Peter Railton and the Case for Non-Imperative Moral Realism

Picture the scene: You’re in a dive bar, empty but for the faint buzz of some jukebox in the back.

Nietzsche’s leaning over the counter, shouting that morality’s a joke—his hair wild, like a mad professor.

Kant sits across the room, spectacles perched, holding onto his idealism like it’s the last bit of oxygen in a drowning world.

Then there’s Railton. He’s the quiet one, sipping his whiskey without fanfare, scribbling in his notebook as though he’s not part of the argument, but deep down, his ideas are the one thing that might just give this mess a bit of clarity.

He’s got the kind of intellect that doesn’t need to shout, doesn’t need to pick a fight.

He simply lays out his truth: moral realism doesn’t need to come with demands. It doesn’t need you to act on it.

Railton is the sort of philosopher who, upon hearing the ethical clamor around him, calmly offers a seat at the table to a different way of thinking—one that feels just as profound, just as deep, but with far fewer instructions on how you should be living.

Railton’s Non-Imperative Moral Realism

In Moral Realism—the paper that has haunted corridors of academia, and probably any bar where academics take a break from the absurdity of their own existence—Railton talks about a world of moral facts that exist in a way we can measure and understand but don’t have to act on.

We can know that pain is bad, that killing is wrong, without those truths coming with a nagging “you ought” attached to them. In fact, they don’t need to.

It’s not that moral facts are irrelevant; it’s that they’re not the kind of facts that get up in your face with a commandment.

Pain is bad because it’s a harm, but the world doesn’t throw a moral law at your face and say, “Stop causing pain, you miserable bastard!”

No, it’s just there, like a storm cloud that doesn’t care whether you acknowledge it or not. It simply is. And that, Railton insists, is the beauty of moral realism.

No Imperatives, Just Facts

Moral realism, as Railton envisions it, isn’t some vague, abstract thing that you might see floating around in a lecture hall.

It’s not about feeling good when you donate to charity or patting yourself on the back for being a decent person.

It’s the belief that moral facts exist independently of our feelings.

They’re objective truths that stand outside us, like an unyielding mountain that doesn’t care whether you’re too tired to climb it.

“Pain is bad” doesn’t depend on what you believe about it; it’s simply true.

Railton’s ViewExplanation
Objective Moral FactsPain is bad; killing is wrong, independent of individual opinions.
No Commanding ImperativesThese facts don’t require action—they are true even if you choose to ignore them.
Relational and NaturalMoral properties supervene upon natural properties—related to human well-being, reducible to the natural world.

Unlike Kant, who insists on the need for imperatives—moral laws that demand your obedience—Railton believes that morality doesn’t have to behave like a dictator hovering over your shoulder.

It’s more like a quiet observer, standing in the corner, judging, and maybe waiting for you to notice, but not demanding that you act.

The truth exists, and you’re free to respond—or not.

It’s like watching a junkie step out of a car and stumble into a streetlight at 3 AM. You know he’s in trouble; it’s obvious. But does the streetlight glare at him and demand, “Stop! Go home!”? No, it just shines, indifferent to whether he’s able to fix his life or not.

The moral fact is there; the imperative, like some shrill whistle, isn’t.

Explain Like I’m 5

Okay, kid. Let’s say you’re building a model airplane. It looks perfect. The wings are straight, the engine hums like a dream. But suddenly, the airplane takes off—and crashes. The wings bend. The engine sputters.

Now, here’s the kicker. The airplane didn’t crash because someone told it not to.

It crashed because of its design. Maybe the wings weren’t strong enough. The plane didn’t have a voice telling it, “You’re bad. You’ve failed.”

It just… did. It was bad at flying. That’s how moral facts work.

The plane is bad at flying because of its design—not because someone stood there and pointed a finger. The moral truth is that the plane failed. No one needs to say it.

Battling Nihilism with Reluctant Facts

This brings us to a dark place, one that keeps people like me up at night: nihilism. The big, empty nothing. If Railton is right, then moral facts exist, but they don’t demand you do anything about them. If you don’t care, then that’s your call. These facts are silent, indifferent.

This is where nihilism shakes its head. Imagine Sisyphus, cursed by the gods to roll a boulder up a hill only to see it tumble back down again.

He knows it’s hopeless. He knows the hill doesn’t care if he makes it to the top or not. And yet, for some reason, he pushes. Perhaps not because he ought to, but because there’s something primal about choosing to keep pushing the boulder.

Railton’s view forces you to face this silence. The boulder doesn’t scream at Sisyphus to push it. But when Sisyphus does, that is a choice, in defiance of the abyss.

The silence of moral facts, according to Railton, offers the same kind of existential freedom. You’re not chained by some invisible moral law, but you’re also left with the vast emptiness of choosing what to do with those facts.

You’re free, but only at the cost of your own meaning-making.

Opposition: The Loyalists to Imperatives

For many, Railton’s vision of moral realism is like watching a plane crash in slow motion.

You can’t accept that moral facts can be there without an urgent call to action.

What’s the point of a fact that doesn’t push you to do something about it? Where’s the power? Where’s the meaning?

It’s a question that those loyal to Kantian or deontological ethics would ask.

You might say these philosophers are hopeless romantics in their own right—they just can’t stand a world where moral truths stand quietly by, asking nothing.

Opposition ThinkersKey WorksCore Critique of Railton
Immanuel KantGroundwork of the Metaphysics of MoralsBelieves moral law must command action, it’s universal.
Elizabeth AnscombeModern Moral PhilosophyMorality can’t exist outside of a religious or divine context.
John MackieEthics: Inventing Right and WrongDenies that objective moral facts exist at all.
G.W.F. HegelThe Phenomenology of SpiritBelieves moral action must align with the spirit of society, thus rejecting detached moral facts.

Kant, the father of moral duty, would laugh at Railton’s detached truths.

For Kant, you can’t just know moral truths—you must act on them.

He thought moral law required something binding and imperious: the categorical imperative. This is where the conflict between Kant and Railton boils down.

The former’s moral philosophy doesn’t leave room for passive acknowledgment of truth—it demands active, unyielding obedience.

Railton’s theory is, by contrast, almost too passive for the likes of Kant.

The Science of Moral Facts: A Mirror to Reality

Railton’s view of moral facts has interesting support in cognitive science. The brain doesn’t operate in a way that fully links moral judgments to direct motivations.

Moral reasoning and emotional responses exist in different neural pathways, and often, a person’s moral judgment doesn’t translate into immediate action.

This suggests that moral facts, much like the airplane that crashes without a moral law commanding it, exist as independent facts, not necessarily tied to a specific action.

We have the knowledge of what’s right and wrong, but our brains often prioritize immediate gratification or other emotional responses over those truths.

That’s why someone might recognize that cruelty is wrong but still kick a dog. It’s not that the moral fact isn’t there, it’s that it doesn’t always push you into action.

Explaining Railton’s Ideas in Pop Culture

Imagine a character like Forrest Gump. He’s not some big philosopher or moral crusader, but he understands the world in his own quiet way.

He’s seen the pain and joy around him, the good and bad, but he doesn’t feel the need to make everyone follow some strict rulebook.

When he runs across the country, it’s not because someone told him, “You should do this.” He just runs, because that’s what he does.

Forrest knows certain things are true—like how people can be cruel or kind—but he doesn’t let the knowledge control him. It’s not a loud, commanding voice that pushes him to do anything.

It’s just reality, and he moves with it, free to choose his path. Railton’s moral realism works the same way.

The truths about the world, the ones we might call good or bad, are real, but they don’t demand action.

You, like Forrest, are free to walk your own path, guided by your own choices, not by some cosmic imperative telling you what to do.

Final Words

No matter how much we romanticize moral facts and their relative silence, there’s always that nagging sense of emptiness.

The boulder’s still there. And when you realize the moral facts don’t demand action, they don’t beg for your involvement, you’re left wondering if you should act at all.

Nietzsche’s nihilism threatens to creep in: if morality is a fact but not a law, then what the hell are we supposed to do with it?

The abyss isn’t just staring at us. It’s watching us squirm.

But that’s the kicker—we decide. Sure, the facts don’t tell us what to do, but we choose whether or not we care.

Railton’s perspective is liberating and terrifying at the same time.

You’re free to ignore pain, to allow harm to happen. You’re free to walk past the starving dog without batting an eye. But you’re also free to stop, to acknowledge the truth, to act despite the silence.

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