My column at OnlySky.

In his 1943 book The Abolition of Man, C.S. Lewis described the theory of objective value as follows:

It is the doctrine of objective value, the belief that certain attitudes are really true, and others really false, to the kind of thing the universe is and the kind of things we are.

Although Lewis was a Christian apologist, he did not link the theory of objective value to Christianity in particular or to religion in general. He referred to the theory as the Tao to indicate that people of very different cultures and beliefs had held it throughout human history. Lewis was convinced that all of the world’s wisdom traditions promoted some version of the theory of objective value. In fact, he believed that very few thinkers entertained any other view until the modern era.

Although I am not aware that Lewis ever pointed this out, the theory of objective value actually conflicts with the forms of theism that maintain that values are defined by what God wills. In contrast, Lewis was describing an objective form of values based on empirical investigation into human nature and the nature of the universe. These values would endure whatever God thought of them.

The enduring Euthyphro dilemma

The conflict between these two ways of looking at values—God’s arbitrary will versus objective values binding even on God—has its best-known expression in the Hebrew Bible. In Genesis 18, God reveals to Abraham his plan to destroy the cities of Sodom and Gomorrah because of their wickedness. Abraham asks whether God intends to destroy the innocent along with the evildoers, which, Abraham implies, would be morally wrong. Abraham famously puts the question to God, “Will not the judge of all the world do right?” God, too, is bound by right and wrong. This is the theory of objective value.

In my columns at OnlySky, I often advert to and endorse the theory of objective value. It is somewhat tricky to discuss. If you believe the theory to be in some way false, because values are not objective, it is not clear on what basis you can assert that. After all, the existence of the categories of true and false are themselves part of the theory of objective value.

Nevertheless, some readers of OnlySky object to the theory and they have not hesitated to let me know. Recently one reader went beyond the question of whether the theory is true to raise a different problem with it. He claimed that the theory of objective value can have disastrous consequences if acted upon.

This is an old critique of the theory. The idea is that if people believe that their value judgments are absolutely true, they will be intolerant and violent in defense of their values. By this view, the best thing to do is admit that our values are just subjective preferences, like the way we might prefer one ice cream flavor to another. Then we won’t have any reason to kill each other in disputes over them.

This is how Mark Lilla explained this argument in his book The Stillborn God:

[W]e have chosen to limit our politics to protecting individuals from the worst harms they can inflict on one another, to securing fundamental liberties and providing for their basic welfare, while leaving their spiritual destinies in their own hands. We have wagered that it is wiser to beware the forces unleashed by the Bible’s messianic promise than to try exploiting them for the public good.

One problem with this criticism is that it is not true. We do not limit our politics in this way. The biggest political controversies of the past and present—the institution and then the abolition of slavery, the battles over women’s suffrage and racial segregation, the push for anti-discrimination laws in the workplace, the question of whether to allow abortion or to ban it, the debate over whether to recognize same-sex marriage, the push for school prayer and other forms of government support of religion, the endless debate over gun ownership—all involve fundamental choices of right and wrong that the majority imposes on various dissenting minorities in the name of their vision of truth and goodness.

The other problem with this criticism is that as American society has become less religious, it has not necessarily become more tolerant. On the contrary, our era seems more polarized and more fiercely at odds than ever. Apparently, even if we believe that our value judgments are mere preferences, we are still willing to fight over them and impose them on others if we get the chance.

Or, to put it another way, people always seem to find reasons to kill each other.

The Sparrow and the Prime Directive

But, in the excellent way of OnlySky readers, my critic did not just want to assert the dangerousness of the theory of objective value, but wanted me to see it for myself. So, he suggested that I read The Sparrow, the science fiction masterpiece published in 1996 by Mary Doria Russell.

Unbeknownst to my reader, I am a devotee of science fiction. In fact, back in the 1990s, I taught the very first course in law and science fiction at any American law school. But I had not read The Sparrow. Reading the book turned out to be emotionally wrenching. The consequences the reader wanted me to see are indeed horrific.

To summarize the plot quickly, The Sparrow tells the story of an ill-fated Jesuit mission to a newly discovered alien civilization on the planet Rakhat. On the most fundamental level, the book raises the issue of theodicy: the philosophical and theological attempt to justify God’s goodness, power, and justice in the face of evil and suffering. The Jesuit priest at the center of the story, Father Emilio Sandoz, a linguist, is convinced by various signs that God wants the mission to proceed, but the consequence of the mission is unimaginable horror—everyone on the mission but Sandoz dies and there is a literal slaughter of the innocents. So, where is God?

But the problem of theodicy is not of immediate concern to the readers of OnlySky, who are presumably not practicing any form of theism. The aspect of the story that I believe the reader wanted me to note has to do with the harm that the human visitors do to settled cultural practices on the alien world that the humans at first do not understand and, when they do, cannot accept.

On Rakhat, the main predator and prey species have both evolved into sentient species with language and settlement. The predator species, the Jana’ata, although numerically inferior, hold all the power on the planet and control the lives of the prey species, the Runa. The Jana’ata no longer literally hunt the Runa, but for all practical purposes, they have enslaved them. Sandoz calls the Runa domesticated pets, but we come to see this is far too benign a view.

Naturally, the human visitors object to this arrangement and physically resist its most violent aspects. This resistance inspires the Runa, with catastrophic results for everyone. There is a hint toward the end of the book that these violent results are likely to continue. When Sandoz returns to Earth and tries to explain what happened on the planet, he points out that the arrangements the Jana’ata and the Runa had worked out over eons were in some ways preferable to some of the prevailing social and economic arrangements on Earth, especially our treatment of the poor.

Anthropologists know better than to interfere with cultural norms they do not understand. This wisdom was given literal form in the Prime Directive introduced by the Star Trek franchise. Federation explorers were not to interfere with the “social, cultural, or technological development” of planetary societies that have not yet attained full technological sophistication. Of course, in Star Trek, as in The Sparrow, humans keep interfering.

Given the horrific consequences that ensue, one possible interpretation of the book is that the human attempt to thwart the brutal treatment of the Runa by the Jana’ata was a mistake—a wrongheaded application of the theory of universal values. What is good for humans is not necessarily good for the Runa, even though the Runa are sentient beings. This may even be the interpretation the author intends.

And yet, to me, the book ends up endorsing the theory of objective value and applying it to the Jana’ata and the Runa. Like slaveholders on Earth in the nineteenth century, the Jana’ata are terrified that the Runa will rise up in rebellion. That is why they are so brutal. But just as that fear put the lie to the claims of slaveholders that slavery was benign, the Jana’ata must then be aware on some level of the injustice of their treatment of the Runa.

The fundamental injustice of the arrangements on Rakhat renders the situation a potential powder keg. The isolated interference in cultural norms by the human expedition led to catastrophic results because it dramatically pointed to that very injustice. But this immediate reaction suggests that, eventually, even without human interference, the Runa would have rebelled. The Jana’ata certainly were afraid they would. As the saying goes, if you want peace, work for justice. Justice, not force, is the way to peace.

Mark Lilla might object and point out that the underlying human belief in equality and justice as objectively true and real is what led in the book to violence. But that is not the case. The objectivity of justice in the context of life on Rakhat was in fact true. The Runa had a right to self-determination. They had a right to determine their own future. Their rights were being suppressed. That is why they fought back. It was the objective injustice of the cultural arrangements on Rakhat that led to violence.

Lewis would reassure Lilla that believing in objective right and wrong does not lead to intolerance. Lewis never claimed that human beings ever have all the truth. He thought the fact that value is objective would lead us to discuss our differences and reason with each other because, unlike the view that values are mere preferences, objective values are something people can actually reason about. And, maybe, convince each other, without violence. That at least should be our hope. It is more likely to happen, not less, if we accept the theory of objective value.