Fundamental
Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals (1785)
(Harvard Classics edition)
First Section: Transition from
the Common Rational
Knowledge of Morality to the Philosophical
Immanuel Kant (1724-2804)
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, judgment, 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. 1
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 be come 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. 2
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 to 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. 3
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. 4
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 that 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. 5
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 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 judgment 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 judgments 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. 6
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 recognises 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. 7
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 unrecognisable, rather bring it out
by contrast,
and make it shine forth so much the brighter. 8
I omit here all actions which are already recognised 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 overcharge 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. 9
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 often
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 hand, 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 it—not from inclination
or fear, but from duty—then his maxim has a moral worth.
10
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. 11
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.
12
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.
13
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 the principle 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. 14
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.
15
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. 16
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. 17
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. 18
Thus, then, without quitting the moral knowledge
of common human reason, we have arrived at
its principle.... 19