightly horrified if someone, reflecting on this example, concludes that it just is what it is.

How do we know that the man’s actions are wrong? We know, at least to some degree, what it means to be a little girl is; what a little girl is, is not a matter of opinion. On the basis of who she is, she does not deserve to be treated in the ways that she is. We have a kind of immediate awareness of this truth even though we might not articulate it well. Our revulsion at the man’s actions is an indication that we do indeed see that the little girl ought not to be treated in this way.

Note that we move from what “is” (the little girl) to what “ought to be,” how she ought to be treated. Here we discover a fundamental feature of all ethical reflection: the movement from what is to what ought to be. This is a first principle necessary for systematic reflection in ethics. All of this is more complicated than geometry because the world of nature and human nature is more difficult to grasp than that of mathematical entities. But the fact it is more difficult does not mean judgments in this realm are only matters of opinion. What a little girl is are questions for biology, philosophical anthropology, and, ultimately, theology (she is created in the image and likeness of God). Answers to questions in any of these areas of inquiry are not matters of opinion. My point here is not to argue for specific answers to various ethical questions, but to emphasize the way to approach such questions.

On a few occasions, students respond to the example I have just given by clinging to the view that the judgment stating the man’s actions are wrong is only a matter of opinion and that, if the man thought his treatment of the little girl was right, who’s to say that the action was wrong? When pressed about this argument, the students come to admit their position is that there really is no such thing as “ought;” rather, things just are what they are. Human beings behave in various ways; they have different opinions of what is right; whatever is is.

In the dialogue with a student who holds this view, I ask why he is not killing the student sitting next to him; he says that it is only because he is not doing this. The student recognizes that the logic of his position is there is no such thing as “ought:” actions just are what they are. Obviously, students who make this claim tend to behave better than the way they think. Still, they are expressing a kind of ethical imperative that leads to a depravity: a moral sickness.

In this scenario, my goal is get these students to see that they are making a universal claim of truth: that there is no difference between what is and what ought to be. And, furthermore, this truth should serve as the basis of all human behavior. But to say that a universal principle of human behavior about how one should act includes the denial of “ought,” is to commit a fundamental contradiction: that is, to say that we ought to act on the basis that there is no such thing as “ought.” It is simultaneously an affirmation and a denial of the very reality of “ought.”

To reject contradictions is a first principle for all thinking, in all areas of inquiry; it is a prerequisite for being rational. Since human beings are animals capable of reason, embracing contradictions denies one’s very humanity.

As this example suggests, I want the students to see that they really do think there are principles of how we ought to act. It is only with such recognition that we can begin to investigate what these principles are, and then, of course, to apply them to particular circumstances. This further discovery can be long and difficult, but is impossible if we sterilize the process at the very beginning by denying the fruitfulness of the inquiry.

The case of the little girl is indeed extreme and shocking, but this is the reason it serves as a good means to help people to reject the error of thinking that questions of morality are matters of opinion.

Refuting the arrogance of relativism 

Some of the confusion in thinking about ethical issues comes from the failure to distinguish between descriptive accounts of how people behave and normative accounts of how they ought to behave. It may very well be the case that many people think and act in accordance with the view that moral norms are only socially constructed or simply determined by one’s own personal taste. The failure here is an example of not keeping distinct sociological and philosophical (and ultimately, theological) modes of inquiry, or perhaps reducing the latter to the former.

Clear thinking in these matters, especially when they concern powerful desires, requires intellectual patience.

Living well consists in both physical and moral health because of the nature of what it is to be human. We are not inanimate machines. We are creatures with bodies, souls, minds, and wills, all part of the one thing that each of us is. A defect or shortcoming in any of these areas is a kind of disease. Failure to recognize an illness only prolongs the disease because we do not take measures that lead, so far as possible, to healing.

In discussions about ethics there is often a psychological barrier that must be overcome. Too many people identify the commitment to the discovery of truth, especially in the domain of ethics, with a kind of arrogance, and they see in skepticism and relativism a more appropriate humility or tolerance. But the opposite is the case. The relativist and the skeptic are the ones guilty of arrogance, and the individual who knows that there is a truth to be discovered manifests a real humility.

The relativist contends, for example, that there is no objective moral order in the universe and that each person determines for himself or herself what is right or wrong. This is radical assertion of individual autonomy and pride—to think that each of us has the power to determine the very order of things. For a believer, we find this attitude at the core not only of Original Sin, but of all sin. Remember that the temptation in Eden to which Adam and Eve succumbed was to be like God, the determiners of good and evil, and to make good and evil the outcome of what one wills.

When we identify good and evil in terms of what we will, of what is simply our own opinion, we imitate the sin of Adam and Eve.

If we discover truth rather than create it, then the proper attitude is one of awe and reverence in the face of an intelligible universe whose existence and intelligibility do not depend upon us. This is true humility before an order of reality that exists apart from and independent of human determination. We are subject to the truth we discover; it is not we who measure the truth, rather, our thoughts and actions are measured by the truth.

It is this openness to the discovery of truth—and the willingness to take its discovery seriously—that is a prerequisite for living a good life. It is the first and most important lesson we all must learn.