By Alida Chan
People argue. Sometimes, it’s over trivial matters, like whether you’d rather fight one horse-sized duck or a hundred duck-sized horses (I’d choose the latter). Other times, things intensify. Consider a student lying to cover for a friend skipping class; one might argue that’s simply wrong – it’s harming the friend who’s missing out on a chance to learn. Yet it may also be suggested that friendship and loyalty are important values. We’re all often dragged into these battlegrounds of proper debates.
Value disagreements are common. They appear across and within cultures. Even without miscommunication, people still disagree. Why? From David Hume during the Enlightenment to 20th century thinkers like John Mackie, many have concluded that persistent value disagreements indicate our beliefs are subjective – shaped by distinct cultures, emotions, and experiences. Indeed, some of our values are personal, and societies construct moral codes over time. But that’s not the whole picture. Value disagreement is only subjective in some contexts but doesn’t always disprove objectivity. Subjectivity isn’t a necessary condition for disagreement. Science has seen century-long debates over objective facts, like whether Earth is the centre of the universe. During scientific disagreements, as Hilary Putnam argues, individuals hold different epistemic value terms, which closely resemble moral value terms in ethical debates. It’s inconsistent to reject objectivity in moral disputes while accepting it in science.
Even if many values are subjective, our moral discourse treats some values as objective. In moral disagreements, our values are meant to persuade not just those in certain situations but are intended to apply universally. Take the moral value C1, “killing people is wrong”. When I assert this, I’m not merely stating it’s wrong for me to kill; I’m arguing it’s inherently wrong for anyone to kill. Moral values aspire to be universal. Some may say certain conditions can compromise a value’s universality. For example, consider C2, “Killing is wrong unless this person is threatening your life”. It appears that C1 doesn’t apply in this scenario. However, upon scrutiny, C2 is still grounded in two moral values aspiring to universal applicability; first, “killing is wrong”, and second, the positive moral value, “it’s right to prioritise saving your own life when it’s being threatened”. The term “aspiring” captures situations where one value overrides another. C2 demonstrates that objective values can interact in complex ways. The key distinction is that while conditions reveal which values are central or peripheral to our beliefs, they don’t limit the universal intent when we make each value judgement.
Some critics of objective value adopt Alfred Ayer’s non-cognitivist stance, arguing that moral values aren’t fact-stating and cannot be true or false. However, as philosopher David Brink observed, when contradictory claims are presented, each side must see their opponent’s position as false. In moral disagreements, there’s a shared assumption between the parties involved that there’s a correct action to be taken. On this common ground, we try to show that our values are not only coherent but truthful. We naturally expect our reasons to carry weight – even with those who disagree. This expectation to justify our values makes sense only if our moral values aim at standards not reducible to personal or cultural preferences. If morality were entirely subjective, any value disagreement would have no more significance than mere differing tastes.
We can only make sense of moral progress if there are objective values serving as benchmarks for improvement. We believe societies which abolished slavery did the right thing. By this, we mean that these societies have made improvements, becoming more morally correct compared to those that maintained slavery. If morality were wholly subjective, it would be hard to explain why certain historical changes are viewed as progress rather than just alterations.
The very fact that we debate seriously what’s right and wrong suggests there’s at least something beyond ourselves we’re appealing to. Imagine humanity catches a disease which causes the entire population to vanish from Earth except for one person, Alex. One day, he encounters a cat and tortures it for fun. There’s no society left; nobody sees him. If morality were just a social contract or collective personal preferences, this act would be, at worst, distasteful – not wrong. Yet, we can argue that this act remains wrong – not just wrong to us or society, but just wrong in the most literal and unequivocal sense. Our experience of moral values’ normative force, despite the absence of a judging third party, reveals the existence of an objective moral standard that transcends individual or collective perspectives. Moral judgement and disagreement require, by philosopher Russ Shafer-Laundau’s definition, a “stance-independent” scheme of value. Through moral discourse, we’re trying to align our values with this scheme, which embodies ultimate moral truths. The act of aligning, rather than dictating, suggests that moral facts are out there rather than constructed from within.
While moral discourse demands objective values, they aren’t “ontologically necessary” in the strongest metaphysical sense. They might not exist as abstract forms, but they’re “structurally” necessary. Our moral practices are built upon this objective framework which enables the truth-aptness of the values we express in moral discourse. Denying this would be akin to deeming moral debates and judgements meaningless.
I shall make two clarifications. First, these objective values need not be fixed in the Platonic sense. Relativism isn’t opposed to objective values: they’re coherent but are also context-sensitive and immanent. Objective values can be understood through internal relativity, which interprets value as something that arises within relationships instead of depending on them. Thus, values can be objective and dynamic as long as they genuinely affect the things they connect to.
Secondly, recognising the necessity for objective values doesn’t imply that moral truths are always easy to know. I have granted that some of our values are indeed subjective. Our culture, psychology, and emotional biases are unavoidable factors that hinder us from ever fully reaching the objective moral scheme. Nevertheless, the epistemological difficulty of accessing moral truths doesn’t negate their existence. If anything, the earnestness with which we pursue the objective moral framework supports the idea that we’re striving towards something real, even if our efforts seem futile.
Now, where does this leave us?
My argument positions us in a middle ground – acknowledging that some values are subjective, shaped by personal emotions or sociocultural forces. At the same time, our willingness and actual engagement in value disagreements point to the existence of objective values. This value scheme is necessarily real because it guides our discourses and gives meaning to our judgements. It allows us to condemn an action even when no one is left to care. Alex would never be held responsible for torturing that cat, but if we feel the act is still wrong, then we’re recognising that morality, at its core, isn’t dependent on us or our preferences. Certain values exist objectively, whether we know of them or not.
So, next time you get into a debate with someone over whatever moral matter, take a moment to notice the rich meanings you explicitly and implicitly convey. In a profound yet not obvious manner, you’re engaged in something that defines our humanity. You’re reaching, together, for something more: the truth.
Alida Chan is a student at Tonbridge School UK and is the Deputy Head of School for the 2025-26 academic year. He was awarded a “Very High Commendation” in the 2024 John Locke Global Essay Prize Philosophy category.