READ STUDY GUIDE: Chapter 1 |
|
Chapter 1
TRANSITION FROM THE COMMON RATIONAL KNOWLEDGE
OF MORALITY TO THE PHILOSOPHICAL
Nothing can possibly be conceived in the world, or even out of it,
which can be called good, without qualification, except a good will.
Intelligence, wit, judgement, and the other talents of the mind,
however they may be named, or courage, resolution, perseverance, as
qualities of temperament, are undoubtedly good and desirable in many
respects; but these gifts of nature may also become extremely bad
and mischievous if the will which is to make use of them, and which,
therefore, constitutes what is called character, is not good. It is
the same with the gifts of fortune. Power, riches, honour, even
health, and the general well-being and contentment with one's
condition which is called happiness, inspire pride, and often
presumption, if there is not a good will to correct the influence of
these on the mind, and with this also to rectify the whole principle
of acting and adapt it to its end. The sight of a being who is not
adorned with a single feature of a pure and good will, enjoying
unbroken prosperity, can never give pleasure to an impartial
rational spectator. Thus a good will appears to constitute the
indispensable condition even of being worthy of happiness.
There are even some qualities which are of service to this good will
itself and may facilitate its action, yet which have no intrinsic
unconditional value, but always presuppose a good will, and this
qualifies the esteem that we justly have for them and does not
permit us to regard them as absolutely good. Moderation in the
affections and passions, self-control, and calm deliberation are not
only good in many respects, but even seem to constitute part of the
intrinsic worth of the person; but they are far from deserving to be
called good without qualification, although they have been so
unconditionally praised by the ancients. For without the principles of
a good will, they may become extremely bad, and the coolness of a
villain not only makes him far more dangerous, but also directly makes
him more abominable in our eyes than he would have been without it.
A good will is good not because of what it performs or effects,
not by its aptness for the attainment of some proposed end, but simply
by virtue of the volition; that is, it is good in itself, and
considered by itself is to be esteemed much higher than all that can
be brought about by it in favour of any inclination, nay even of the
sum total of all inclinations. Even if it should happen that, owing to
special disfavour of fortune, or the niggardly provision of a
step-motherly nature, this will should wholly lack power to accomplish
its purpose, if with its greatest efforts it should yet achieve
nothing, and there should remain only the good will (not, to be
sure, a mere wish, but the summoning of all means in our power), then,
like a jewel, it would still shine by its own light, as a thing
which has its whole value in itself. Its usefulness or fruitfulness
can neither add nor take away anything from this value. It would be,
as it were, only the setting to enable us to handle it the more
conveniently in common commerce, or to attract to it the attention
of those who are not yet connoisseurs, but not to recommend it to true
connoisseurs, or to determine its value.
There is, however, something so strange in this idea of the absolute
value of the mere will, in which no account is taken of its utility,
that notwithstanding the thorough assent of even common reason to
the idea, yet a suspicion must arise that it may perhaps really be the
product of mere high-flown fancy, and that we may have misunderstood
the purpose of nature in assigning reason as the governor of our will.
Therefore we will examine this idea from this point of view.
In the physical constitution of an organized being, that is, a being
adapted suitably to the purposes of life, we assume it as a
fundamental principle that no organ for any purpose will be found
but what is also the fittest and best adapted for that purpose. Now in
a being which has reason and a will, if the proper object of nature
were its conservation, its welfare, in a word, its happiness, then
nature would have hit upon a very bad arrangement in selecting the
reason of the creature to carry out this purpose. For all the
actions which the creature has to perform with a view to this purpose,
and the whole rule of its conduct, would be far more surely prescribed
to it by instinct, and that end would have been attained thereby
much more certainly than it ever can be by reason. Should reason
have been communicated to this favoured creature over and above, it
must only have served it to contemplate the happy constitution of
its nature, to admire it, to congratulate itself thereon, and to
feel thankful for it to the beneficent cause, but not that it should
subject its desires to that weak and delusive guidance and meddle
bunglingly with the purpose of nature. In a word, nature would have
taken care that reason should not break forth into practical exercise,
nor have the presumption, with its weak insight, to think out for
itself the plan of happiness, and of the means of attaining it. Nature
would not only have taken on herself the choice of the ends, but
also of the means, and with wise foresight would have entrusted both
to instinct.
And, in fact, we find that the more a cultivated reason applies
itself with deliberate purpose to the enjoyment of life and happiness,
so much the more does the man fail of true satisfaction. And from this
circumstance there arises in many, if they are candid enough to
confess it, a certain degree of misology, that is, hatred of reason,
especially in the case of those who are most experienced in the use of
it, because after calculating all the advantages they derive, I do not
say from the invention of all the arts of common luxury, but even from
the sciences (which seem to them to be after all only a luxury of
the understanding), they find that they have, in fact, only brought
more trouble on their shoulders. rather than gained in happiness;
and they end by envying, rather than despising, the more common
stamp of men who keep closer to the guidance of mere instinct and do
not allow their reason much influence on their conduct. And this we
must admit, that the judgement of those who would very much lower
the lofty eulogies of the advantages which reason gives us in regard
to the happiness and satisfaction of life, or who would even reduce
them below zero, is by no means morose or ungrateful to the goodness
with which the world is governed, but that there lies at the root of
these judgements the idea that our existence has a different and far
nobler end, for which, and not for happiness, reason is properly
intended, and which must, therefore, be regarded as the supreme
condition to which the private ends of man must, for the most part, be
postponed.
For as reason is not competent to guide the will with certainty in
regard to its objects and the satisfaction of all our wants (which
it to some extent even multiplies), this being an end to which an
implanted instinct would have led with much greater certainty; and
since, nevertheless, reason is imparted to us as a practical
faculty, i.e., as one which is to have influence on the will,
therefore, admitting that nature generally in the distribution of
her capacities has adapted the means to the end, its true
destination must be to produce a will, not merely good as a means to
something else, but good in itself, for which reason was absolutely
necessary. This will then, though not indeed the sole and complete
good, must be the supreme good and the condition of every other,
even of the desire of happiness. Under these circumstances, there is
nothing inconsistent with the wisdom of nature in the fact that the
cultivation of the reason, which is requisite for the first and
unconditional purpose, does in many ways interfere, at least in this
life, with the attainment of the second, which is always
conditional, namely, happiness. Nay, it may even reduce it to nothing,
without nature thereby failing of her purpose. For reason recognizes
the establishment of a good will as its highest practical destination,
and in attaining this purpose is capable only of a satisfaction of its
own proper kind, namely that from the attainment of an end, which
end again is determined by reason only, notwithstanding that this
may involve many a disappointment to the ends of inclination.
We have then to develop the notion of a will which deserves to be
highly esteemed for itself and is good without a view to anything
further, a notion which exists already in the sound natural
understanding, requiring rather to be cleared up than to be taught,
and which in estimating the value of our actions always takes the
first place and constitutes the condition of all the rest. In order to
do this, we will take the notion of duty, which includes that of a
good will, although implying certain subjective restrictions and
hindrances. These, however, far from concealing it, or rendering it
unrecognizable, rather bring it out by contrast and make it shine
forth so much the brighter.
I omit here all actions which are already recognized as inconsistent
with duty, although they may be useful for this or that purpose, for
with these the question whether they are done from duty cannot arise
at all, since they even conflict with it. I also set aside those
actions which really conform to duty, but to which men have no
direct inclination, performing them because they are impelled
thereto by some other inclination. For in this case we can readily
distinguish whether the action which agrees with duty is done from
duty, or from a selfish view. It is much harder to make this
distinction when the action accords with duty and the subject has
besides a direct inclination to it. For example, it is always a matter
of duty that a dealer should not over charge an inexperienced
purchaser; and wherever there is much commerce the prudent tradesman
does not overcharge, but keeps a fixed price for everyone, so that a
child buys of him as well as any other. Men are thus honestly
served; but this is not enough to make us believe that the tradesman
has so acted from duty and from principles of honesty: his own
advantage required it; it is out of the question in this case to
suppose that he might besides have a direct inclination in favour of
the buyers, so that, as it were, from love he should give no advantage
to one over another. Accordingly the action was done neither from duty
nor from direct inclination, but merely with a selfish view.
On the other hand, it is a duty to maintain one's life; and, in
addition, everyone has also a direct inclination to do so. But on this
account the of anxious care which most men take for it has no
intrinsic worth, and their maxim has no moral import. They preserve
their life as duty requires, no doubt, but not because duty
requires. On the other band, if adversity and hopeless sorrow have
completely taken away the relish for life; if the unfortunate one,
strong in mind, indignant at his fate rather than desponding or
dejected, wishes for death, and yet preserves his life without
loving from inclination or fear, but from his maxim
has a moral worth.
To be beneficent when we can is a duty; and besides this, there
are many minds so sympathetically constituted that, without any
other motive of vanity or self-interest, they find a pleasure in
spreading joy around them and can take delight in the satisfaction
of others so far as it is their own work. But I maintain that in
such a case an action of this kind, however proper, however amiable it
may be, bas nevertheless no true moral worth, but is on a level with
other inclinations, e.g., the inclination to honour, which, if it is
happily directed to that which is in fact of public utility and
accordant with duty and consequently honourable, deserves praise and
encouragement, but not esteem. For the maxim lacks the moral import,
namely, that such actions be done from duty, not from inclination. Put
the case that the mind of that philanthropist were clouded by sorrow
of his own, extinguishing all sympathy with the lot of others, and
that, while he still has the power to benefit others in distress, he
is not touched by their trouble because he is absorbed with his own;
and now suppose that he tears himself out of this dead
insensibility, and performs the action without any inclination to
it, but simply from duty, then first has his action its genuine
moral worth. Further still; if nature bas put little sympathy in the
heart of this or that man; if he, supposed to be an upright man, is by
temperament cold and indifferent to the sufferings of others,
perhaps because in respect of his own he is provided with the
special gift of patience and fortitude and supposes, or even requires,
that others should have the such a man would certainly not
be the meanest product of if nature had not specially
framed him for a philanthropist, would he not still find in himself
a source from whence to give himself a far higher worth than that of a
good-natured temperament could be? Unquestionably. It is just in
this that the moral worth of the character is brought out which is
incomparably the highest of all, namely, that he is beneficent, not
from inclination, but from duty.
To secure one's own happiness is a duty, at least indirectly; for
discontent with one's condition, under a pressure of many anxieties
and amidst unsatisfied wants, might easily become a great temptation
to transgression of duty. But here again, without looking to duty, all
men have already the strongest and most intimate inclination to
happiness, because it is just in this idea that all inclinations are
combined in one total. But the precept of happiness is often of such a
sort that it greatly interferes with some inclinations, and yet a
man cannot form any definite and certain conception of the sum of
satisfaction of all of them which is called happiness. It is not
then to be wondered at that a single inclination, definite both as
to what it promises and as to the time within which it can be
gratified, is often able to overcome such a fluctuating idea, and that
a gouty patient, for instance, can choose to enjoy what he likes,
and to suffer what he may, since, according to his calculation, on
this occasion at least, be has not sacrificed the enjoyment of the
present moment to a possibly mistaken expectation of a happiness which
is supposed to be found in health. But even in this case, if the
general desire for happiness did not influence his will, and supposing
that in his particular case health was not a necessary element in this
calculation, there yet remains in this, as in all other cases, this
law, namely, that he should promote his happiness not from inclination
but from duty, and by this would his conduct first acquire true
moral worth.
It is in this manner, undoubtedly, that we are to understand those
passages of Scripture also in which we are commanded to love our
neighbour, even our enemy. For love, as an affection, cannot be
commanded, but beneficence for duty's sake may; even though we are not
impelled to it by any , are even repelled by a natural
and unconquerable aversion. This is practical love and not
love which is seated in the will, and not in the
propensions of principles of action and not of tender
sympathy; and it is this love alone which can be commanded.
The second proposition is: That an action done from duty derives its
moral worth, not from the purpose which is to be attained by it, but
from the maxim by which it is determined, and therefore does not
depend on the realization of the object of the action, but merely on
the principle of volition by which the action has taken place, without
regard to any object of desire. It is clear from what precedes that
the purposes which we may have in view in our actions, or their
effects regarded as ends and springs of the will, cannot give to
actions any unconditional or moral worth. In what, then, can their
worth lie, if it is not to consist in the will and in reference to its
expected effect? It cannot lie anywhere but in the principle of the
will without regard to the ends which can be attained by the action.
For the will stands between its a priori principle, which is formal,
and its a posteriori spring, which is material, as between two
roads, and as it must be determined by something, it that it must be
determined by the formal principle of volition when an action is
done from duty, in which case every material principle has been
withdrawn from it.
The third proposition, which is a consequence of the two
preceding, I would express thus Duty is the necessity of acting from
respect for the law. I may have inclination for an object as the
effect of my proposed action, but I cannot have respect for it, just
for this reason, that it is an effect and not an energy of will.
Similarly I cannot have respect for inclination, whether my own or
another's; I can at most, if my own, approve it; if another's,
sometimes even love it; i.e., look on it as favourable to my own
interest. It is only what is connected with my will as a principle, by
no means as an does not subserve my inclination, but
overpowers it, or at least in case of choice excludes it from its
other words, simply the law of itself, which can be an
object of respect, and hence a command. Now an action done from duty
must wholly exclude the influence of inclination and with it every
object of the will, so that nothing remains which can determine the
will except objectively the law, and subjectively pure respect for
this practical law, and consequently the maxim* that I should follow
this law even to the thwarting of all my inclinations.
*A maxim is the subjective principle of volition. The objective
principle (i.e., that which would also serve subjectively as a
practical principle to all rational beings if reason had full power
over the faculty of desire) is the practical law.
Thus the moral worth of an action does not lie in the effect
expected from it, nor in any principle of action which requires to
borrow its motive from this expected effect. For all these effects-
agreeableness of one's condition and even the promotion of the
happiness of have been also brought about by other
causes, so that for this there would have been no need of the will
of a rational being; whereas it is in this alone that the supreme
and unconditional good can be found. The pre-eminent good which we
call moral can therefore consist in nothing else than the conception
of law in itself, which certainly is only possible in a rational
being, in so far as this conception, and not the expected effect,
determines the will. This is a good which is already present in the
person who acts accordingly, and we have not to wait for it to
appear first in the result.*
*It might be here objected to me that I take refuge behind the
word respect in an obscure feeling, instead of giving a distinct
solution of the question by a concept of the reason. But although
respect is a feeling, it is not a feeling received through
influence, but is self-wrought by a rational concept, and,
therefore, is specifically distinct from all feelings of the former
kind, which may be referred either to inclination or fear, What I
recognise immediately as a law for me, I recognise with respect.
This merely signifies the consciousness that my will is subordinate to
a law, without the intervention of other influences on my sense. The
immediate determination of the will by the law, and the
consciousness of this, is called respect, so that this is regarded
as an effect of the law on the subject, and not as the cause of it.
Respect is properly the conception of a worth which thwarts my
self-love. Accordingly it is something which is considered neither
as an object of inclination nor of fear, although it has something
analogous to both. The object of respect is the law only, and that the
law which we impose on ourselves and yet recognise as necessary in
itself. As a law, we are subjected too it without consulting
self-love; as imposed by us on ourselves, it is a result of our
will. In the former aspect it has an analogy to fear, in the latter to
inclination. Respect for a person is properly only respect for the law
(of honesty, etc.) of which he gives us an example. Since we also look
on the improvement of our talents as a duty, we consider that we see
in a person of talents, as it were, the example of a law (viz., to
become like him in this by exercise), and this constitutes our
respect. All so-called moral interest consists simply in respect for
the law.
But what sort of law can that be, the conception of which must
determine the will, even without paying any regard to the effect
expected from it, in order that this will may be called good
absolutely and without qualification? As I have deprived the will of
every impulse which could arise to it from obedience to any law, there
remains nothing but the universal conformity of its actions to law
in general, which alone is to serve the will as a principle, i.e., I
am never to act otherwise than so that I could also will that my maxim
should become a universal law. Here, now, it is the simple
conformity to law in general, without assuming any particular law
applicable to certain actions, that serves the will as its principle
and must so serve it, if duty is not to be a vain delusion and a
chimerical notion. The common reason of men in its practical
judgements perfectly coincides with this and always has in view the
principle here suggested. Let the question be, for example: May I when
in distress make a promise with the intention not to keep it? I
readily distinguish here between the two significations which the
question may have: Whether it is prudent, or whether it is right, to
make a false promise? The former may undoubtedly of be the case. I see
clearly indeed that it is not enough to extricate myself from a
present difficulty by means of this subterfuge, but it must be well
considered whether there may not hereafter spring from this lie much
greater inconvenience than that from which I now free myself, and
as, with all my supposed cunning, the consequences cannot be so easily
foreseen but that credit once lost may be much more injurious to me
than any mischief which I seek to avoid at present, it should be
considered whether it would not be more prudent to act herein
according to a universal maxim and to make it a habit to promise
nothing except with the intention of keeping it. But it is soon
clear to me that such a maxim will still only be based on the fear
of consequences. Now it is a wholly different thing to be truthful
from duty and to be so from apprehension of injurious consequences. In
the first case, the very notion of the action already implies a law
for me; in the second case, I must first look about elsewhere to see
what results may be combined with it which would affect myself. For to
deviate from the principle of duty is beyond all doubt wicked; but
to be unfaithful to my maxim of prudence may often be very
advantageous to me, although to abide by it is certainly safer. The
shortest way, however, and an unerring one, to discover the answer
to this question whether a lying promise is consistent with duty, is
to ask myself, "Should I be content that my maxim (to extricate myself
from difficulty by a false promise) should hold good as a universal
law, for myself as well as for others? and should I be able to say
to myself, "Every one may make a deceitful promise when he finds
himself in a difficulty from which he cannot otherwise extricate
himself?" Then I presently become aware that while I can will the lie,
I can by no means will that lying should be a universal law. For
with such a law there would be no promises at all, since it would be
in vain to allege my intention in regard to my future actions to those
who would not believe this allegation, or if they over hastily did
so would pay me back in my own coin. Hence my maxim, as soon as it
should be made a universal law, would necessarily destroy itself.
I do not, therefore, need any far-reaching penetration to discern
what I have to do in order that my will may be morally good.
Inexperienced in the course of the world, incapable of being
prepared for all its contingencies, I only ask myself: Canst thou also
will that thy maxim should be a universal law? If not, then it must be
rejected, and that not because of a disadvantage accruing from it to
myself or even to others, but because it cannot enter as a principle
into a possible universal legislation, and reason extorts from me
immediate respect for such legislation. I do not indeed as yet discern
on what this respect is based (this the philosopher may inquire),
but at least I understand this, that it is an estimation of the
worth which far outweighs all worth of what is recommended by
inclination, and that the necessity of acting from pure respect for
the practical law is what constitutes duty, to which every other
motive must give place, because it is the condition of a will being
good in itself, and the worth of such a will is above everything.
Thus, then, without quitting the moral knowledge of common human
reason, we have arrived at its principle. And although, no doubt,
common men do not conceive it in such an abstract and universal
form, yet they always have it really before their eyes and use it as
the standard of their decision. Here it would be easy to show how,
with this compass in hand, men are well able to distinguish, in
every case that occurs, what is good, what bad, conformably to duty or
inconsistent with it, if, without in the least teaching them
anything new, we only, like Socrates, direct their attention to the
principle they themselves employ; and that, therefore, we do not
need science and philosophy to know what we should do to be honest and
good, yea, even wise and virtuous. Indeed we might well have
conjectured beforehand that the knowledge of what every man is bound
to do, and therefore also to know, would be within the reach of
every man, even the commonest. Here we cannot forbear admiration
when we see how great an advantage the practical judgement has over
the theoretical in the common understanding of men. In the latter,
if common reason ventures to depart from the laws of experience and
from the perceptions of the senses, it falls into mere
inconceivabilities and self-contradictions, at least into a chaos of
uncertainty, obscurity, and instability. But in the practical sphere
it is just when the common understanding excludes all sensible springs
from practical laws that its power of judgement begins to show
itself to advantage. It then becomes even subtle, whether it be that
it chicanes with its own conscience or with other claims respecting
what is to be called right, or whether it desires for its own
instruction to determine honestly the worth of actions; and, in the
latter case, it may even have as good a hope of hitting the mark as
any philosopher whatever can promise himself. Nay, it is almost more
sure of doing so, because the philosopher cannot have any other
principle, while he may easily perplex his judgement by a multitude of
considerations foreign to the matter, and so turn aside from the right
way. Would it not therefore be wiser in moral concerns to acquiesce in
the judgement of common reason, or at most only to call in
philosophy for the purpose of rendering the system of morals more
complete and intelligible, and its rules more convenient for use
(especially for disputation), but not so as to draw off the common
understanding from its happy simplicity, or to bring it by means of
philosophy into a new path of inquiry and instruction?
Innocence is indeed a glorious thing; only, on the other hand, it is
very sad that it cannot well maintain itself and is easily seduced. On
this account even otherwise consists more in conduct
than in has need of science, not in order to learn from
it, but to secure for its precepts admission and permanence. Against
all the commands of duty which reason represents to man as so
deserving of respect, he feels in himself a powerful counterpoise in
his wants and inclinations, the entire satisfaction of which he sums
up under the name of happiness. Now reason issues its commands
unyieldingly, without promising anything to the inclinations, and,
as it were, with disregard and contempt for these claims, which are so
impetuous, and at the same time so plausible, and which will not allow
themselves to be suppressed by any command. Hence there arises a
natural dialectic, i.e., a disposition, to argue against these
strict laws of duty and to question their validity, or at least
their purity and strictness; and, if possible, to make them more
accordant with our wishes and inclinations, that is to say, to corrupt
them at their very source, and entirely to destroy their
thing which even common practical reason cannot ultimately call good.
Thus is the common reason of man compelled to go out of its
sphere, and to take a step into the field of a practical philosophy,
not to satisfy any speculative want (which never occurs to it as
long as it is content to be mere sound reason), but even on
practical grounds, in order to attain in it information and clear
instruction respecting the source of its principle, and the correct
determination of it in opposition to the maxims which are based on
wants and inclinations, so that it may escape from the perplexity of
opposite claims and not run the risk of losing all genuine moral
principles through the equivocation into which it easily falls.
Thus, when practical reason cultivates itself, there insensibly arises
in it a dialetic which forces it to seek aid in philosophy, just as
happens to it in its theoretic use; and in this case, therefore, as
well as in the other, it will find rest nowhere but in a thorough
critical examination of our reason.
|
|
||||
|
