L. Lamprey - "Masters of the Guild"

Alphonse Daudet - "Fromont and Risler, v3"

F. B. Tarbell - "A History Of Greek Art"

Constant - "Private Life of Napoleon Bonaparte, V5"

New Philadelphia Book Publisher Highlights Local Talent
Book and Publishing News from Publishers Newswire(tm)

Looking for Child to be on Cover of a New Book, 'The Model Child'
PHILADELPHIA, Pa. -- The Philadelphia literary world will celebrate the launch of two new players today, April 10th: Kay Square Press, a new publishing company focused on Philadelphia-area artists, their stories, and their art; and Kay Square's first release, 'With the Rich and Mighty: Emlen Etting of Philadelphia' (ISBN: 978-0-9815129-0-7), a critical biography by Kenneth C. Kaleta.

FlatSigned Press Alleges Don Imus Remarks Damage Legacy of President Gerald R. Ford
NEW YORK, N.Y. -- Nathan Yungerberg, an accomplished model scout and professional child photographer is launching a nation-wide casting call to find the cover model for his highly anticipated book release, 'The Model Child: A Parents Guide to the Child Modeling Industry' (ISBN: 978-0-9817018-0-6).

Books: Literary and Philosophical Essays

V >> Various >> Literary and Philosophical Essays




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.

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 oy 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 wandered 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, sas in all other cases, this law, namely, that he should
promote his happiness not from inclination but from duty, land 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 [Footnote: The first proposition was that to have moral
worth an action must be done from duty.] 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 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 [Footnote: 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.] 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 effeet. 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. [Footnote: 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 am 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 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.]

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 overhastily 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. [Footnote: 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'a translation of the Metaphysic of Ethics,
p. 290.] 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.




SECOND SECTION

TRANSITION FROM POPULAR MORAL PHILOSOPHY TO THE METAPHYSIC OF MORALS


If we have hitherto drawn our notion of duty from the common use of
our practical reason, it is by no means to be inferred that we have
treated it as an empirical notion. On the contrary, if we attend to
the experience of men's conduct, we meet frequent and, as we
ourselves allow, just complaints that one cannot find a single
certain example of the disposition to act from pure duty. Although
many things are done in conformity with what duty prescribes, it is
nevertheless always doubtful whether they are done strictly from
duty, so as to have a moral worth. Hence there have, at all times,
been philosophers who have altogether denied that this disposition
actually exists at all in human actions, and have ascribed
everything to a more or less refined self-love. Not that they have
on that account questioned the soundness of the conception of
morality; on the contrary, they spoke with sincere regret of the
frailty and corruption of human nature, which thought noble enough
to take as its rule an idea so worthy of respect, is yet too weak to
follow it, and employs reason, which ought to give it the law only
for the purpose of providing for the interest of the inclinations,
whether singly or at the best in the greatest possible harmony with
one another.

In fact, it is absolutely impossible to make out by experience with
complete certainty a single case in which the maxim of an action,
however right in itself, rested simply on moral grounds and on the
conception of duty. Sometimes it happens that with the sharpest
self-examination we can find nothing beside the moral principle of
duty which could have been powerful enough to move us to this or
that action and to so great a sacrifice; yet we cannot from this
infer with certainty that it was not really some secret impulse of
self-love, under the false appearance of duty, that was the actual
determining cause of the will. We like then to flatter ourselves by
falsely taking credit for a more noble motive; whereas in fact we
can never, even by the strictest examination, get completely behind
the secret springs of action; since, when the question is of moral
worth, it is not with the actions which we see that we are
concerned, but with those inward principles of them which we do not
see.

Moreover, we cannot better serve the wishes of those who ridicule
all morality as a mere chimera of human imagination overstepping
itself from vanity, than by conceding to them that notions of duty
must be drawn only from experience (as from indolence, people are
ready to think is also the case with all other notions); for this is
to prepare for them a certain triumph. I am willing to admit out of
love of humanity that even most of our actions are correct, but if
we look closer at them we everywhere come upon the dear self which
is always prominent, and it is this they have in view, and not the
strict command of duty which would often require self-denial.
Without being an enemy of virtue, a cool observer, one that does not
mistake the wish for good, however lively, for its reality, may
sometimes doubt whether true virtue is actually found anywhere in
the world, and this especially as years increase and the judgment is
partly made wiser by experience, and partly also more acute in
observation. This being so, nothing can secure us from falling away
altogether from our ideas of duty, or maintain in the soul a well-
grounded respect for its law, but the clear conviction that although
there should never have been actions which really sprang from such
pure sources, yet whether this or that takes place is not at all the
question; but that reason of itself, independent on all experience,
ordains what ought to take place, that accordingly actions of which
perhaps the world has hitherto never given an example, the
feasibility even of which might be very much doubted by one who
founds everything on experience, are nevertheless inflexibly
commanded by reason; that, ex. gr. even though there might never yet
have been a sincere friend, yet not a whit the less is pure
sincerity in friendship required of every man, because, prior to all
experience, this duty is involved as duty in the idea of a reason
determining the will by a priori principles.

When we add further that, unless we deny that the notion of morality
has any truth or reference to any possible object, we must admit
that its law must be valid, not merely for men, but for all rational
creatures generally, not merely under certain contingent conditions
or with exceptions, but with absolute necessity, then it is clear
that no experience could enable us to infer even the possibility of
such apodictic laws. For with what right could we bring into
unbounded respect as a universal precept for every rational nature
that which perhaps holds only under the contingent conditions of
humanity? Or how could laws of the determination of OUR will be
regarded as laws of the determination of the will of rational beings
generally, and for us only as such, if they were merely empirical,
and did not take their origin wholly a priori from pure but
practical reason?