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A head poked through the doorway. "Prof?"
"Hmm?"
"What will Quiz 9 cover?"
"It's right there on your course calendar, Nathan."
"Oh. Let's see. Here it is. Reading 28?"
"Is that what it says?"
"Yes."
"Then that's what's on the quiz."
"Thanks. That's all."
The head disappeared. Two seconds later it poked through the doorway again.
"By the way — Prof?"
"Hmm?"
"In class today. When you had us all debate abortion."
"Yes?"
"It occurred to me afterward — I made a concession that I shouldn't have made."
"Did you?"
"Yeah. You said the object was to find the truth of the matter. I'm not ready to admit that there are any moral truths."
"Aren't you?"
"No. Well, that's all." His head disappeared again.
"Nathan. Before you go."
He reappeared. Just his head, as before.
I cupped my chin in my hand. "If there aren't any moral truths, then on what basis do you expect me to give you the grade that you deserve on the upcoming quiz?"
Nathan looked surprised. "Well — I'd say you have a right to assign me a fair grade based on the fact that you know the material more thoroughly than I do. That's why you're the teacher and I'm the student."
"Is that so?"
"Sure. If students believed that their professors graded justly, nobody would ever complain about his grade."
"You've just invoked three moral truths," I said. "First, that rights should be honored, second, that jobs should go to those qualified to hold them, and third, that justice should be done. I thought you said that there aren't any moral truths."
Nathan was nonplussed. "I guess I walked right into that one," he said. "OK, there are."
"Come in or go out, Nathan. All this appearing and disappearing makes me think of a snapping turtle."
The rest of him came into view, framed by the doorway. His hand were thrust deep in his pockets. He was frowning. He still didn't sit down.
"Do you have somewhere to go?"
"No, why?"
"Just now you were glancing at your watch."
"Was I? I do that when I'm nervous."
"Are you nervous?"
"I didn't think I was, but I guess I must be."
"Why?"
He shrugged. "I don't like to talk about right and wrong."
"Why not?"
"I usually take a neutral stance. You make that hard."
I smiled. "Well, I try."
He sat down. "Like today in class. I said I'm neither pro-abortion or anti-abortion, but neutral — I'm pro-choice."
"I remember."
"You said that if the question is whether abortion should be legal or not legal, then I'm not neutral, because I'm for making it legal. Well — OK. So I'm not neutral. But, see, I just want to leave it up to the individual. I don't want to take a position myself."
"There you go again. You are taking a position 'yourself.'"
"I'm not."
"Sure you are."
"What position am I taking?"
"You're authorizing the private use of lethal violence against innocents, provided that they are still in the womb."
"You make it sound wrong."
I laughed. "Well, I think it is. But is there something wrong with the way that I've put it? Am I stacking the deck?"
"I'm not authorizing the private — the lethal — whatever you said."
"That's what it means to tell someone 'You may do it if you wish.' That's what 'to authorize' is."
"But I'm not for what they're doing."
"But aren't you for allowing them to do it?"
"That only shows that I'm pro-choice, like I said."
"Nathan, you're not 'pro' all choices. You're no more neutral about who may choose than I am."
"What do you mean?"
"You want to allow some people the choice of aborting their babies, but you don't allow other people the choice of protecting them, do you? And you certainly don't allow those babies a choice about whether to live or die. So when you say you're 'pro-choice,' what you really mean is that you're 'pro' certain choices, and against others."
He answered, "But you have a moral position. You're 'pro' the opposite choices."
"I agree," I said. "The difference is that I admit that I have a moral position, and I'm willing to defend it. You won't defend your moral position, because you refuse to admit that you have one."
"Prof, this isn't fair. You don't accept moral absolutes any more than I do."
"Why do you say that?"
"You say you're pro-life, but I've heard you say that you accept capital punishment in rare cases. And just war. And self-defense. So you're inconsistent."
"I've never said that I'm against all killing, Nathan. The fifth commandment1 is better translated 'Thou shalt not murder.' Not all killing is murder."
"So what's your principle? 'Killing is wrong, except when it's not'? That's just circular."
"That principle would be circular, but it's not my principle. Try 'Never deliberately take innocent human life.'"
He thought for a few seconds. "All right, maybe you're not actually inconsistent. But that's not really my point."
"What is your point?"
"That you allow exceptions."
"Only if you state the principle incorrectly. Not if you state it correctly. It's always wrong to deliberately take innocent human life. Even when a person is guilty — "
He couldn't wait for the end of my sentence. "Don't you admit exceptions to any moral principles?"
"Oh, sure, lots of moral principles have exceptions. Take this one: 'If someone leaves something of his own in your safekeeping, then when he demands it, you ought to give it back.' That's true in most cases, but what if what he leaves with me is his car key, and when he demands it he's falling-down drunk? I'd say 'Let me call you a cab.'"
"So morals aren't absolute."
"There's that word 'absolute' again. I'm not sure what you mean by it. If you're claiming that all moral principles have exceptions, then no. Some do, some don't. Isn't that what we've just seen?"
A voice came from the door. "Perhaps that's not what he means. The owner of the voice strolled in and plopped down in a chair. "D'you mind?"
I waved my hand in greeting and plenary permission. "You're entitled. This is Nathan. Nathan, my colleague, Professor Loons. If he acts like he owns my office, that's because he almost does."
Bob Loons and I sometimes substitute in each other's classes. He peered at Nathan through his horn rims. "Weren't you in my analytical abstruseness class last semester? Did you pass?"
"Hello, Professor. Yes, I survived."
"Good show." He turned to me. "As I say, perhaps that's not what he means by 'absolute.' Perhaps what he's objecting to is the idea some people have that God makes things good and evil just by His say-so. So that if He had, say, commanded murder instead of forbidding it, then murder would be right instead of wrong."
I grinned. "Just how long were you standing out there listening?"
"Long enough."
"I don't think that's what Nathan meant. He didn't mention God. The whole thrust of —"
"But that is what I meant," said Nathan. "That's what I've been trying to say all along."
"Oh?" I was far from convinced that this was what he had meant. Then again, he might have. People don't always know what they're getting at, not at first. Once they start off on the wrong foot, they don't know how to recover. That might have happened here.
"So your beef doesn't have anything to do with whether moral principles have exceptions? It's about whether God can command anything He wants to?"
"Right," said Nathan. "My beef is with this Christian idea of a moral lawmaker with absolute power who makes things right and wrong just by saying them."
Then why hadn't he said so? I decided that I had better just listen.
Loons said "Now, then, Nelson —"
"Nathan."
"As that may be. Now you call this a Christian idea. Would you be surprised that historically most Christians have not thought of morality that way?"
"They haven't?"
"No," he said. He cleared his throat. "Humph. In the traditional view, God isn't above goodness so that He could make something good just by commanding it."
"You mean goodness it's the other way around? Goodness is above Him, and He can't go against it?"
"Not that either. Humph. God isn't higher than goodness, and goodness isn't higher than God. He and His goodness are the same thing. Neither is above the other. The reason that He can't command evil is that He can't contradict His own nature. Stars and comets, Theo, what have you been teaching this boy?"
"The Euthyphro dilemma isn't until next week, Bob."
Nathan considered for a few moments. Then he asked, "So right and wrong don't depend on God after all?"
"Humph. Of course they depend on God," said Loons. "They depend on Him in the same way everything depends on Him. It isn't as though without God, there would be a universe but no difference between good and evil. Without God, nothing would be at all. No universe and no difference between good and evil. Put that in your pipe, my boy."
Again Nathan considered. After a few seconds he smiled and said, "Thanks. That clears it up." He glanced at his watch again. "This time I do have to go."
As the sound of Nathan's footsteps receded down the hall, I turned to my friend and asked, "How did you do that? I'd been going round and round with him."
He shrugged. "You just have to know how to carry on a conversation."
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