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We all know the difference between right and wrong; it is just common sense. Critically assess this claim. [40]

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While it is easy to understand why somebody might say that we all know the difference between right and wrong, because most people do and because in general what is right causes most people to be happy and what is wrong causes suffering, the fact that some criminals either aren’t aware of their actions being wrong or don’t care suggests that this claim is not sound. 

Firstly, while St Thomas Aquinas did argue that we all have a God-given desire for the good and to avoid evil (Conscientia, the Primary Precept of Natural Law) he argued that we need to learn how to put this desire into practice by developing our Synderesis (what Aristotle called Practical Reason). Superficially it might seem that inherently wrong actions serve one or more of the basic human goods of natural law.  For example, killing my enemy might seem like it promotes peace and harmony in society.  Nevertheless, it also goes against the basic human good of life, so I must learn that killing can never be right, even when it affects an unpopular troublemaker!  When people do evil things, argues Aquinas, it is usually because they are pursuing an apparent and not a real good and this because their synderesis has not been properly formed.  For Aquinas then, it is not fair to say that we all have clear knowledge of the difference between right and wrong or that this is “just common sense”.  While we have good instincts for morality, we need to learn what is right and what is wrong and it is not always the way these seem superficially. 

Secondly, Immanuel Kant argued that the moral law appeals to peoples’ reason as a synthetic a priori, suggesting that we all have a knowledge of good and evil regardless of our experience in the world.  Nevertheless, he was at pains to explain how what is right is not always what makes people happy or seems instinctively to be the correct course of action.  Take, for example, Kant’s famous axe-murderer example from the Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals (1785).  Kant argued that it is right to tell the truth, even though we suspect that this will lead to the death of a friend, rather than tell what seems to be a white lie to save a life.  This is far from being common-sense!  For Kant though, reason shows us that if we can’t universalise the maxim of lying and would be using the suspected axe-murderer as a means to an end of saving our friend then what we do would be irrational and wrong.  The moral law is a categorical imperative and will not allow us to make decisions situationally, but demands consistent rational action. This shows that while we all have the ability to know the difference between right and wrong, this is not just common sense but requires deep thought and analysis. 

On the other hand, utilitarians like Jeremy Bentham argue that “nature has placed mankind under two sovereign masters; the pursuit of pleasure and the avoidance of pain” meaning that maximising pleasure is natural to human beings, which implies both that everybody knows the difference between right and wrong and that this could reasonably be described as “common sense.”  Yet this is not convincing because there is a gap between our instinct to pursue our own pleasure and knowing that we should maximise human pleasure in general.  Hume pointed out the is-ought gap in logic that affects Bentham’s reasoning and GE Moore dismissed classical Utilitarianism for relying on the Naturalistic Fallacy as well as for reducing goodness to what causes pleasure in a way that he felt to be far too simplistic.  Moore pointed out that it makes sense to ask if an instance of pleasure is good, as well as whether pleasure is good per se, which shows that pleasure is not in fact good in itself.  This means that many people might not know the difference between right and wrong by a utilitarian definition. Out instinct to maximise pleasure is not the same as a natural knowledge of the difference between right and wrong and the utilitarian moral imperative – to sacrifice our own interests when this would make more people happy – does not seem to be “common sense” to everybody! 

Further, drawing on Platonism GE Moore argued that all people recognise goodness when they see it, although goodness itself is indefinable. This is quite appealing because it explains why many people see fruitlessly altruistic actions – like a soldier getting blown up disobeying orders in trying to save an injured comrade – as good when this can’t be explained by other means. Yet, it is a stretch to say that everybody knows that such actions are good or that it is “common sense” when there is such a diversity of opinion and disagreement about this sort of issue.  While scholars like CS Lewis and Alastair MacIntyre were right to point out that some values and virtues are admired across ages and cultural boundaries, not all values and virtues are and certainly not by everybody.  If they were, there wouldn’t be any cultural disagreements over issues like polygamy and FGM and neither would there be any crime.  Wittgenstein’s approach of seeing meaning and truth depending on the rules of a “language game” and varying over time and between contexts makes best sense of the diversity that exists in the moral sphere, despite some basic agreement over the value of human life. This approach also casts doubt on both the claim that everybody knows the difference between right and wrong and the claim that such is “common sense”… because what is right and what is wrong depend on context and is neither objective, nor universal.

It seems that Hume’s sentimentalism or even AJ Ayer’s emotivism best explain why some people admire fruitless altruistic actions while others condemn them. By Hume’s analysis, our moral values represent our sentimental reactions to actions.  Surely, most people are repelled by murder, but this does not mean that there is something “wrong” about murder that can be “known,” only that many people share feelings about an action which often causes suffering. Further, by Ayer’s analysis, moral claims have no factual significance but are expressions of emotions and feelings in much the same way as hooray or boo might be.  Again, they don’t make ontological claims about actions, but only express approval or disapproval.  JL Mackie agreed with Ayer, arguing that moral values are “queer” in not belonging to any category of existence and that moral claims are based on errors.  For Hume, Ayer and Mackie, the difference between right and wrong is not something that can be “known” at all…. only felt.  The feeling that murder is wrong might appear to be based on “common sense” but this would apply only if “common sense” refers to popular opinion rather than the universal knowledge suggested by the wording of the title.  As RM Hare suggested, people might be prescribing actions when they say things like “murder is wrong”, rather than making a claim about murder itself, suggesting that a claim like murder is wrong has meaning while lacking factual significance. Yet, the fact that as CL Stevenson observed, moral claims are difficult to analyse and might in fact be doing a lot of different things suggests that it is wrong to say that everybody has knowledge of right and wrong, let alone that these are matters of “common sense”. 

In conclusion, while the claim that “we all know the difference between right and wrong; it is just common sense” is superficially attractive, it cannot withstand deeper critical analysis. For ethical realists, the claim goes well beyond what most would suggest.  For most ethical naturalists the knowledge of good and evil, while open to everybody, demands deeper analysis and study to attain.  Similarly, for most non-naturalists a priori knowledge of right and wrong goes beyond common sense and demands deeper thought.  While GE Moore did argue that it makes no sense to keep asking what goodness is because it is indefinable, an intuition… and we either recognise it or we don’t, even for him – the author of a famous essay called “Common Sense” (1905) knowledge of the difference between right and wrong is not the sort of gut reaction that this phrase might often suggest.  Also, for ethical non-realists the difference between right and wrong is neither something that has factual significance and can be “known” nor something that is agreed on in the way that “common sense” might suggest. 

Assess Sigmund Freud’s view of the conscience. [40]

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Sigmund Freud, the founder of psychoanalysis, developed a psychological account of the conscience rooted in his tripartite model of the psyche: the id, ego, and super-ego. The id represents instinctive drives, the ego is the rational mediator with the external world, and the super-ego forms through the internalisation of parental and societal norms. Freud believed that the conscience operates within the super-ego and emerges during early childhood, especially through resolving the Oedipus complex, during which the child internalises authority figures’ moral standards. For Freud, the conscience is not a divine or rational guide but a psychological mechanism designed to control behaviour through guilt and anxiety. Freud’s view of the conscience is ultimately flawed, as it reduces moral awareness to unconscious repression and social conditioning, and fails to account for authentic moral responsibility or objective moral knowledge.

Firstly, Freud’s theory presents conscience as the result of early childhood development, particularly through the repression of unacceptable desires and the internalisation of external authority. While this offers a plausible explanation for the feelings of guilt that can accompany moral failure, it also leads to a highly relativistic and subjective account of morality. If conscience is simply the product of cultural norms and parental expectations, then it becomes difficult to explain how people can meaningfully challenge the moral values of their upbringing. For example, Jean Piaget’s research into moral development showed that children progress from heteronomous morality (based on external rules) to autonomous morality (based on internal principles), suggesting that morality can mature beyond social conditioning. Lawrence Kohlberg further argued that the highest level of moral reasoning is based on universal ethical principles, not conformity to rules. These developmental models imply that conscience is more than an internalised superego—it has the capacity to reason, reflect and evolve. Freud’s model, by contrast, traps the individual within their early psychological environment, undermining the idea that conscience can offer a rational or universal moral standard. His view might explain guilt, but it cannot reliably distinguish between moral guilt and unhealthy repression.

Additionally, Freud’s portrayal of the conscience as a largely punitive force presents a narrow and negative understanding of moral awareness. In Civilisation and Its Discontents, Freud suggested that conscience becomes more severe as society imposes greater restrictions on instinctual life, resulting in increasing guilt and psychological discomfort. This bleak view of the conscience as a source of anxiety ignores the possibility that it can serve a positive, guiding role. Erich Fromm, a fellow psychoanalyst, criticised Freud’s reduction of conscience to a repressive super-ego, proposing instead that a “humanistic conscience” arises from our inner awareness of what fosters growth, integrity and human flourishing. Fromm’s perspective better accounts for the experience of moral clarity and peace when acting in accordance with one’s values, not merely the avoidance of guilt. Furthermore, religious thinkers such as St Augustine and Cardinal Newman viewed conscience as a means by which the individual discerns the will of God. Newman called it the “aboriginal Vicar of Christ,” highlighting its role in pointing toward truth, even in the absence of external authority. Freud’s theory, by contrast, dismisses such transcendental elements and fails to account for why conscience sometimes leads people to oppose social expectations rather than conform to them. The super-ego, in his view, punishes disobedience but does not inspire moral courage or sacrificial goodness.

Nonetheless, some scholars have defended aspects of Freud’s theory as a helpful corrective to overly idealised or religious accounts of the conscience. Freud exposed how moral beliefs can be shaped by psychological pressures and social authority, revealing that what people regard as conscience may sometimes be little more than internalised fear. For instance, Joseph Butler argued that conscience is a God-given faculty that naturally approves of virtue and disapproves of vice. However, Freud would argue that such confidence in moral intuition overlooks the fact that what appears to be “right” might simply be what we have been taught to believe, regardless of its objective moral status. Freud’s view has found support among feminist thinkers such as Carol Gilligan, who argued that traditional moral development theories—like Kohlberg’s—often ignore the role of care, context and relational factors. She suggested that feelings of guilt and responsibility are more complex and shaped by interpersonal dynamics than Freud or rationalist models allow. However, while both Freud and Gilligan helpfully highlight the emotional and social dimensions of the conscience, their approaches do not replace the need for a standard by which conscience can be judged as right or wrong. Freud’s theory lacks any clear framework for moral evaluation, meaning it cannot explain why one person’s conscience might be more morally trustworthy than another’s. The idea of objective moral truth—found in thinkers like Aquinas, who grounded conscience in reason and natural law—is entirely absent in Freud’s psychology.

In conclusion, Freud’s view of the conscience is ultimately flawed, as it reduces moral awareness to unconscious repression and social conditioning, and fails to account for authentic moral responsibility or objective moral knowledge. While Freud offers valuable insight into how conscience can be shaped by upbringing and can generate unhealthy guilt, his model is ultimately too narrow and pessimistic. The strongest critiques—from Piaget, Fromm, and Newman—highlight that conscience is not merely a psychological mechanism but a dynamic and potentially rational or spiritual guide to truth. To understand the conscience fully, students must engage both with the psychological forces Freud identified and with the rational and ethical capacities recognised in moral development theory and religious tradition. Only then can the conscience be seen not just as an echo of early experience, but as a mature faculty that seeks and responds to the good.

Critically evaluate Aquinas’ approach to moral decision making. [40]

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Aquinas’ approach to moral decision-making goes well beyond basic Natural Moral Law. Influenced by Aristotle, Aquinas’ ethic is sophisticated and includes a virtue ethic and theory of conscience as well as a normative approach for deciding on what is right and what is wrong. As such, Aquinas’ approach to moral decision-making is very useful.

Firstly, because Aquinas’ approach is rooted in Aristotelian Ethics it is supported by rational arguments and is consistent. Like Aristotle, Aquinas observed human beings and saw that people tend to flourish and then defined his primary precepts or basic human goods in relation to human flourishing, in terms of what supports that end. People flourish when they enjoy long life, live peaceably in society, when they have children and teach them and when they learn and praise God. Aquinas reasoned that actions which contribute to one or more of these goods and so to flourishing are right and actions which inhibit one or more of these ends are wrong. The secondary precepts of Aquinas’ natural law are, therefore, easily deduced from the primary precepts, providing a useful source of moral guidance and justification for rules, which are more practical and useful than expecting people to make decisions situationally. Nevertheless, Aquinas recognised that everyday decision-making is not only about following rules like do not murder… flourishing involves developing positive habits (virtues) and avoiding vices. Aquinas agreed with Aristotle (and modern virtue ethicists also agree) that habits, as well as consideration of somebody’s whole character rather than only individual actions, are useful in moral decision-making. This focus on virtue, habits and character has been overlooked by Roman Catholic Ethics in their application of Aquinas’ approach, leading to what Fletcher criticised as a legalistic approach, meaning that Aquinas’ approach is more useful than Roman Catholic applications of his thinking today. In addition, Aquinas argued that people should act autonomously, following their God-given desire to do good and avoid evil and what they have learned from practical reason (synderesis) to act on what their conscience suggests as a moral duty. This focus on individual autonomy and conscience also makes Aquinas’ moral philosophy more useful than Roman catholic applications of it, which often seem to support blind obedience. As Kant, William Temple and Bonhoeffer would point out, “on freedom our moral life depends.” If we don’t make decisions for ourselves, but defer to authority and practice blind obedience then we will not flourish as a person even if strictly speaking we do the right thing. This shows that Aquinas’ approach to moral decision-making is a useful one and more useful than Roman Catholic applications of it today.

Secondly, Aquinas approach to moral decision-making is useful because it is rooted in and is consistent with the Bible and Christian faith. For Aquinas, the reason people want to flourish and act to support human flourishing is because God created them that way. In Genesis 1, God creates people good and orders them to “be fruitful and increase in number…” showing that flourishing and following the primary precepts of living long, procreating etc. are in fact doing God’s will. Whereas Aristotle’s ethic is avowedly non-religious, Aquinas’ ethic is so acceptable to Christians – still the largest group of religious believers in the world – that it was adopted as the basis for Roman Catholic ethics at the Council of Trent. Today, Roman Catholic Ethics stands on the three legs of Scripture, Tradition and Reason as authorities… meaning that it is not subject to Biblical literalism as Protestant ethics is, and neither is it changeable, inconsistent or unreasonably conservative. Aquinas showed the Church the way to achieve this, which has contributed significantly to the Church’s survival and growth through centuries of change and new moral challenges. Clearly, Roman Catholic Ethics today has rightly been criticised for being Legalistic, inflexible and encouraging blind obedience, but other scholars have returned to Aquinas for inspiration in showing how this is a selective and not a necessary application of His original ethic. For example, John Finnis roots his ethic in Aquinas, providing an approach which encourages both autonomy and acting according to Church teachings. Bernard Hoose also roots his proportionalism in Aquinas, and shows that it can be applied to support breaking even the strongest prohibitions in extreme situations, avoiding the criticism of being inflexible. Again, the fact that Aquinas’ approach to moral decision-making is so useful to Christians shows that it is a useful approach.

On the other hand, Aquinas’ approach to decision making has been widely criticised. Natural Law relies on moving from observations of the natural world to claims about how we ought to behave. Hume pointed out that moving from an is to an ought needs significant justification, because how things are is not a good guide for how things necessarily ought to be. Further, GE Moore rejected Natural Law because it depends on what he called the Naturalistic Fallacy, suggesting that people should do what they naturally do. Nevertheless, John Finnis has rejected this criticism of Aquinas’ Natural Law, pointing out that Aquinas can be interpreted as being an intuitionist, seeing that the desire to do good and avoid evil and the primary precepts appeal directly to reason before and without experience. This shows that the metaethical critique of Hume and Moore is not conclusive. Aquinas’ virtue ethic has also been criticised by Kantians for encouraging people to develop habits rather than making rational decisions each time. For Kant a “good will” can only be good by acting freely and rationally, being fully human, in every decision, acting out of habit would make a will bad, even if it did the “right” thing as a result. Nevertheless, Finnis again shows that Aquinas’ concern for virtue and character can be brought together with his natural law by making “practical reasonableness” one of the basic human goods. Rather than separating natural law and virtue ethics, Finnis sees being free and rational as the single human habit on which being good – whether in individual actions or character-traits – depends. Again, this shows that Aquinas’ approach to decision-making can be made to evade criticisms and can still be useful. Finally, Aquinas has been criticised for having a over-complicated and speculative account of conscience which is likely to lead people into error, following the guidance of their own imperfect synderesis rather than the infallible teachings of the Church. It is true that Aquinas’ theory of conscience is not based on science, but then again, neither really is Freud’s! Aquinas’ understanding of conscience does do justice to human experience, explaining why we naturally want to do good and avoid evil but also why we sometimes struggle to know how and feel drawn to break moral norms. It is also consistent with other theological accounts of conscience, such as that of Newman, and with Philosophical accounts as well, such as Kant. In this way, Aquinas’ use of conscience within his approach to moral decision-making is not a weakness and his approach is still useful.

In conclusion, Aquinas’ approach to moral decision-making remains useful, both to Christians and more widely. While the application of Aquinas’ approach by the Roman Catholic Church has led Aquinas’ approach to be treated with scepticism, it merits serious consideration both by Catholics and by everybody else.

Critically evaluate St Thomas Aquinas’ view of the conscience. [40]

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St Thomas Aquinas held that conscience is not a separate moral faculty but rather the application of human reason to moral decision-making, rooted in the God-given faculty of synderesis, our innate inclination to do good. For Aquinas, conscience (conscientia) involves reasoning from first principles to particular moral actions, and thus can err if reason is misapplied. He saw it as binding and authoritative, yet fallible. His view blends Aristotelian rationalism with a Christian theological framework. St Thomas Aquinas’ view of the conscience is ultimately flawed, as it places too much confidence in human reason after the Fall and neglects the Christian emphasis on divine grace and revelation as necessary for moral knowledge.

Firstly, Aquinas argued that all humans possess synderesis, a natural inclination towards the good, and that conscience is the rational process of applying this knowledge to specific situations. This places strong emphasis on the ability of human reason to know what is right and wrong. However, Aquinas’ optimism about human rationality appears to overlook the effects of the Fall, as described in Christian doctrine. After the Fall, human nature is wounded, reason is darkened, and the will is weakened (cf. Augustine, Confessions, Book VII). Augustine emphasised the corrupting power of sin and humanity’s dependence on divine grace to know and do good. By contrast, Aquinas assumes that unaided human reason can reliably guide moral action, even if it sometimes errs. Yet, if reason is fundamentally damaged by original sin, then moral reasoning unaided by grace becomes questionable. This raises doubts about Aquinas’ claim that conscience, though rational and fallible, is still the “voice of reason.” Aquinas’ model underestimates the theological importance of grace in Christian moral knowledge, thereby conflicting with the Christian soteriological claim that grace is essential, not optional, for salvation. Thus, Aquinas’ view of conscience is ultimately flawed, as it overestimates the reliability of reason in a postlapsarian world.

Secondly, Aquinas believed that moral knowledge stems from natural law, discoverable to all people through reason. This implies that divine revelation and God’s grace is not strictly necessary for making moral decisions, which is inconsistent with key Christian claims. If conscience is purely rational and based on natural law, then revelation—such as Scripture, the teachings of Jesus, and Church tradition—becomes secondary or even unnecessary. Yet, in Romans 7, Paul laments his inability to do good even when he knows what is right, suggesting a deeper moral failure that cannot be corrected by reason alone. Karl Barth directly critiqued such rationalist views of conscience. He argued that the conscience is not autonomous reason but is instead awakened only in relation to God’s Word. In Church Dogmatics, Barth asserted that the conscience is “the place where God’s judgment is revealed to man,” implying that conscience is not self-sufficient but depends on God’s revelation. This theological view challenges Aquinas’ reliance on natural reason by placing moral knowledge firmly within the context of divine command and Scripture. Aquinas’ account therefore undervalues the centrality of revelation in Christian moral theology, weakening his claim that conscience can be grounded in reason alone.

On the other hand, some scholars have argued that Aquinas’ account of the conscience is valuable because it affirms moral objectivity and personal accountability. By rooting conscience in natural law, Aquinas avoids relativism and provides a rational basis for universal moral truths. For example, Cardinal John Henry Newman supported Aquinas’ general framework, suggesting that conscience is the “aboriginal Vicar of Christ,” meaning that it points to God’s law even when humans are unaware of revelation. Newman believed that conscience has an authority that mirrors divine authority, even if it may err. Moreover, Aquinas’ allowance for an “erroneous conscience” respects individual responsibility—if someone acts according to what they genuinely and rationally believe is right, they are morally obliged to follow their conscience. This could be seen as a strength, preserving the dignity and freedom of the moral agent. However, this view still assumes that human reasoning, even if fallible, is capable of discerning enough moral truth to be trustworthy. Sigmund Freud’s psychoanalytic theory of conscience casts doubt on this assumption. Freud argued that what we call “conscience” is often the result of internalised societal norms—the superego—which may or may not reflect genuine moral truth. For Freud, the conscience can be oppressive and neurotic rather than liberating and rational. If Freud is right, then Aquinas’ optimism about rational conscience is deeply problematic. Therefore, even though Aquinas’ model aims to uphold objective morality and responsibility, it is still ultimately flawed due to an insufficient understanding of human psychological and theological limitations.

In conclusion, St Thomas Aquinas’ view of the conscience is ultimately flawed, as it places too much confidence in human reason after the Fall and neglects the Christian emphasis on divine grace and revelation as necessary for moral knowledge. While Aquinas offers a rational and structured account of conscience that has had lasting influence, particularly in Catholic natural law theory, his framework underestimates the impact of sin on human reasoning and downplays the necessity of grace and revelation in Christian moral theology. The strongest critiques—offered by Augustine, Barth, and even Freud—highlight the theological and psychological weaknesses in assuming that reason alone can reliably guide moral action. Students and theologians alike must recognise the limits of unaided reason and recover the Christian teaching that grace and revelation are essential in forming a true conscience. Aquinas’ insights are valuable, but they must be re-evaluated through a post-Fall lens and a deeper awareness of humanity’s need for divine help.

“Utilitarianism is more useful than Kantian Ethics when it comes to deciding whether to blow the whistle.” Evaluate this statement [40]

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Corporate whistleblowing is the act of an employee or insider reporting unethical, illegal, or harmful practices within an organisation to authorities, regulators, the media, or the public. Kantian Ethics and Utilitarianism have very different approaches to if and when to blow the whistle. While Kantian Ethics follows a sense of duty and therefore often forbids blowing the whistle, because corporate whistleblowers are breaking promises made to their employer through their contract of employment not to reveal sensitive information that might harm the business,  Utilitarianism is concerned about the greatest happiness for the greatest number and therefore often supports whistleblowing, because it forces companies to behave more ethically. In this way, Utilitarianism is more useful than Kantian Ethics when it comes to deciding whether to blow the whistle.

Firstly, the word “useful” refers to utility or the total amount of happiness produced by a decision. Because utilitarianism aims to maximise happiness in any given situation, determining whether or not to blow the whistle based on whether this would be “useful” or not, self-evidently U is the most useful approach. By contrast KE focuses on duties, so might encourage people not to blow the whistle even when this would maximise happiness, because they would also break a contract. For Kant, negative duties e.g. not to break a promise, always outweigh positive duties e.g. to help people. For example, in the case of Sherron Watkins, the vice president of Enron, who had raised concerns about the company’s accounting irregularities before senior management, it would have been unjustified not to raise suspicions because of the sense of duty KE dictates. Utilitarianism is about predicting consequences and then weighing up your options. Watkins rightly predicted that if Enron continued with its use of off-the-books entities to hide debt, the business would eventually collapse, which it did. From a utilitarian point of view, she did exactly the right thing. Morally most people would agree that she did great, as she was named Time’s Person of the year in 2002. Kantian Ethics seems to hold back on its praise, though. Since she only reported the issue internally, she might be okay even on Kantian ethical grounds, but KE’s strong sense of responsibility when it comes to contracts and promises makes it difficult to justify whistleblowing in many cases. Therefore, Utilitarianism is more useful than Kantian Ethics when it comes to deciding whether to blow the whistle.

Moreover, Kantian Ethics is not always clear on when it would support blowing the whistle. While supporters of Kantian Business Ethics like Norman E. Bowie tend to focus on Kant’s love for rules and duty, and praise it for its adherence for them, critics like Dennis G Arnold, Jeffrey Moriarty and Matthew C Altman question whether this application does justice to the true complexity of Kant’s thought. Kant prizes autonomy, which suggests that it would be difficult for a Kantian to sign a contract of employment at all, since they would promise to obey orders in return for money. In the case of Richard Roll, who testified in the inquiries on the British post office scandal, his whistleblowing seems to have been come from not wanting to deceive the media, which generally supports honesty. He had already left Fujitsu, which means that his secrecy contract was partially outbound. It seems though like Kantian Ethics would still struggle to support his actions because agreeing to whistleblowing would, by application of the categorical imperative, mean promoting people to break promises and since its generally considered to be wrong it cannot ever be right, not in any special situation. However, some Kantians argue that their ethics support whistleblowing when it stems from a duty to uphold truth and justice, even if it leads to personal or professional risk. Their argumentation though, while sound, seems to only make the discussion whether KE supports whistleblowing or not more arbitrary. In this way, Kantian Ethics does not offer clear guidance on issues such as whistleblowing.

Lastly, Utilitarianism can sometimes be impractical, because of the problem of prediction, but whistleblowing on principle still follows the principle of utility. For example, Paul Moore, who, before the 2008 financial crisis, as Head of Group Regulatory at HBOS warned that the bank’s aggressive sales culture was driving irresponsible lending practices. His whistleblowing didn’t stop the financial crisis from happening, he lost his job and although he later received a settlement of more than £500,000, he never worked in banking again. On first view, utilitarianism doesn’t support this. The suffering was greater than the happiness caused. In fact, expect for the consolation prize for Moore, nothing good really came out of it, but considerably, utilitarianism isn’t only concerned about short term utility. There are many utilitarians that enforce inherent values or higher pleasures in their utilitarian system, even if they cause short term suffering. A well-known example of this is John Stuart Mill, who often stressed that education is a higher pleasure. The general good that comes of it, is more important than the short-term discomfort of students, who have to study. Like this, whistleblowing supports honesty and justice, which are inherent values that many people argue for as being sound. The problem of prediction is negligible in the case of whistleblowing, as rule utilitarianism would support it even if it didn’t have immediate beneficial effects. One might argue that this line of argumentation then is really close to KE. It definitely highlights the strengths of KE, that Bowie maintains, but Kant seemed not have Business Ethics in mind when he argued for his system. In this way, all the Kantian Business Ethics approaches result from other scholar trying to apply Kant’s principles, which, although well thought, largely differ in the case of whistleblowing, like was mentioned earlier. Therefore, Utilitarianism is more useful than Kantian Ethics when it comes to deciding whether to blow the whistle.

In conclusion, utilitarianism, more precisely rule utilitarianism, is more useful than Kantian Ethics when it comes to deciding whether to blow the whistle. Whistleblowing supports values like honesty and transparency, which stem from the principle of utility. Therefore, rule utilitarianism is the best approach because it automatically supports whistleblowers in their attempt to make the world a better place and might lead to more legal protections for those employees in the future.

There is no distinctive human nature. Discuss [40]

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Throughout history Philosophers have argued that human beings are different from other animals and therefore that they have a distinctive human nature. They have differed over what is distinctive about human nature of course, but few have argued that there is nothing distinctive.  Theologians also agree that there is a distinctive human nature, given by God and referred to in terms of the soul, which humans have, and animals do not.  Nevertheless, as Darwin’s theory of evolution through natural selection was widely accepted, some philosophers started to question the old assumption that human beings are ontologically different from animals.  For example, while philosophers from Plato to Kant had focused on reason as the distinctive characteristic of human nature, biological research started to show that some animals have a higher degree of intelligence than some human beings.  Further, awareness of the diversity within the human species and the role that nurture has on forming our natures also cast doubt on the existence of a single human nature that all people share.  As a result, by the 20th Century, both Sigmund Freud and existentialist Jean Paul Sartre argued that there is no essential, shared and distinctive human nature. Despite this, there is a distinctive human nature, although it is fair to say that not everyone fully exemplifies this.

Firstly, even though not all people are rational, it is difficult to suggest that any other animal has even a tiny part of the rational capabilities of even the average human being.  Our brains are structurally different from even the highest of the primates, with far larger areas devoted to language and communication as well as abstract thought. As Plato first observed, human beings have a distinctive tripartite soul, being rational as well as spirited and appetitive. Aristotle agreed, pointing out that humans may share the nutritive and sensitive aspects of their soul with animals, but not their rational soul, which is distinctive to humans. Much later, Descartes and Kant agreed that it is rational thought that distinguishes human beings from animals.  As Kant pointed out, reason is what facilitates freedom and moral status, neither of which animals have either. These arguments are convincing because they account for the essential difference between human and animal existence.  Although it is fair to say that not everybody with human DNA is fully rational, free or morally capable, most people are.  In the same way as it is fair to say that there is such a thing as an oak tree, distinct from being a beech tree or a sunflower even though some oak trees die as saplings or are genetically different from others, so it is fair to say that there is a distinctive human nature despite the fact that some people don’t fully exemplify this.

Secondly, from a theological point of view, human beings have a distinctive human nature because God created human beings and not animals “In His own image.” Genesis 1:26. Further, in Genesis 2 god breathed a soul into the human form he had made from the dust of the ground “making the man [Adam] a living being.” The Bible is clear that animals did not so receive a soul from God, and although the Bible is also silent about God breathing a soul into women in Genesis 2 – women being taken out of man instead – Genesis 1 confirms that both men and women were created in God’s image, suggesting that both sexes share in a single distinctive human nature and are equally connected to God. St Augustine drew on Genesis to develop his theory of human nature, arguing that humans are all capable of living in a state of caritas with God, as God originally and distinctively created us before the Fall, but that because of the Fall we are sinful by nature and afflicted by lust, trapped by Original Sin for which we cannot ourselves atone, so that we do what we know that we ought not to do and cannot do what we know that we ought to do [Romans 7].  This means that human beings share the distinctive condition of knowing what is right and good, but being unable to do what we know that we ought, except by God’s grace. Kant broadly agreed with St Augustine’s analysis of human nature, pointing out how even disregarding the story of the Fall, individually we inevitably fall prey to Radical Evil which makes it impossible to do what we know we ought without being morally regenerated, which there is no rational basis for hoping is possible. This suggests that another element of our distinctive human nature is to have faith and to keep hoping and trying when there is no good reason to do so. Today the vision of what makes us human developed by St Augustine and later refined by Kant remains highly influential, even amongst people who are not religious. Despite being pessimistic, many psychologists find that human nature is distinctive because it is contradictory and flawed. This shows that there is a distinctive, if flawed, human nature that rings true for both believers and non-believers, speaking to their experiences of being human.

Nevertheless, it is clear that rationality as well as freedom and moral capacity are not qualities shared by everybody who has human DNA. DNA is varied, but the degrees to which people are capable of autonomous rational thought and moral agency is even more so. Few children in particular seem to share in what philosophers claim is our distinctive human nature, and clearly children are human!  Perhaps rationality and moral agency are markers not of what makes us human, but of what some humans are capable of. This point is not convincing though, because the fact that acorns don’t have leaves is not evidence that there is no distinctive oak-nature!  Just because some humans don’t fully exemplify our distinctive human nature does not mean that such a nature does not exist. Indeed, Kant saw the inevitability of making irrational decisions during childhood as the root-cause of the Radical Evil that is such a part of what makes human nature distinctive. As children we can’t act autonomously, doing our rational duty for its own sake, meaning that we develop bad habits of acting out of fear or habit or deference to authority.  These habits, along with the knowledge that because of them we don’t deserve any heavenly reward which would provide the reward we need to keep doing what is right, make it impossible to act as a “Good Will” even though we still feel the demand of the moral law as a categorical imperative.  This shows that the fact that human beings are diverse and that many people don’t fully exemplify our distinctive human nature does not mean one does not exist.

In addition, atheists might criticise the idea that there is a distinctive human nature because human beings are born as “blank slates”, so that what some people claim is nature is actually nurture.  Locke, Hobbes and more recently Freud and BF Skinner all explain the diversity between people by denying the existence of anything significant in terms of “human nature”.  Nevertheless, even if people do learn a lot of what is assumed to be natural, there are fundamental human characteristics which are natural and distinctive to humans. There are qualities and capabilities associated with having Human DNA; no person can learn to fly, however they are brought up!  Also, as Chomsky has argued, there are capabilities hard-wired into the brain, such as language-acquisition, so why not other capabilities also.  This would explain why most people have a similar sense of morality, as CS Lewis pointed out. Other atheists might argue that there is no distinctive human nature because human beings evolved from common ancestors with apes… meaning that there is no static or fixed human nature and that in the past there would have been less and eventually no distinction between humans and apes at all.  Richard Dawkins accepts this view, criticising the traditional philosophical and the religious view of human nature and arguing that we are “lumbering robot vehicles for our genes” and that we are “survival machines” just as all animals are. Existentialist philosopher Jean Paul Sartre developed this line of argument, suggesting that “there is no human nature because there is no God to conceive it.” The idea of the human as distinct from the ape, or the oak as distinct from the beech is a product of the human mind and its desire to conceptualise and understand the world and not descriptive of objective reality. However, this argument is no more convincing as even if our distinctive human nature has evolved and will evolve more in the future, there is no doubt that there is something that makes a person a person today, even if that is an idea or ideal within our conceptual framework.  Nobody could really expect that the “distinctive human nature” could be an object that could be studied independently of the humans who exemplify it in any case. As Aristotle pointed out, there is still a soul even though it is not separable from the body, just as there is still a seal-shape even though it can’t be separated from wax. Even Dawkins admits that the word “soul” has a Soul 1 meaning as a way of referring to personality, creativity etc. This suggests that there is still a distinctive human nature even if it is an idea that can’t be separated from the people who exemplify it and even if not every person exemplifies it fully.

In conclusion, there is a distinctive human nature even though not everybody fully exemplifies it, even if we don’t clearly know what it is and even though it has probably evolved and will continue to evolve. Human nature may not be fixed or a thing we can study independently of the people who exemplify it, but it is as real as any other part of our conceptual framework.

“A loving God would not elect a limited number of people to salvation.” Discuss [40]

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The question of whether a loving God would elect only a limited number of people to salvation strikes at the heart of Christian theology. On one side of the debate, limited election—as articulated by thinkers such as John Calvin—suggests that God, in his sovereign will, has chosen a predetermined group for salvation, a view supported by some interpretations of the Book of Revelation, which often appears to depict a final judgment that divides humanity. On the other hand, universalism, inspired by verses such as John 3:16—“God so loved the world that he gave his only Son”—asserts that God’s love is inclusive and salvific for all people. This inclusivist view resonates with more liberal theological perspectives, such as those of Friedrich Schleiermacher and John Hick, who emphasize God’s benevolence and the universality of divine grace. In the end, a loving God would not elect only a limited number of people to salvation, because such a notion conflicts with the essence of divine love as revealed in Scripture, the moral intuitions of justice and fairness, and the broader trajectory of Christian theology, particularly in modern thought.

A key problem with the doctrine of limited election is that it fundamentally undermines the character of God as loving and just. Calvin, the foremost proponent of double predestination, argued that God elects some to salvation and others to damnation entirely apart from human merit (Institutes of the Christian Religion, III.21). This theological determinism presents God as arbitrary and raises severe moral questions. If God is love, as 1 John 4:8 declares, it becomes difficult to reconcile that love with a predetermined exclusion of some individuals from the possibility of grace. Moreover, the notion that God’s glory is somehow enhanced by the damnation of sinners (as Calvin sometimes implies) seems not only morally objectionable but also inconsistent with the overall tone of Christ’s ministry. Jesus repeatedly reaches out to sinners, the marginalized, and the lost—most notably in the parables of the lost sheep and the prodigal son (Luke 15). These stories suggest a divine desire to include, not exclude. Even Martin Luther, while accepting predestination, emphasized God’s mercy in Christ and acknowledged the mystery of divine justice, indicating discomfort with the idea that God’s will could be reduced to a cold calculus of salvation and damnation.

Further, universalist theologians like Friedrich Schleiermacher and John Hick offer compelling alternatives that better reflect both divine love and justice. Schleiermacher maintained that divine grace is irresistible and eventually leads all rational creatures to salvation, not because of human merit, but because God’s redemptive purpose must ultimately succeed. Similarly, John Hick’s pluralistic universalism proposed that all religions are culturally-conditioned responses to the Real (Ultimate Reality) and that salvation is available to all sincere seekers, regardless of their tradition. This view, while controversial, emphasizes the universality of God’s salvific will. Such thinking aligns with the inclusive tone of verses like 1 Timothy 2:4, which states that God “wants all people to be saved and to come to a knowledge of the truth.” Furthermore, the Johannine emphasis on God’s love for “the world” in John 3:16 underlines the universal scope of divine concern. In this framework, God’s love is not restricted to the elect but is extended to all humanity, affirming the moral intuition that a just and loving God would not arbitrarily exclude anyone from salvation.

On the other hand defenders of limited election might argue that God’s sovereignty necessitates selective grace, as suggested by Paul in Romans 9: “Jacob I loved, but Esau I hated.” They claim that God’s will is ultimately inscrutable and that divine justice cannot be measured by human standards. Calvin insisted that this doctrine humbles human pride and glorifies God’s sovereignty. Yet such a claim is ultimately problematic, both scripturally and theologically. Arminius, a critic of Calvinism, countered this deterministic view by emphasizing conditional election based on God’s foreknowledge of human faith. He held that God’s grace enables human free will, allowing people to accept or reject salvation. This position retains divine sovereignty while also preserving moral responsibility and the notion of divine justice. Furthermore, Karl Barth, while deeply respectful of Calvin, reframed election in a Christocentric way: Jesus Christ is both the electing God and the elected man, meaning that in Christ, all humanity is chosen. Barth did not endorse universalism outright, but his theology implies a universal scope of election in Christ, pointing toward the idea that salvation is at least potentially available to all.

In sum, a loving God would not elect only a limited number of people to salvation because such a doctrine is incompatible with the biblical witness to God’s inclusive love, the moral demand for justice, and the theological trajectory of modern Christian thought. The idea of a limited elect distorts the image of God into one who arbitrarily condemns much of humanity, rather than one who seeks the lost and offers grace universally. The best reason to reject limited election is that it contradicts the character of God revealed in Jesus Christ, whose ministry consistently emphasized mercy, inclusion, and hope for all people. Therefore, Christians and theologians alike must critically reassess traditional doctrines of election considering God’s love, and advocate for a view of salvation that truly reflects the universality of divine grace.

To what extent was “Sharing the Gospel of Salvation” (2010) a positive response to the challenges presented to the Church of England by an increasingly pluralistic society? [40]

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Sharing the Gospel of Salvation was produced by the Church of England as a response to growing religious diversity in British society and ongoing debates about the relationship between evangelism and inter-faith dialogue. Religious pluralism presents a significant challenge: how can the Church remain faithful to its missionary calling while engaging respectfully with other faiths? The report attempts to address this by affirming both the uniqueness of Christ and the importance of dialogue, insisting that “dialogue and proclamation are not alternatives.” This echoes earlier Catholic teaching in Redemptoris Missio and reflects a broader ecumenical consensus. This essay will argue that Sharing the Gospel of Salvation was, to a considerable extent, a positive response to pluralism, as it offers a theologically coherent integration of mission and dialogue, although its effectiveness is limited by tensions between evangelistic intent and genuine reciprocity.

One reason to view Sharing the Gospel of Salvation as a positive response is its clear rejection of the false dichotomy between evangelism and inter-faith dialogue. The report insists that the Church must both proclaim the gospel and engage respectfully with other religions, a position that avoids the extremes of exclusivism and relativism. This is closely aligned with Redemptoris Missio, where Pope John Paul II describes dialogue as “part of the Church’s evangelizing mission.” By adopting a similar framework, the Church of England demonstrates theological coherence and continuity with wider Christian thought. The report also emphasises the importance of listening and learning from others, suggesting that engagement with different faiths can lead to “mutual enrichment.” This reflects insights from theologians such as David Ford, who argues that interfaith encounter can deepen rather than dilute Christian faith. In practical terms, this approach enables the Church to participate constructively in a pluralistic society, fostering relationships while maintaining its identity. Therefore, by integrating dialogue and proclamation, the report provides a balanced and constructive response to the challenges of pluralism.

A further strength of the report is its emphasis on theological clarity and confidence in the face of diversity. Rather than retreating into ambiguity, it reaffirms core Christian doctrines, particularly the uniqueness of Christ as the means of salvation. This is consistent with the concerns expressed in Dominus Iesus, which warns against a “relativistic mentality” that undermines truth claims. By maintaining doctrinal integrity, Sharing the Gospel of Salvation avoids the risk of reducing Christianity to one option among many. At the same time, it acknowledges the presence of truth and goodness in other religions, creating space for respectful engagement. This balance can be understood in light of Fides et Ratio, which holds that truth is objective but human understanding of it is partial. The report therefore encourages Christians to witness confidently while remaining open to learning. Such an approach is particularly valuable in a pluralistic context, where both arrogance and relativism can be socially divisive. Consequently, the report’s combination of doctrinal clarity and openness strengthens its claim to be a positive and effective response.

However, critics argue that Sharing the Gospel of Salvation was not a wholly positive response because it took so long to be produced. It begins by acknowledging that the Church had said nothing substantial about how its members should respond to other faiths and those of no faith since 1948!  Meanwhile, the Roman Catholic Church had issues multiple pieces of teaching during and then after Vatican II, to which many Anglicans found themselves looking for guidance in the absence of comment from the Anglican Church itself.  Further, the document ultimately prioritises evangelism in a way that may undermine genuine inter-faith dialogue. The insistence that proclamation remains central can create the impression that dialogue is instrumental—a means to conversion rather than an end in itself. Theologians such as Paul Knitter have criticised such approaches for engaging with other religions “with a hidden agenda,” which can erode trust and limit the authenticity of dialogue. Similarly, John Hick would argue that the report fails to take pluralism seriously, as it continues to privilege Christianity as uniquely true rather than one valid path among many. This tension is also evident in practice: if members of other faiths perceive dialogue as a covert form of evangelism, they may be less willing to participate, reducing its effectiveness in promoting social cohesion. Furthermore, critics such as Nicholas Adams warn that dialogue framed too strongly by prior commitments can become a “performance” rather than a genuine exchange. Nevertheless, these criticisms do not fully negate the report’s positive contributions. The commitment to evangelism reflects a coherent theological identity rather than bad faith, and the report explicitly calls for honesty and respect in engagement. Moreover, as David Ford suggests, acknowledging difference openly can lead to deeper and more resilient forms of relationship. Therefore, while the tension between proclamation and dialogue remains, it represents a challenge to be managed rather than a fatal flaw.

In conclusion, Sharing the Gospel of Salvation was, to a significant extent, a positive response to the challenges posed by an increasingly pluralistic society. Its greatest strength lies in its integration of evangelism and dialogue, offering a framework that is both theologically coherent and practically applicable. Although criticisms regarding its evangelistic emphasis are valid, they do not outweigh the report’s constructive engagement with pluralism. By encouraging Christians to witness confidently while engaging respectfully with others, it provides a balanced approach that remains relevant today. In a context of growing religious diversity, further development of this model—particularly in ensuring genuinely reciprocal dialogue—would enhance its effectiveness and enable the Church to contribute more fully to a cohesive and respectful society.

“Redemptoris Missio was not a positive response to the challenges posed by religious pluralism.” Discuss [40]

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Redemptoris Missio, promulgated by Pope John Paul II, was written in response to what the Church perceived as a crisis of missionary identity in an increasingly religiously plural world. In sections 55–57 in particular, the encyclical addresses interreligious dialogue, affirming it as part of the Church’s mission while maintaining the uniqueness and universality of Christ. Religious pluralism, understood as the coexistence of multiple truth claims and religious traditions within a shared social space, presents a theological challenge: how can Christianity affirm its own truth while engaging respectfully with others? Critics argue that Redemptoris Missio fails to respond positively to this challenge because it ultimately prioritises proclamation over genuine dialogue. However, this essay will argue that, despite certain tensions, Redemptoris Missio represents a largely positive and theologically coherent response, as it integrates dialogue into mission, affirms the presence of truth in other religions, and provides a framework for respectful engagement without capitulating to relativism.

One reason to view Redemptoris Missio as a positive response to religious pluralism is its clear affirmation that interreligious dialogue is an essential dimension of the Church’s mission. In section 55, Pope John Paul II states that dialogue “does not originate from tactical concerns or self-interest” but is “part of the Church’s evangelizing mission.” This is a significant development, as it moves beyond earlier models that saw other religions primarily as objects of conversion. Instead, dialogue is presented as a genuine encounter characterised by “mutual knowledge and enrichment.” This reflects the influence of Vatican II and documents such as Nostra Aetate, suggesting continuity in the Church’s approach to pluralism. Scholars such as David Bosch have argued that this marks a shift towards a more dialogical and less triumphalist understanding of mission. By recognising that other religions can contain “elements of truth and grace” (section 56), the encyclical acknowledges the spiritual value of non-Christian traditions without abandoning Christian particularity. This creates space for respectful engagement and cooperation, which is essential in pluralistic societies. Therefore, by embedding dialogue within its theology of mission, Redemptoris Missio offers a constructive and positive response to the realities of religious diversity.

A further strength of Redemptoris Missio lies in its attempt to hold together commitment to truth with openness to others, thereby avoiding both exclusivism and relativism. In sections 56–57, the encyclical insists that dialogue and proclamation are “both legitimate and necessary,” rejecting the idea that engaging with other religions requires a dilution of Christian belief. This balance is crucial in responding to pluralism, as it allows Christians to participate in dialogue without abandoning the claim that salvation is found in Christ. This position is philosophically underpinned by Fides et Ratio, which argues that truth is objective, even if human understanding of it is limited. From this perspective, dialogue becomes a means of deepening one’s grasp of truth rather than relativising it. Theologians such as Gavin D’Costa have defended this approach as a form of “inclusivism,” where other religions are valued but ultimately fulfilled in Christianity. While this may not satisfy all critics, it provides a coherent framework for engaging with pluralism without collapsing into what Dominus Iesus later describes as a “relativistic mentality.” Consequently, Redemptoris Missio can be seen as offering a nuanced and balanced response, maintaining doctrinal integrity while encouraging genuine dialogue.

However, critics argue that Redemptoris Missio is not a positive response to religious pluralism because it ultimately subordinates dialogue to evangelisation, thereby limiting its authenticity. Despite its affirmations of mutual enrichment, the encyclical insists that proclamation remains primary, which may suggest that dialogue is instrumental rather than genuinely reciprocal. The pluralist theologian John Hick would argue that this position fails to take religious diversity seriously, as it continues to privilege Christianity as the normative path to salvation. Similarly, Paul Knitter critiques such approaches for engaging in dialogue “with a hidden agenda,” undermining trust between traditions. From this perspective, sections 55–57 reveal an unresolved tension: while dialogue is affirmed, it is ultimately framed within a missionary paradigm that seeks conversion. This can create what might be termed a “surface openness,” where other religions are respected but not treated as equal partners. Furthermore, critics influenced by postcolonial thought argue that such a model risks perpetuating historical patterns of religious dominance, particularly when applied in non-Western contexts. While defenders such as Gavin D’Costa maintain that truth claims must be preserved, the concern remains that Redemptoris Missio does not fully embrace the implications of pluralism. Nevertheless, these criticisms, while significant, do not entirely undermine the encyclical’s positive contributions. The insistence on proclamation reflects a commitment to theological coherence rather than hostility to other religions, and the genuine space it creates for dialogue should not be overlooked. Therefore, although the document exhibits tensions, it still represents a meaningful and largely constructive engagement with pluralism.

In conclusion, Redemptoris Missio can be seen as a broadly positive response to the challenges posed by religious pluralism, even if it is not without its limitations. Its greatest strength lies in its integration of interreligious dialogue into the Church’s mission, particularly in sections 55–57, where dialogue is affirmed as a source of mutual enrichment. While critics argue that its commitment to proclamation undermines genuine openness, this tension reflects an attempt to balance truth and dialogue rather than a failure to engage with pluralism. Ultimately, the encyclical offers a framework that is both theologically coherent and practically applicable, enabling Christians to engage with other religions in a spirit of respect without abandoning their core beliefs. In an increasingly diverse world, this balanced approach remains valuable, and further development of its dialogical elements could enhance its contribution to interfaith relations.

“Scriptural Reasoning relativises religious beliefs.” Discuss [40]

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Scriptural reasoning can be defined as a structured form of inter-faith engagement in which participants from different religious traditions read and discuss their sacred texts together, most commonly within Judaism, Christianity and Islam. Developed by figures such as Peter Ochs and David Ford, it aims to deepen understanding without requiring agreement or doctrinal compromise. In practice, participants engage in close reading of texts from the Torah, Bible and Qur’an, interpreting from within their own traditions. The claim that scriptural reasoning relativises religious beliefs suggests that placing competing truth claims in parallel undermines their absolute status. While this concern is reflected in magisterial texts such as Dominus Iesus, this essay will argue that scriptural reasoning does not inherently relativise belief; rather, when properly understood in light of Redemptoris Missio and Fides et Ratio, it deepens and refines religious commitment, with any relativising tendency arising from poor practice rather than the method itself.

One reason why scriptural reasoning might be seen to relativise religious beliefs is that it deliberately avoids adjudicating between competing truth claims, instead placing them alongside one another for shared exploration. This concern is strongly articulated in Dominus Iesus, issued under Pope John Paul II and largely authored by Pope Benedict XVI, which warns against a “relativistic mentality” that treats all religions as equally valid paths to truth. Building on this, Gavin D’Costa argues that practices such as scriptural reasoning risk weakening commitment to the uniqueness of Christ by encouraging believers to view their doctrines as one perspective among many. The methodological neutrality of scriptural reasoning—where no text is given priority—may symbolically reinforce this concern, particularly when passages from the Torah, Bible and Qur’an are treated as parallel sources of insight. Furthermore, the ethos of openness and hospitality, while valuable, may create subtle pressure to avoid exclusivist claims in order to preserve harmony. In this sense, scriptural reasoning could be seen to produce a form of “soft relativism,” where doctrinal distinctiveness is muted in favour of coexistence. Therefore, from this perspective, the charge that scriptural reasoning relativises religious belief appears both theologically grounded and practically plausible.

However, this critique overlooks the theological framework within which authentic interfaith engagement is intended to operate. Redemptoris Missio explicitly affirms that interreligious dialogue is “part of the Church’s evangelizing mission,” not a departure from it. For Pope John Paul II, dialogue is a means of “mutual knowledge and enrichment,” suggesting that engagement with other traditions can deepen rather than dilute Christian faith. Scriptural reasoning exemplifies this approach: participants do not abandon their truth claims but articulate them more carefully in the presence of difference. This is further supported by Fides et Ratio, which argues that truth is objective but human understanding of it is partial and historically situated. From this perspective, encountering alternative interpretations does not relativise truth but expands one’s apprehension of it. David Ford reflects this when he describes scriptural reasoning as fostering “deeper, more intelligent faith,” while Peter Ochs emphasises its role in “reparative reasoning,” strengthening traditions through engagement. Rather than producing relativism, scriptural reasoning can cultivate what might be termed “confident particularity,” where believers hold firm convictions while recognising the limits of their understanding. Consequently, when grounded in sound theology, scriptural reasoning deepens rather than relativises belief.

A further argument against the claim is that scriptural reasoning actively resists superficial harmony by foregrounding genuine disagreement. Nicholas Adams has criticised interfaith dialogue that becomes a “performance of agreement,” yet scriptural reasoning is explicitly designed to avoid this by encouraging participants to engage seriously with differences in interpretation and doctrine. This aligns with the Church of England document Sharing the Gospel of Salvation, which maintains that dialogue and proclamation are complementary rather than contradictory. In scriptural reasoning, disagreement is not a problem to be eliminated but a resource for deeper understanding. By requiring participants to explain and defend their interpretations of texts such as the Bible or Qur’an, the practice sharpens theological clarity and strengthens commitment. Moreover, this process models a form of engagement that is crucial in pluralistic societies: one in which truth claims are taken seriously without leading to conflict. Far from relativising belief, this approach may actually intensify it, as individuals become more aware of both the distinctiveness and the coherence of their own tradition. Therefore, scriptural reasoning contributes to a deeper and more resilient form of belief, undermining the relativism critique.

Nevertheless, the concern about relativism cannot be entirely dismissed, particularly in cases where scriptural reasoning is poorly implemented or detached from its theological foundations. Mohammed Arkoun has observed that interfaith initiatives are often shaped by liberal academic contexts that may implicitly favour pluralism, potentially encouraging participants to adopt a more relativistic stance. Additionally, the dominance of certain voices within dialogue—whether due to educational background or religious majority status—can distort the exchange and limit genuine engagement. In such cases, scriptural reasoning may produce only a fragile “surface cohesion,” where differences are acknowledged but not fully explored, lending some weight to the concerns raised in Dominus Iesus. However, these issues reflect failures of practice rather than inherent flaws in the method. When conducted with theological seriousness and inclusivity, scriptural reasoning aligns closely with the vision of Redemptoris Missio, in which dialogue is both truthful and transformative. The risk of relativism therefore serves as a caution, but not a decisive objection. Ultimately, it highlights the need for more rigorous and grounded forms of engagement, reinforcing rather than undermining the value of scriptural reasoning.

In conclusion, while scriptural reasoning may appear to relativise religious beliefs by placing them in dialogue without resolution, this is a superficial interpretation of a theologically rich practice. When understood in light of Redemptoris Missio and Fides et Ratio, it becomes clear that such engagement can deepen and refine belief rather than weaken it. Although concerns expressed in Dominus Iesus highlight genuine risks, these arise from poor implementation rather than the essence of the practice. The strongest argument remains that scriptural reasoning fosters a form of committed, reflective faith capable of engaging honestly with difference. In an increasingly pluralistic world, expanding such practices—while ensuring they remain theologically grounded—offers a constructive way forward, enabling believers to hold their convictions with both clarity and humility.