In previous installments (the most recent of which was quite a while ago, I’m afraid), I’ve established
- that there’s a need for explaining why Christianity is the most reasonable position for an educated, skeptical individual to take (see the post here);
- that there exists such a thing as absolute truth, and that truth claims may be made about religion just as they can about any other topic (see the post here);
- that using the Cosmological Argument, the scientific fact that our universe had a beginning establishes that something like a Theistic God must exist (see the post here);
- that using the Teleological Argument, the anthropic principle establishes that the universe was designed for life, which requires a designer something like a Theistic God (see the post here).
Of the roughly 20 arguments I’ve seen for the existence of God, a large number key on some part of life that is vital but non-physical — justice, consciousness, reason, morality — and argue that this cannot be explained by naturalistic causes. Each has its particular quirks, but they all say the same thing: the world we live in does not look in any way like a world that would arise if it were not intended by a being who cares about the things we care about, or who somehow embodies that issue. Human beings use reason, infer meaning, are ruled by morality, seek justice, and in general behave as though the universe demands a reasoned, moral, purposeful life. There is no purposiveness, no meaning, no “ought” in mere chemical interactions; there is only what is. The most likely explanation for the appearance that life needs meaning is that it does, and this requires a primary, personal agent from Whom all meaning, justice, reason, or consciousness arises.
The moral argument is the simplest of these, but they are all inherently difficult to grasp. Most of the objections to them indicate that the critic simply has not thought through the implications of the fact that we actually think there exists such a thing as morality, for instance. I think this is because morality is something easy to take for granted. It’s so much a part of our lives, both conscious and unconscious, that it takes a serious effort to imagine a universe without automatically assigning morality a role, as though it were an inevitable part of any physical universe; and yet, if there is no God, there’s no particular reason for anything to arise aside from what simply is. This applies to morality, and the same applies for justice, reason, consciousness, and the rest.
The Moral Argument
The moral argument is simple in syllogistic form: Any law requires a law-giver; there is a universal moral law; therefore, there must be an ultimate, universal law-giver.
By “law,” I mean something more like legislation than like a natural law. When we speak of natural laws, we mean that we’ve observed that physical elements in our surroundings behave in a certain way consistently. Bodies on the earth tend to move toward the center of the earth, so we give it a name — gravity — and call it a law, because things behave this way. However, there is no moral “ought” to gravity, or entropy, or enthalpy. These laws simply describe what is. We might say of an anomalous result, “That ought not to do that,” but what we mean is that it is unusual and inconsistent with expected results, not that it’s morally wrong. If we’re being whimsical, we can imagine a world in which the “laws” are different, and while that world might be more or less convenient than ours, we don’t regard that difference as meaningful apart from convenience. From a point of view before the singular explosion that began our universe and created time, space, and nature, the laws of nature were arbitrary; they could have been anything, and the universe would have been neither more moral, nor less moral.
Moral laws are different. They describe our feelings about how things ought to be. They say “this is better than that,” and by “better” we mean something very different from “more common” or “more consistent,” or even “more convenient” or “more functional.” We actually mean “praiseworthy,” and we think that such praise matters, although we also assert that doing the thing we call “good” is infinitely more important than receiving praise for it. We mean that there are certain rules regarding how people are supposed to treat each other, and that a person who does not adhere to those rules is something worse than merely defective. People who obey the moral law deserve praise; people who ignore it, deserve condemnation.
Three characteristics of the concept of moral law in the last paragraph need emphasis.
The first is that they apply only to entities that possess a will. We don’t assign moral laws to inanimate objects. We don’t praise the moral virtue of a rock for falling toward the center of the earth, nor do we condemn a yucca plant as a malicious enemy for piercing our finger (we might praise their utility or denounce their inconvenience, but that’s not morality.) Morality belongs to those who can make conscious choices.
We don’t even hold people responsible for morals if they’re simple or incapacitated for some reason. Selfish toddlers are not regarded as evil, they’re just too young to know better. My wife has worked with head-injured adults who have lost the ability to control certain impulses, and while these people often do things that are inappropriate and offensive, nobody regards them as morally defective. By their physical incapacity, they’ve fallen short of the exalted status that is conferred by their behavior having an “ought”; their behavior simply is what it is, like gravity, and we pity them for it. They can’t help it. Morals are about those who can help it.
The second characteristic is that it’s not just about utility, but seems rather to be about pleasing someone or something greater than ourselves. The closest we can come to the feeling is from our childhood, when we do a chore without being asked and think “Mom will be pleased with me for doing this.” Naturally, we’re not children anymore, and the impulse to do moral good feels like something more consequential than just making Mom smile, but there’s something about doing moral good that feels like we’re pleasing an overarching parent, as though the universe relaxes a little and feels better. Whom, exactly, are we pleasing?
The third characteristic of morality is that nearly all of us choose against it sometimes. In this it is completely unlike laws of nature. A law of nature is called that because physical objects always behave in a certain manner. A moral law is called that because most of us agree that people ought to behave in a certain manner but very often do not.
Morals Are Universal
In fact, this is one of the ways we know the moral law is universal — we all make excuses for our bad behavior. We would not feel the urge to do that if we did not feel that certain behavior needed excusing. To whom are we directing our excuses? Why do we imagine that it matters what others think of certain types of behavior? When we are doing right, helping someone helpless, for example, we don’t feel the need to explain even if some find fault with us; it is easy to dismiss nay-sayers when we’re doing good. When we’re doing bad, though, we feel the need to excuse ourselves even if we’re surrounded by people who approve of what we’re doing. The hoodlum who throws a brick through a store window may be joined by friends who would never mention that he ought not do it, but he still feels the inner impulse to explain or excuse his behavior — “He’s been cheating the community for years, he’s rich and can afford it, we’re the ones who have needs,” and so forth.
Everybody agrees that certain people are good, and other certain people are bad. Jesus, good; The Rev. Jim Jones, bad. Albert Schweitzer, good; David Berkowitz, bad. Mother Teresa, good; Adolf Hitler, bad. There are some disagreements over which category some figures belong in — there are those who dismiss Mother Teresa, for instance, because she was not poor at the end of her life — but those are disagreements over facts, not denials of the moral law.
Whenever we make assessments like those, we necessarily call on some inner notion of what true morality looks like. If a map-maker shows us two maps of Idaho and asks which is a better representation of the true state we call Idaho, we would not be able to answer unless we had knowledge of what Idaho truly looks like. If we have a clear concept of the real Idaho, then we can compare representations of Idaho and say which is closer to the real thing. It’s the same with morals; if we can compare two individuals and agree that one represents moral behavior while the other does not, we must have a concept of what true morality looks like.
Immediately one might object that we’re all taught morals when we’re children, and that these reflect a cultural norm. This is partly true, but not relevant. We are also taught multiplication tables when we’re young, but multiplication tables are universal. The fact that we need to be taught does not imply that what we’re being taught is not universal. And furthermore, children do not need to be taught that morals exist, they need to be taught to obey them. They already know what’s right and wrong; anybody who’s raised a child, and watched a six-month-old reach toward something forbidden while looking over their shoulder to see if Mom is watching, knows that the kid was born knowing “ought,” and choosing not to obey it. For that matter, anybody who’s heard a child whine, “That’s not fair!” knows that kids have a sense of justice; where did this notion of “fair” come from? Kids don’t need to be taught morals from scratch, they need their innate sense of morality trained to maturity.
The indication that the moral laws are universal lies in the fact that all cultures in history have held more or less the same standards, in gross terms. There is no place where murder has been considered virtue and gratitude has been considered vice. There are different emphases in different cultures, and different cultural implementations (honoring the aged looks different in Afghanistan than in Indiana) but the basic rules are the same everywhere — don’t take innocent life, don’t steal the property of others, honor the aged, care for your own family, be loyal to your friends, seek wisdom. Even most of our contemporary moral disagreements actually amount to quibbles over which evils are tolerable, and which are intolerable. As G.K. Chesterton said, “Men do not differ much about what things they will call evils; they differ enormously about what evils they will call excusable.”
Let’s summarize: moral laws apply only to conscious, choosing agents like ourselves. We all know they exist; we all agree pretty much regarding what they are. And yet, we often ignore the moral law, making excuses for doing so; the excuses prove we know the rules. When we do good, we feel like we’re pleasing something greater than ourselves; when we do wrong, we feel the need to explain ourselves.
This combination of features — moral rules that are universal, apply only to conscious acts of the will, which are not our natural inclination, and which matter to something or someone greater — requires that the law exist outside of ourselves. We are aware of it, sometimes keenly so, but it does not emanate from us; it’s imposed on us from outside of ourselves. Consequently, the moral argument posits a final Moral Agent from which all our morals emanate. That is really all it takes to prove the argument. The logic is simple, and the only question of fact among the premises — “Does a universal moral law exist?” — is more or less self-evident.
Did Morality Evolve?
It’s at this point, however, that the misunderstandings begin.
The first objection that usually occurs is the notion that morality has evolved. There’s a good deal of research regarding the progress of moral understanding among humans, and social anthropologists make a good case for claiming that human understanding of moral behavior has increased in sophistication over the millennia.
I don’t disagree. However, what the people making this objection fail to notice is that it does not refute the argument in any way. They say “It evolved” as though that explains where morals come from; in fact, saying that explains nothing relevant to the moral argument.
To say that morals evolved is to say that they have survival value — survival in the sense that natural selection can operate because moral behavior increases the probability of survival. If they have survival value then they must be somehow intrinsic to the universe.
Let me illustrate by supposing that a tree lizard, by developing a flap of skin between it’s foreleg and hind leg, could reach branches from further away by gliding, and thus improved its ability to escape predators. If such a thing occurred, it occurred only because the laws of aerodynamics already existed; if there were no aerodynamics, the flap of skin would have conferred no advantage. The appearance of the flap of skin did not create the laws of aerodynamics; they were already part of the universe. The flap survived natural selection because it took advantage of something real and useful, something that already existed apart from itself.
Likewise, if moral behavior actually improves survivability in such a way that natural selection can work, it must be conforming to something that already exists in the universe, apart from the evolving creature. The evolving behavior does not create morality, it conforms to it, in the same way that the lizard’s flap of skin conforms to the rules of aerodynamics. Thus, the evolution of morality actually proves that the moral laws have always been what they are, and that what is evolving is nothing more than our ability to take advantage of them.
There are additional problems with the idea that morality evolved, though. For one thing, there’s no plausible path from “is” to “ought;” they’re unrelated concepts. The mere survival value of a behavior says nothing about whether it’s right or wrong. Without a moral law, even survival itself is nothing more than a preference, and is no different from an autonomic urge to satisfy hunger. There is no moral component to survival itself without a moral law. One might imagine a bizarre set of developments that lead to creatures that actually feel that some things ought to be, but those feelings would have no connection to reality unless the moral law was intrinsic to the universe apart from ourselves; it would be no different from satisfying hunger or scratching an itch, and have no real meaning. So the evolution of real morals, morals that truly matter, cannot actually occur; if what we call “morals” evolved in this fashion, then morality is an illusion, and child rape, genocide, and enslaving blacks are as morally proper as loving your spouse, raising your children properly, and working productively.
CS Lewis, in his book “Miracles,” points that the result of the previous paragraph is not strictly fallacious. Logic permits that morals be imaginary. However, Lewis also points out that even those who claim to believe such a thing, behave in such a way as to demonstrate that they do not. People who behave in such a way as to demonstrate that they genuinely believe that morals are an illusion, we call “sociopaths,” and we lock them up. Nobody we consider sane actually behaves as though morals don’t exist. Consequently, it’s proper to dismiss such claims as a philosophical conceit, and not to take them seriously.
It’s also the case that morality does not fit any pattern that has evolved in nature. In fact, many moral laws run exactly contrary to the natural rules of survival. You’ll find practically nobody defending Social Darwinism anymore, because in Nazi Germany it led to behavior that was so obviously and so starkly immoral that it caused the world to recoil in horror. We did some similar things here in America –sterilizing thousands of convicts, for example — and nobody will defend those anymore, either. Survival of the fittest commends killing off those who weaken the gene pool (or allowing them to die off.) Morality commends those civilizations that treat its weakest citizens with the most compassion. Those are opposites. How could our morality possibly have arisen by natural selection, when natural selection itself produces something we consider deeply immoral?
More Misunderstandings
Frequently, when a Christian posits the moral argument for the existence of God, atheists object that this would require that Christians uniformly be more moral than atheists. They then go on to posit all the examples they can remember of Christians behaving in a horrible manner, as though this disproves the moral argument somehow.
This does not disprove the moral argument. The moral argument does not assert, nor does it require, that any specific individual, group, or belief system produce more moral behavior than any other. Quite the contrary, in fact; the argument supporting the existence of a universal moral law makes the claim that everybody knows the moral law, regardless of their beliefs. Atheists know what’s right, just as Christians, Jews, Buddhists, Hindus, Jains, Muslims, or Druids. Morality is intrinsic to the universe, and everyone sees it. The argument further observes that none of us obey the moral law particularly well, and that’s also true of everybody. So, no, I don’t believe that any particular Christian necessarily behaves better than any particular atheist, and I don’t need to in order to defend the moral argument.
The answer to the follow-up question, “Then what’s the use of religion?”, is beyond the scope of this article. The brief answer is that religion codifies the moral law and expresses it for a culture, but also that religion provides the impetus for us to obey the moral law, something we’re prone not to do otherwise. This is where the question of which group behaves better becomes relevant; it is not relevant to the moral argument for the existence of God, however. The moral argument only observes that there exists no logical explanation for the existence of morality other than that there exists an ultimate author of morals. There can be no law without a law-giver.
Ultimately, the atheist has to believe that morality arose out of chemical interactions that have no intrinsic “ought” to them. Logically, this requires that morality is simply an illusion, but atheists uniformly assert next that it’s a useful illusion, and one they won’t dispute. They want it both ways; no God to assert moral requirements on us, but moral requirements exist on their own (even though they don’t mean anything.) I scratch my head, and wonder why anybody would consider that sort of finagling more plausible than an ultimately moral God from Whom morality flows.
Next will be a summation of the arguments proving the existence of God.