Happiness as a Duty
April 22, 2020![]() |
Immanuel Kant |
Immanuel Kant,
Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals.
Vol. 32, pp. 310-317 of
The Harvard Classics
Immanuel Kant, the
most influential of German philosophers, taught that it was man's
duty to be happy, for an unhappy man is tempted to sin. Seekers after
happiness find aid and inspiration in Kant's writings.
(Immanuel Kant born
April 22, 1724.)
First
Section: Transition from the Common Rational Knowledge of Morality to
the Philosophical
[…]
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, has 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 has 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 same—and such a man would certainly not be the meanest product
of nature—but 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, he has [only] 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 inclination—nay,
are even repelled by a natural and unconquerable aversion. This
is practical love, and not pathological—a
love which is seated in the will, and not in the propensions of
sense—in principles of action and not of tender sympathy; and it is
this love alone which can be commanded.
The
second 1 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 theprinciple of the
will without regard to the ends which can be attained by the
action. For the will stands between its à priori principle,
which is formal, and its à posteriori spring, which
is material, as between two roads, and as it must be determined by
something, it follows 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 effect—what does not subserve my inclination, but
overpowers it, or at least in case of choice excludes it from its
calculation—in 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 2 that I should
follow this law even to the thwarting of all my inclinations.
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 others—could
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. 3
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 judgments 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 often 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
goodin 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. 4 Here we cannot forbear admiration
when we see how great an advantage the practical judgment 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 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 judgment 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 judgment 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 judgment 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 wisdom—which
otherwise consists more in conduct than in knowledge—yet 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 worth—a 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 dialectic 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.
Note
1. [The first
proposition was that to have moral worth an action must be done from
duty.]
Note
2. 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.
Note
3. 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 isself-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 recognize immediately as a law for me, I
recognize 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 calledrespect, 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 recognize as necessary in itself. As a law, we are subjected to
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, &c.), 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.
Note
4. [Compare the
note to the Preface to the Critique
of the Practical Reason, p.
111. A specimen of Kant’s proposed application of the Socratic
method may be found in Mr. Semple’s translation of the Metaphysic
of Ethics, p.
290.]
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