Is Morality Relative? *

IS MORALITY RELATIVE?^*

Francis J. Beckwith

I have participated in a number of public discussions on the question of abortion. Inevitably, either my opponent or a member of the audience will make the assertion, “Don't like abortion? Don't have one,” followed by rousing applause by like-minded audience members. This assertion, though common, reveals not only a deep misunderstanding about the nature of the abortion debate but also a confusion about what it means to say that something is morally wrong.

The culprit, I believe, is moral relativism—the view that when it comes to questions of morality, there is no absolute or objective right and wrong; moral rules are merely personal preferences and/or the result of one's cultural, sexual, or ethnic orientation. So choosing an abortion—like choosing an automobile, a vacation spot, or dessert—is merely a matter of preference. Some people like Häagen Daz; others like abortion—to each his own. Just as it is wrong for one to judge another's taste in ice cream, it is wrong for one to judge another's reproductive choices and to ask for the law to reflect that judgment.

Many people, however, see relativism as necessary for promoting tolerance, nonjudgmentalism, and inclusiveness; for they think if one believes one's moral position is correct and others' incorrect one is closed minded and intolerant. I will argue in this chapter that not only do the arguments for relativism fail but also that relativism itself cannot live up to its own reputation; for it is promoted by its proponents as the only correct view on morality and thus entails intolerance (rightly understood), judgmentalism, and exclusiveness.

Christianity teaches that objective moral norms apply to all persons in all places in all times. Relativism says that there are no such norms. If relativism is incorrect, Christianity cannot be dismissed on the grounds that it affirms objective moral norms. Thus, a critique of relativism plays an important role in supporting the Christian faith.

Moral Relativism and Moral Discourse¹

Moral relativism has stunted the ability of many to grasp the nature of moral claims. Some people in our culture often confuse preference claims with moral claims or reduce the latter to the former. To understand what I mean by this, consider two statements:²

The first statement is a preference claim since it is a description of a person's subjective taste. It is not a normative claim. It is not a claim about what one ought or ought not to do. It is not saying, “Since I like vanilla ice cream, the government ought to coerce you to eat it as well,” or, “Everyone in the world ought to like vanilla ice cream, too.” A claim of subjective preference tells us nothing about what one ought to think or do. For example, if someone were to say, “I like to torture children for fun,” this would tell us nothing about whether it is wrong or right to torture children for fun.

The second claim, however, is different. It has little if anything to do with what one likes or dislikes. In fact, one may prefer to kill another person without justification and still know that it is morally wrong to do so. This statement is a moral claim. It is not a descriptive claim, for it does not tell us what, why, or how things are, or how a majority of people in fact behave and/or think. Nor is it a preference claim, for it does not tell us what anyone's subjective preference may be or how one prefers to behave and/or think. Rather, it is a claim about what persons ought to do, which may be contrary to how persons in fact behave and/or how they prefer to behave.

Unfortunately, the espousal of moral relativism has made it difficult for many people in our culture to distinguish between preference claims and moral claims. Rather than pondering and struggling with arguments for and against a particular moral perspective, people sometimes reduce the disagreement to a question of “personal preference” or “subjective opinion.” For example, some who defend the abortionchoice position sometimes tell pro-lifers: “Don't like abortion? Then don't have one.” This instruction reduces the abortion debate to a preference claim. That is, the objective moral rightness or wrongness of abortion (i.e., whether it involves the unjustified killing of a being who is fully human) is declared without argument not to be relevant. But this is clearly a mistake, for those who oppose abortion do so because they believe that the unborn during most if not all of a woman's pregnancy is a full-fledged member of the human community and that it is prima facie wrong, both objectively and universally, to kill such a being. For this reason, when the pro-lifer hears the abortion-choice advocate tell her that if she doesn't like abortion, she doesn't have to have one, it sounds to her as if the abortion-choicer advocate is saying, “Don't like murder? Then don't kill any innocent persons.”

Understandably, the pro-lifer, committed to objective moral norms, finds such rhetoric perplexing as well as unpersuasive. Of course, many sophisticated abortion-choice advocates are opponents of moral relativism as well.³ But it just seems that in the popular debate abortion-choice advocates tend to reduce the issue of abortion to a matter of preference and thus seem to have been more affected by moral relativism than have their opponents. (But they are not completely affected, for they do appeal to “fundamental rights” which are typically grounded in some objective morality.)⁴ The pro-lifer's arguments may be flawed, but the abortion-choice advocate does not critique those flawed arguments when he mistakenly turns a serious moral disagreement into a debate over preferences.

Arguments for Moral Relativism

Two arguments are often used to defend moral relativism. The first is the argument from cultural and individual differences, and the second is the argument from tolerance.

1. Argument from Cultural and Individual Differences. In this argument the relativist concludes that there are no objective moral norms because cultures and individuals disagree on moral issues. In order to defend this premise, the relativist typically cites a number of examples such as cross-cultural and intracultural differences over the morality of sexual practices, abortion, war, and capital punishment. In the words of Hadley Arkes, an opponent of moral relativism, “In one society, a widow is burned on the funeral pyre of her husband; in another, she is burned on the beach in Miami. In one society, people complain to the chef about the roast beef; in another, they send back the roast beef and eat the chef.”⁵ There are at least five problems with this argument.

First, relativism does not follow from disagreement. The fact that people disagree about something does not mean that there is no truth of the matter. For example, if you and I were to disagree on the question of whether the earth is round, our disagreement would certainly not be proof that the earth has no shape. The fact that a skinhead (a type of young neo-Nazi) and I may disagree on the question of whether we should treat people equally and with fairness is certainly not sufficient reason to conclude that equality and fairness are not objective moral truths. Even if individuals and cultures hold no values in common, it does not follow from this that nobody is right or wrong about what is moral truth. That is, there could be a mistaken individual or culture, such as Adolf Hitler and Nazi Germany.

If the mere fact of disagreement were sufficient to conclude that objective norms do not exist, then we would have to believe that there is no objectively correct position on such issues as slavery, genocide, and child molestation; for the slave owner, genocidal maniac, and pedophile have an opinion that differs from the one held by those of us who condemn their actions. In the end, moral disagreement proves nothing.

Second, disagreement counts against relativism. Suppose, however, that the relativist, despite the logical failure of his case, sticks to his guns and maintains that disagreement over objective norms proves the correctness of relativism. But this will not work. For the relativist has set down a principle—disagreement means there is no truth—that unravels his own case. After all, some of us believe that relativism is a mistaken view. We, in other words, disagree with the relativist over the nature of morality. We believe that objective moral norms exist whereas the relativist does not. But, according to the relativist's own principle—disagreement means there is no truth—he ought to abandon his opinion that relativism is the correct position. And to make matters worse for the relativist, his principle is a proposition for which there is no universal agreement and thus on its own grounds must be rejected. As Arkes points out, “My disagreement establishes that the proposition [i.e., disagreement means there is no truth] does not enjoy a universal assent, and by the very terms of the proposition, that should be quite sufficient to determine its own invalidity.”⁶

Third, disagreement is overrated. Although people and cultures disagree on moral issues, it does not follow from this that they do not share the same principles or that there are not moral norms binding on all nations in all times and in all places. Take for example the Salem witch trials. In 1692, in the colony of Massachusetts, nearly three dozen citizens (mostly women) were put to death as punishment for allegedly practicing witchcraft.⁷ We do not execute witches today but not because our moral principles have changed. Rather, the reason we don't execute witches is because we do not believe, as some of the seventeenth-century residents of Salem did, that the practice of witchcraft has a fatal effect on the community. Even if one believes, as I do, that the trials and executions of these alleged witches were travesties of justice, based on flimsy evidence and trumped-up charges fueled by hysteria,⁸ the principle to which the trials' apologists appealed seems prima facie correct: communities and their leaders should support and enforce policies that advance the public good. After all, suppose we had good evidence that the practice of witchcraft did affect people in the same way second-hand cigarette smoke affects the nonsmoker. We would alter practices to take this into consideration. We might set up nonwitch sections in restaurants and ban the casting of spells on interstate airplane flights. The upshot of all this is that advancing the public good is a principle of just government that we share with the seventeenth-century residents of Salem but we have good reason to believe they were factually wrong about the effect of witchcraft on the achievement of that good and/or that religious liberty better advances the public good than does religious coercion (even if one may have good reason to believe that the practice of witchcraft is in fact not good).⁹

Consider again the issue of abortion. The conventional wisdom is that the moral and legal debate over abortion is a dispute between two factions that hold incommensurable value systems. But the conventional wisdom is mistaken, for these factions hold many moral principles in common.

a. Each side believes that all human persons possess certain rights regardless of whether their governments protect these rights. That is why both sides appeal to what each believes is a fundamental right. The pro-life advocate appeals to “life” whereas the abortion-choice advocate appeals to “liberty” (or “choice”). Both believe that a constitutional regime, in order to be just, must uphold fundamental rights.

b. Each side believes that its position best exemplifies its opponent's fundamental value. The abortion-choice advocate does not deny that “life” is a value but argues that his position's appeal to human liberty is a necessary ingredient by which an individual can pursue the fullest and most complete life possible.

On the other hand, the pro-life advocate does not eschew “liberty.” She believes that all human liberty is at least limited by another human person's right to life. For example, one has a right to pursue freely any goal one believes is consistent with one's happiness, such as attending a Los Angeles Lakers basketball game. One has, however, no right to pursue freely this goal at the expense of another's life or liberty, such as running over pedestrians with one's car so that one can get to the game on time. And, of course, the pro-life advocate argues that the unborn are persons with a full right to life. And because the act of abortion typically results in the death of the unborn, abortion, with few exceptions, is not morally justified and for that reason ought to be made illegal.

Abortion-choice advocates do not deny that human persons have a right to life. They just believe that this right to life is not extended to the unborn because they are not full members of the human community and/or they are not entitled to use the mother's body against her will. Pro-lifers, on the other hand, do not deny that people have the liberty to make choices they believe are in their best interests. They just believe that this liberty does not entail the right to choose abortion; for such a choice conflicts with the life, liberty, and interests of another human being (the fetus), who is defenseless, weak, and vulnerable and has a natural claim upon his parents' care, both pre- and postnatally. Thus, when all is said and done, the debate over abortion is not really about conflicting moral systems. After all, imagine that a pro-life politician were to say the following in a campaign speech: “My party's platform affirms a woman's right to terminate her pregnancy if and only if it does not result in the death of her unborn child.” Disagreement over such a plank would not be over the morality of killing human persons; it would be over the metaphysical question of whether the unborn human is included in that category.

Fourth, absurd consequences follow from moral relativism.

a. If there are no objective moral norms that apply to all persons in all times and in all places, then certain moral judgments, such as the following, cannot be universally true: Mother Teresa was morally better than Adolf Hitler; rape is always wrong; and it is wrong to torture babies for fun. But to deny that these judgments are not universally true seems absurd. For there seem to be some moral judgments that are absolutely correct regardless of what cultures or individuals may think.

b. If the relativist claims that morality is relative to the individual, what happens when individual moralities conflict? For example, suppose Jeffrey Dahmer's morality permits him to cannibalize his neighbor, but his neighbor disagrees. What would the relativist suggest be done in this case, since, according to this form of relativism, nobody's morality is in principle superior to any other? In addition, if the moral life is no more than a reflection of people's individual tastes, preferences, and orientations, then we cannot tell young people that it is morally wrong to lie, steal, cheat, smoke, abuse drugs, kill their newborns, and drop out of school even though these behaviors may be consistent with the students' own personal tastes, preferences, and/or orientations.

c. Even if the relativist were to make the more modest claim that morality is not relative to the individual but to the individual's culture, that one is only obligated to follow the dictates of one's society, other problems follow.

In the first place the cultural relativist's position is self-refuting. A claim is self-refuting when it is inconsistent with itself. For example, if I were to say, “I cannot communicate,” that would be self-refuting since I would in fact be communicating to you the claim that I cannot communicate.

How is cultural relativism self-refuting? The supporter of cultural relativism maintains that there are no objective and universal moral norms and for that reason all individuals ought to follow the moral norms of their own culture. But the cultural relativist is making an absolute and universal moral claim—namely, that individuals are morally obligated to follow the moral norms of their own culture. So, if this moral norm is absolute and universal, then cultural relativism is false. But if this moral norm is neither absolute nor universal, then cultural relativism is still false; for in that case I would not have a moral obligation to follow the moral norms of my culture.

In the second place, because each of us belongs to a number of different “societies” or “cultures,” which one of them should be followed when they conflict? For example, suppose a woman named Carla is a resident of a liberal upscale neighborhood in Hollywood, California, attends a Christian church, and is a partner in a prestigious law firm. In her neighborhood, having an adulterous affair is considered “enlightened,” and those who do not pursue such unions are considered repressed prudes. At her church, however, adultery is condemned as sinful while at her law firm adultery is neither encouraged nor discouraged. Suppose further that Carla chooses to commit adultery in the firm's back office with a fellow churchgoer, Winston, who resides in a conservative neighborhood in which adultery is condemned. The office, it turns out, is adjacent to the church as well as precisely halfway between Carla's neighborhood and Winston's neighborhood. It is not clear which society is morally relevant.¹⁰

In the third place, there can be no moral progress or moral reformers. If morality is reducible to culture, then there can be no real moral progress. The only way one can say that a culture is getting better, or progressing, is if there are objective moral norms that are not dependent on culture to which a society may draw closer. But if what is morally good is merely what one's culture says is morally good, then we can only say that cultural norms change, not that the society is progressing or getting better. Yet, it seems, for example, that the abolition of slavery and the establishment of civil rights of African-Americans in the United States were instances of moral progress. In addition, those that led these movements, the moral reformers such as William Wilberforce, Harriet Beecher Stowe, and Martin Luther King Jr., could not have been morally correct if cultural relativism is true. As J. P. Moreland notes:

Moral reformers, by definition, change a society's code by arguing that it is somehow morally inadequate. But if [cultural] relativism is true, an act is right if and only if it is in society's code; so the reformer is by definition immoral (since he adopts a set of values outside the society's code and attempts to change that code in keeping with these values). … Any moral view which implies that is surely false.¹¹

Thus, in order to remain consistent, the cultural relativist must deny that there can be any real moral progress or any real moral reformers. For such judgments presuppose the existence of real, objective, moral norms.

2. The Argument from Tolerance. Many people see relativism as necessary for promoting tolerance, nonjudgmentalism, and inclusiveness; for they think if you believe your moral position is correct and others' incorrect, you are closed minded and intolerant. They usually base this premise on the well-known differences of opinion on morality between cultures and individuals. So the moral relativist embraces the view that one should not judge other cultures and individuals, for to do so would be intolerant. There are at least three problems with this argument, all of which maintain that tolerance (rightly understood) and relativism are actually incompatible with each other.

First, tolerance supports objective morality, not relativism. If everyone ought to be tolerant, then tolerance is an objective moral norm. And therefore, moral relativism is false. So, ironically, the call to tolerance by relativists presupposes the existence of at least one nonrelative, universal, and objective norm: tolerance. Also, tolerance presupposes that there is something good about being tolerant, such as being able to learn from others with whom one disagrees or to impart knowledge and wisdom to that person. But that presupposes objective moral values—namely, that knowledge and wisdom are good things. Moreover, tolerance presupposes that someone may be correct about his or her moral perspective. That is to say, it seems that part of the motivation for advocating tolerance is to encourage people to be open to the possibility that one may be able to gain truth and insight (including moral truth and insight) from another who may possess it. If that is the case, then there are objective moral truths that one can learn.

In addition, tolerance presupposes a moral judgment of another's viewpoint. That is to say, I can only be tolerant of those ideas that I think are mistaken. I am not tolerant of that with which I agree; I embrace it. And I am not tolerant of that for which I have no interest (e.g., European professional soccer); I merely have benign neglect for it. (That is, I don't care one way or another.) Consider the following example. Suppose I tell a friend that I believe that homosexuality is immoral. And suppose my friend requests that I be tolerant toward homosexuals in my community. If I accept this advice and choose to be civil, respectful, and gracious to gay men and women with whom I have contact, while at the same time judging their sexual practices as immoral, it seems that I would be truly tolerant. But suppose someone says that my judging of homosexuality as immoral still makes me “intolerant.” At that point, given my understanding of “tolerance,” I have no idea what I am supposed to do. For if I change my view of homosexuality and say either that it is not immoral or that I have no opinion (i.e., I have benign neglect), then I cannot be tolerant; for I can only be tolerant of that which I believe is wrong or mistaken. On the other hand, if judging another's position as wrong or mistaken makes one intolerant, then the person who judges my negative assessment of homosexuality is, by that person's own definition, intolerant. But that is absurd. For if tolerance means that one ought not to judge a view as morally wrong, then it seems to be consistent with either embracing the view or having benign neglect for it. If that is the case, then tolerance has lost its meaning and is simply a cover for trying to shame and coerce others not to disagree publicly (and/or perhaps privately) with one's controversial and disputed position on human sexuality. This, ironically, is an example of intolerance (as traditionally understood). So it seems to me that the appeal to tolerance, once we have a clear understanding of its meaning, is inconsistent with relativism.

Second, relativism is itself a closed-minded and intolerant position. After all, the relativist dogmatically asserts that there is no moral truth. To illustrate this, consider a dialogue (based loosely on a real-life exchange) between a high-school teacher and her student Elizabeth.¹² The teacher instructs her class, “Welcome, students. This is the first day of class, and so I want to lay down some ground rules. First, since no one has the truth about morality, you should be open minded to the opinions of your fellow students.”

The teacher recognizes the raised hand of Elizabeth, who asks, “If nobody has the truth, isn't that a good reason for me not to listen to my fellow students? After all, if nobody has the truth, why should I waste my time listening to other people and their opinions? What's the point? Only if somebody has the truth does it make sense to be open-minded. Don't you agree?”

“No, I don't. Are you claiming to know the truth? Isn't that a bit arrogant and dogmatic?”

“Not at all. Rather I think it's dogmatic, as well as arrogant, to assert that no single person on Earth knows the truth. After all, have you met every person in the world and quizzed them exhaustively? If not, how can you make such a claim? Also, I believe it is actually the opposite of arrogance to say that I will alter my opinions to fit the truth whenever and wherever I find it. And if I happen to think that I have good reason to believe I do know the truth and would like to share it with you, why wouldn't you listen to me? Why would you automatically discredit my opinion before it is even uttered? I thought we were supposed to listen to everyone's opinion.”

“This should prove to be an interesting semester.”

Another student blurts out, “Ain't that the truth,” provoking the class to laughter.

Third, relativism is judgmental, exclusivist, and partisan. This may seem like an odd thing to say since the relativist would like you to think his viewpoint is nonjudgmental, inclusivist, and neutral when it comes to moral beliefs. But consider the following: (a) The relativist says that if you believe in objective moral truth, you are wrong. Hence, relativism is judgmental. (b) It follows from this that relativism is excluding your beliefs from the realm of legitimate options. Thus, relativism is exclusivist. And (c) because relativism is exclusivist, all nonrelativists are automatically not members of the “correct thinking” party. So relativism is partisan.

Tolerance only makes sense within the framework of a moral order, for it is within such a framework that one can morally justify tolerating some things while not tolerating others. For tolerance without a moral framework, or absolute tolerance, leads to a dogmatic relativism and thus to an intolerance of any viewpoint that does not embrace relativism. It is no wonder that in such a climate of “tolerance” any person who maintains that there is an objective moral order to which society ought to subscribe is greeted with contempt.

Reasoning about Moral Matters

Morality is clearly more than mere reasoning just as architecture is more than mere mathematics. One can immediately grasp as well as appreciate the moral virtue of Mother Teresa or the monumental elegance of the Eiffel Tower without having studied Thomas Reid's moral philosophy or mastered geometry and calculus. Nevertheless, just as one cannot build the Eiffel Tower without mastering certain mathematical disciplines, one cannot attribute the label just or right to one's point of view without offering justification for its rightness.

The logic of moral reasoning has been part and parcel of our discourse for as long as human beings have occupied the earth. It has stirred souls, shamed sinners, moved nations, energized social movements, and provided for us a potent grammar in numerous areas of private and public life. Consider just one example, though numerous others could be conscripted for our purposes.

In his failed 1858 bid for a U.S. Senate seat from Illinois, Abraham Lincoln engaged in a series of public debates with his Democratic opponent, Stephen A. Douglas. Among the many topics on which they disputed was the question of whether U.S. territories should be allowed by the federal government to permit slavery if they so chose. Douglas maintained that although he believed slavery was wrong (i.e., he personally opposed it), he was not willing to require that the federal government eliminate slavery; for to do so would be to violate the principle of popular sovereignty (i.e., that local majorities should be permitted to vote on such issues free of any and all federal constraints).¹³ But, as Lincoln aptly pointed out:

When Judge Douglas says he “don't care whether slavery is voted up or down,” … he cannot thus argue logically if he sees anything wrong in it. … He cannot say that he would as soon see a wrong voted up as voted down. When Judge Douglas says that whoever, or whatever community, wants slaves, they have a right to have them, he is perfectly logical if there is nothing wrong in the institution; but if you admit that it is wrong, he cannot logically say that anybody has a right to do a wrong.¹⁴

Lincoln, a practical man with uncommon wisdom, grasped an important conceptual truth not often apprehended by those, such as Douglas, who inadvertently stumble into the arena of moral reasoning and think they are somewhere else: to claim that something is a wrong is to claim that it is impermissible, but it would inexorably follow from that truth that one cannot claim one has a right to perform the wrong, for that would mean the impermissible is permissible.¹⁵ Or, as Arkes puts it: “Once we come to the recognition that any act stands in the class of a wrong … the logic of that recognition forbids us from treating that act any longer as a matter merely of personal taste or private choice.”¹⁶

In notes he had prepared for himself, Lincoln provided another example of principled moral reasoning in assessing the sorts of arguments that his contemporaries put forth to defend the enslavement of black people by white people:

You say A. is white and B. is black. It is color, then: the lighter having the right to enslave the darker? Take care. By this rule, you are to be a slave to the first man you meet, with a fairer skin than your own.

You do not mean color exactly?—You mean the whites are intellectually the superiors of the blacks, and therefore, have the right to enslave them? Take care again. By this rule, you are to be a slave to the first man you meet, with an intellect superior to your own.

But, say you, it is a question of interest; and, if you can make it your interest, you have the right to enslave another. Very well. And if he can make it his interest, he has the right to enslave you.¹⁷

Lincoln was making the point that if one were to apply the arguments for slavery to the prospective and current slave owners, whites, then one has put in place premises that may be employed by the government to undermine the rights of all human beings under its authority.¹⁸ For the premises of the pro-slavery arguments contain propositions that appeal to degreed properties that carry no moral weight—color, intellect, and interest—when it comes to the question of human equality. Lincoln's assessment of these arguments is an impressive example of moral reasoning.

Conclusion

Moral relativism is a philosophical failure. The two main arguments for moral relativism—the argument from disagreement and the argument from tolerance—are seriously flawed in numerous ways. Given the failure of moral relativism, it seems reasonable to believe in objective morality. Moreover, there is a logic of moral reasoning that has been employed by numerous people throughout the ages for the purpose of providing for their fellow citizens moral clarity and/or moral justification.

^* This chapter is adapted from “Why I Am Not a Relativist,” which appeared in Why I Am a Christian, ed. Norman L. Geisler and Paul Hoffman (Grand Rapids, Mich.: Baker, 2001). Chapter 2 of my book, Defending Life: A Moral and Legal Case against Abortion Choice (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2007) is also adapted from the 2001 piece but differs little from this present chapter, which I tinkered with in small ways to fit in with the editors' purpose.

¹ The ideas and argument of this section have been significantly shaped by Hadley Arkes, First Things: An Inquiry into the First Principles of Morals and Justice (Princeton, N.J.: Princeton University Press, 1986), 20-22.

² Arkes's work (ibid.) was instrumental in helping me to understand better the differences between the two statements.

³ See, for example, David Boonin, In Defense of Abortion (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2003), 13-14.

⁴ For an assessment of the apparent incoherence of this position, see Hadley Arkes, Natural Rights and the Right to Choose (New York: Cambridge University Press, 2002).

⁵ Arkes, First Things, 149.

⁶ Ibid., 132.

⁷ See Tim Sutter, “Salem Witchcraft: The Events and Causes of the Salem Witch Trials” (2003), The Salem Witch Trials (Web site) at http://www.salemwitchtrials.com/salemwitch-craft.html (12 July 2006).

⁸ Ibid.

⁹ I say the latter because it seems to me that if certain religious traditions may have rational warrant, it would not be irrational for believers in those traditions legitimately to judge certain practices (e.g., witchcraft) as evil without criminalizing the practice. For some interesting arguments on the rationality of certain religious traditions, see Alvin Plantinga, Warranted Christian Belief (New York: Oxford University Press, 2003); and Francis J. Beckwith, William Lane Craig, and J. P. Moreland, eds., To Everyone an Answer: A Case for the Christian Worldview (Downers Grove, Ill.: InterVarsity, 2004).

¹⁰ J. P. Moreland offers a similar illustration in J. P. Moreland, Scaling the Secular City (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1987), 92.

¹¹ Ibid., 243.

¹² This dialogue is presented in slightly different form in Francis J. Beckwith and Gregory P. Koukl, Relativism: Feet Firmly Planted in Mid-Air (Grand Rapids: Baker, 1998), 74.

¹³ Arkes, First Things, 24.

¹⁴ The Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln, ed. Roy P. Basler (New Brunswick, N.J.: Rutgers University Press, 1953), 3: 256—57, as quoted in Arkes, First Things, 24.

¹⁵ Arkes, First Things, 24—25.

¹⁶ Ibid., 25.

¹⁷ The Collected Works of Abraham Lincoln, 2:222, as quoted in Arkes, First Things, 43—44 (emphasis in original).

¹⁸ Arkes, First Things, 43.

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