Moral relativists hold two main claims: (1) There is no absolute truth. (2) There is no absolute moral law. If absolute truth exists, then moral dilemmas have a right answer. Different choices in the same situation mean some are wrong. Relativists reject this. They deny absolute truth to avoid the discomfort of being wrong. The same goes for moral law. For them, no moral laws are broken in dilemmas. Accepting an absolute law means accountability, and that’s unacceptable. It would divide choices into right and wrong, which relativism cannot accept.
It takes little logic to see truth is absolute, and there is an absolute moral law. Consider Steve, who loots during a riot. He steps over a wounded man to snatch goods. He justifies it with moral relativism, thinking looting isn’t absolutely wrong. Maybe he’s angry at the police, jobless, or weary of poverty. A relativist might say his actions are justified based on his situation. But turn the tables: if Steve’s belongings were looted, would he feel the same? Would he applaud the thief for making the right choice? Would he accept being stepped over while wounded? A true moral relativist would, but we know Steve wouldn’t. He knows in his heart there’s a moral law. He knows right from wrong. He chose to act immorally. Moral relativism is false.
Abortion is a difficult issue. Relativism imagines competing interests. The mother is inconvenienced by an unwanted pregnancy. Her body hosts a developing child, causing discomfort and depriving her of pleasures. Some mothers are okay with abortion, valuing their convenience over the child’s life. They claim there’s no baby, but that’s intellectual gymnastics. If left alone, it’s not a muffin that’s born—it’s a baby.
Some mothers want the pregnancy ended for various reasons. Relativism allows room for abortion. Many relativists wouldn’t choose abortion but don’t see it as morally wrong for others. “It’s wrong for me, but right for you if you think so.” This is the peak of relativism.
Again, the moral law is clear when tables turn. Imagine Susan, a well-adjusted woman, meets her pregnant mother considering abortion. If aborted, Susan would never exist. She’d never have friends, pizza, or dreams. She wouldn’t say, “Do what’s right for you.” She wouldn’t encourage her mother to abort. Those who support abortion are born. Even if Susan wouldn’t know the difference, her mother’s choice affects her. It’s obvious.
The moral law is known. It’s the same for all, even when inconvenient. Life has special value. Strip away labels and language, and we know a pregnant mother carries a baby. It’s not goo; it’s a developing child. If unsure, check a medical book on human development. Trace it back to conception. It’s human life.
Relativism muddies waters with complex arguments. “What if Susan was poor?” “What if she had Down Syndrome?” “Wouldn’t it be better if she never existed?” But Susan exists at conception. A mother can’t be a little pregnant. She is or isn’t. If pregnant, what she carries exists. Susan is at life’s beginning. The question isn’t if she exists; it’s if it’s morally right to deny her future. Her mother has grown beyond Susan’s stage and can choose to allow or deny Susan’s future for her desires.
Relativists object to naming or gendering the developing baby. Names and genders make it hard to deny it’s a baby. What do they expect to be born? They want clinical language to separate from reality. A pregnant mother carries a human being. It’s not goo. It’s a developing baby. Their denial is supported by moral relativism’s weak scaffolding. They defend it fiercely. Some get mad at language because it reveals truths they hide from. Denying absolute moral law gives weak arguments power. Without it, they must follow moral law, even when inconvenient. They object to “baby” because it’s too obvious and hard to lie around.
The relativist asks, “What if the mother was raped?” or “What if the pregnancy was incest?” These scenarios aim to show abortion as the better choice. It distracts from moral law, making right seem wrong. But logical thinkers aren’t fooled. The lesser of two difficult choices isn’t the lesser of two evils. Having a baby is hard, but not evil. Aborting is easier but wrong—ask Susan or anyone born into such circumstances.
Ask someone born from rape or incest if they’d prefer abortion. The answer is the same. They value life. We don’t seek moral answers from lunatics or the depressed. We ask, “How would a well-adjusted person react if the dilemma reversed?” This reveals moral law. It’s not obscured by clever arguments. It’s obvious. There are absolute values of right and wrong, and absolute moral laws. Relativism’s arguments aren’t clever or convincing. They’re easy to see through by turning them over.
Relativists struggle to balance their views. They shift, denying absolute moral law. Ask which is worse, rape or incest. They’ll have an opinion. Any example works. Claiming one moral claim is worse admits relativism’s invalidity. They compare to an absolute moral law. The same goes for abortion or robbery. Without absolute moral law, different things can’t be compared. Relativists use one standard for abortion, another for robbery, but no independent standard. Yet, they answer which is worse because they claim relativism for convenience. They live as they wish, but only if the absolute moral law they deny exists. They rely on it to prevent their morality from becoming nonsense.
One doesn’t need to compare moral claims to see absolute moral law. Consider justice. Without it, how do we know what’s just or unjust? We recognize it when we see reactions. Knowing you’re treated unjustly shows understanding of absolute moral law. If beaten without reason, you know it’s unjust. Justice isn’t a little unjust. It’s either justice or injustice. Knowing you’re unjustly treated exposes moral relativism and reveals absolute moral law.
Confusion in relativism often comes from the “is / ought” problem. Societal norms and shifting morals are based on what we observe—the “is.” The law permits abortion; people do it. This is today’s reality. Relativists cherry-pick to support their wishes, often taking the “is” without the “ought.” Norms change, but the “ought” never does. It’s timeless and firm. The “ought” is the absolute moral law.
If I were a Nazi in WWII, killing Jews was legal and encouraged. But the absolute moral law never changes. It ought to always be wrong to kill for being Jewish. Abortion is legal today. But once someone exists, they ought to live. The absolute moral law is how things ought to be. It’s the same for all, always. It never changes.
As a college student studying philosophy, I faced moral arguments—spectacular dilemmas. My professor, a brilliant philosopher, made even pacifists admit they’d kill to save children or torture to end suffering. Scenarios got gruesome, reshaping until admitting relativism. But after years of study, I saw these scenarios proved absolute moral law.
It’s only because absolute moral law exists that dilemmas are serious. Without it, who cares? Let them die, kill, torture, grind them up. Absolute moral law is necessary for relativists to create dilemmas, make moral comparisons, or know injustice. It’s evidenced by their ability to do so.
Classic philosophical arguments aren’t unlike relativism’s emotional cookie-cutter arguments in abortion. They’re complex, pitting morals against each other, confusing and bushwhacking the unprepared. People get confused, distracted, and make mistakes in complex dilemmas. But they rarely mistake the basics—like how a well-adjusted person reacts when tables turn or when injustice is done.
The Plain Truth of It
Moral relativism may be popular and convenient for avoiding judgment, but it’s a lie. Just as 2+2 equals 4 for everyone, everywhere, absolute moral law stands firm. It’s evident. What is right for one is right for all, even when inconvenient. The absolute moral law isn’t born from desires or denial. It is the truth. The invitation is simple: acknowledge the truth that binds us all.