PHI208 Week 3 D1 & D2

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4 Deontology: Doing One’s Duty

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Learning Objectives

After reading this chapter, you should be able to:

• Explain the core features of a deontological moral theory.

• Identify the two main formulations of Kant’s Categorical Imperative and describe the core features of each.

• Apply each formulation of the Categorical Imperative to concrete moral problems.

• Discuss criticisms of the Categorical Imperative.

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Section 4.1 Introduction to Deontology

I have consistently preached that nonviolence demands that the means we use must be as pure as the ends we seek. I have tried to make clear that it is wrong to use immoral means to attain moral ends.

—Martin Luther King Jr.

4.1 Introduction to Deontology Do the ends always justify the means? Or are some actions moral or immoral in and of them- selves in ways that take priority over the goodness or badness of the ends? The quote from Martin Luther King Jr.’s (1963) famous “Letter From Birmingham Jail” expresses the idea that some actions are immoral in themselves and should never be undertaken, even when they might have good outcomes. In other words, using “immoral means to attain moral ends” (King, 1963, p. 19) would violate certain moral duties or obligations that apply to us unconditionally. (You can read the entire letter here: http://web.stanford.edu/group/King /frequentdocs/birmingham.pdf.)

Do we humans have such unconditional commitments or obligations? For example, suppose a parent says to her child, “I will be there for you no matter what.” Does that commitment depend on whether the good consequences of devoting herself to the child outweigh the bad ones? Or would this kind of commitment be one that a parent upholds no matter what?

The idea that we have unconditional or absolute obligations or duties is the basis of deonto- logical ethics.

In Chapter 1 we distinguished the major moral theories in terms of which of the three aspects of human action each con- siders most fundamental when it comes to moral reasoning and moral value. The three aspects of human action are as follows:

1. The nature and character of the person performing the action

2. The nature of the action itself 3. The consequences of the action

The three moral theories can be distinguished in this way:

1. Virtue ethics focuses on the nature and character of the person performing the action. 2. Deontological ethics focuses on the action itself. 3. Consequentialism focuses on the consequences of the action.

In Chapter 3 we discussed consequentialist theories, which maintain that moral reasoning should be primarily concerned with the consequences of our actions, and we focused on the

This Strange Word Defined

In classical Greek (the language of the early philosophers), the word deon means “duty” or “that which is necessary.” The ending -ology means “the science or study of something.” Therefore, deontology is the science or study of duty and obligation.

http://web.stanford.edu/group/King/frequentdocs/birmingham.pdf

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most prominent and familiar form of consequentialist reasoning, utilitarianism. According to this view, what makes something morally right is whether it brings about the greatest overall good for the greatest number relative to alternative choices.

While that approach had many attractive aspects, one concern was that anything could, at least in theory, be morally justified so long as the ends justified the means. This includes actions like killing innocent people, subjugating minorities to discrimination, coercing peo- ple, and so on; any action is fair game if it brings about a greater good or alleviates more suf- fering than not doing it. These concerns reflect an intuition that certain kinds of actions are simply right or wrong in themselves, regardless of the circumstances or outcome. If that is the case, these actions would be “moral duties,” and the underlying basis of these duties would be “moral laws.”

It is important to clarify that the deontologist does not claim that consequentialist reasoning is bad or that we should never think about consequences when making decisions. Obviously, it would be nearly impossible to make good decisions if we did not consider the outcomes of our choices. Rather, the deontologist holds that the moral value of our decisions—whether a choice is morally right or wrong—lies in something other than good and bad consequences. This means that when a certain consequence conflicts with a certain duty, it is more impor- tant to respect the duty. To put it another way, deontological views will maintain, in King’s (1963) words, that “it is wrong to use immoral means to attain moral ends” (p. 19). However, as long as we respect those duties, it is perfectly appropriate to reason in terms of better and worse outcomes.

Rules, Laws, and Duties: Moral and Nonmoral There are, of course, many kinds of laws and duties besides moral ones. There are civil laws—the local, national, and international laws that govern our common political life. There are laws (or rules) that students must adhere to, that employees must respect, or that govern how a game is to be played. We sometimes speak of unwritten rules, like customs or standards of etiquette. These rules carry certain duties, such as a soldier’s duty to obey his or her orders, our duty as citizens to pay taxes, or the duties of a host or hostess when guests are over.

Duties established by a legal code, one’s role or occupation, or as rules of etiquette or custom are not necessarily the same as one’s moral duty. Not only can moral duties conflict with these other kinds of duties (which raises challenging questions about what one should do), they also have different grounds. However, noting certain characteristics of legal, social, or military duties can help us see what is distinctive about moral duties according to deontological eth- ics. In particular, duties are independent of interests and desires; they are unconditional; and they are exceptionless.

The first characteristic is that duties are independent of interests and desires; that is, they obli- gate us to do or avoid certain things regardless of whether we want to. Nobody wants to pay taxes, but that’s irrelevant when it is one’s duty to do so; similarly, if one has a moral duty not to lie, it doesn’t matter whether one would prefer to lie or whether doing so would suit one’s purposes.

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Second, a duty applies even when violating it might have better consequences than respecting it; that is, duties are unconditional. For instance, when it comes to paying taxes, an individual could make the case that by not paying taxes, he or she could do more good than whatever the government would do with the money. However, even if that were true, it doesn’t elimi- nate the person’s legal duty to pay taxes; this law applies to all, regardless of circumstance. Similarly, moral duties don’t depend on whether respecting them would have better or worse outcomes than not.

Finally, a duty is exceptionless with respect to all who fall under its scope. Some laws have built-in exceptions, such as when the tax law requires all U.S. citizens to pay taxes except those who meet certain conditions. But generally, if a person falls under the scope of a rule or law, he or she must follow it, just like anyone else. This is why we are often outraged when it seems that those with money or prestige get away with things that everyone else cannot or when athletes are able to win by cheating—as if the laws and rules apply differently to them than to others.

Now, when we consider civil laws, a soldier’s orders, and other familiar laws and duties, we may think of examples in which break- ing the law or disobeying an order might appear to be the right thing to do. Martin Luther King Jr. and other civil rights leaders deliberately disobeyed certain laws in their pursuit of justice, and the Uniform Code of Military Justice stipulates that soldiers can and should disobey orders in certain cir- cumstances. But this is often because we recognize that there are higher duties than the ones prescribed by civil laws or military commanders, which is what we mean when we refer to moral duties or duties of justice. The features of laws and duties—their independence from desires, their unconditionality, and their exceptionless character—are the same whether we are referring to the sphere of moral- ity and justice or to the spheres of government, institutions, customs, and the like; however, their content (what they actually say) might be different, which is why it is important to avoid confusing these different spheres of duty.

How Can I Recognize a Deontological Moral Argument? In Chapter 3’s discussion of utilitarianism, we considered a scenario in which several people are desperately in need of an organ transplant, and a doctor determines that Sally, who came to the hospital with a broken arm, has a set of organs that could be harvested to save the five lives at the cost of her own. If your response is something like, “It’s just plain wrong to inten- tionally kill an innocent person,” you’re thinking like a deontologist. If you say, “It’s unfair to the victim, since she had no say in that” or “We shouldn’t simply use people in this way” or “What would happen if everyone did that?,” then you’re getting closer to Immanuel Kant’s ideas, which we will look at later in this chapter.

KaninRoman/iStock/Thinkstock Deontological arguments are often raised when debating the moralities of war and military operations.

Section 4.1 Introduction to Deontology

Examples of Deontological Thinking

The following are examples of familiar statements that reflect deontological thinking:

• “Racial profiling by law enforcement officers is wrong, regardless of whether it may make a community safer.” The thought is presumably that racial profiling violates the basic dignity of profiling victims.

• “Everyone has a fundamental right to an education and a basic minimum of health care.” The term fundamental is key here since it implies that people have these rights regardless of whether providing them makes the majority of people better off.

• “Abortion should be allowed because a woman has a basic right to determine for herself whether to have a child.”

• “Abortion is wrong because every person has a basic right to life from the moment of conception.” As we see from these two statements, deontological claims about rights and duties often conflict, raising questions about whether there actually are rights or duties associated with certain individuals and which ones should have priority. Someone may agree that a woman has a basic right to determine for herself whether to have a child but deny that she has a right to an abortion on the grounds that the fetus’s right to life is more fundamental. Others may believe that the fetus has a right to life but that a woman’s right to choose is stronger. Still others may agree that every person has a fundamental right to life but deny that the unborn fetus is a person with such a right. Either way, a deontological argument for or against abortion should be distinguished from one that focuses on the impact of abortion on society, the woman, or the fetus.

• “While it may be morally justified to conduct a military operation that kills innocent civilian bystanders, civilians should never be intentionally targeted.” Deontological arguments are frequently invoked when determining what may or may not be done to achieve military aims, regardless of how beneficial certain actions might be.

• “No one should be subject to medical experimentation without giving informed consent.” Medical experimentation promises great benefits for humankind as a whole, and those benefits can tempt us to use people against their will for the sake of “the greater good.” Deontological principles are often invoked to prevent this.

• “I cannot tell a lie.” According to legend, George Washington, the first president of the United States, chopped down a cherry tree when he was a young boy and uttered these words after being confronted by his father. If he had lied, he probably could have avoided punishment while not causing any greater harm, but he refused to engage in such justification and instead adhered to a basic rule against lying.

• “When we help African countries feed their people and care for the sick it’s the right thing to do, and it prevents the next pandemic from reaching our shores” (White House, 2016). This is a quote from President Barack Obama’s 2016 State of the Union speech (Obama frequently used the phrase “it’s the right thing to do” in his speeches). Note that the remark about the beneficial consequences is an addition to the claim about helping these countries being the “right thing to do,” not the primary reason for it being right. This suggests Obama believes that we have a duty to help these African countries independent of whether it brings about the greatest overall good.

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To take another familiar example, it is often the case that invoking the language of rights, especially universal rights, can signal the presence of a deontological argument. This is espe- cially so if the claim to such rights is independent of their potential benefit to society. To claim that a person has a right to something is to claim that others either have a duty to provide it or not to interfere with his or her pursuit of it, so long as doing so doesn’t violate someone else’s rights. For example, if a person has a right to an education, communities or governments would either have a duty to provide the opportunity for education or at least not interfere with a person’s pursuit of it. The broader social benefits of education might be important, but deontologists would claim that a person would have such a right regardless of the social benefits (for more on this, see the Going Deeper feature Kant and Contemporary Moral Values at the end of the chapter).

Finally, we can also get a good sense of the deontological approach by thinking about how we teach children about right and wrong. Suppose a child doesn’t want to share a toy with his brother. What do we say? We might say something like, “It will make your brother (and me) happy, and so more people would be happy than if you kept it to yourself.” That’s an appeal to the better results—the greater happiness—that will result from the action. However, we may instead say something like, “How would you like it if he didn’t share his toy with you?” Here we are ignoring the consequences (or considering them less relevant) and instead focusing on what’s fair—what we should always be doing (i.e., always share your toys, even if you would rather keep them to yourself). That’s a deontological way of reasoning.

What Justifies a Deontological Principle? Now that we have a basic sense of deontological moral reasoning and how it differs from utilitarian and other consequentialist reasoning, we turn to the much more difficult question of how this type of reasoning is justified. It is one thing to claim that something is absolutely wrong or absolutely right. It is another to explain why it is wrong or right. Why suppose there are any such moral rules, laws, or duties?

As we saw in the previous section, there are many sources of rules and laws that impose duties on us, and most are part of a code of conduct associated with an organization, commu- nity, or tradition (such as the military, a family or nation, or a religion). The justification for such rules and laws may lie in the way that they are necessary for social order and stability, such as the laws of a community. They may be integral to a particular activity, the way that the rules of baseball partly define the very game of baseball itself, and are justified by the fact that without these rules, there would be no game. Or they may be justified as essential for achiev- ing certain goods and aims, the way that a military code of conduct is essential to a well-func- tioning army, the way parental rules enable children to successfully grow and develop, or how the rules associated with a religious tradition are ways for the faithful to show due respect to the Divine and to fulfill the divine purpose for their lives.

Two points are worth noting here. First, in most cases, there is some sort of authority that establishes these rules and sanctions them (i.e., gives people reason to respect them). Political authorities like legislatures or rulers establish laws and sanction them by establishing pun- ishments for breaking them, similar to governing bodies in sports. In a typical family, children are under the authority of their parents; in the military, subordinates are under the authority of their commanding officers; in religious traditions, priests, bishops, elders, imams, lamas,

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rabbis, and other religious leaders have authority that is usually understood as representing the Divine.

Second, in most cases, the laws and duties are understood as being limited to those within a certain scope, such as citizens of a country, members of a family, Major League Baseball play- ers, or members of the U.S. Navy. Many of the most difficult moral problems arise when these duties conflict, either within our own individual lives or between, say, different communities or between a community and a religious tradition. The question then becomes whether there are universal laws and duties with characteristics identified earlier—independent of wants and desires, unconditional, and exceptionless. Some religious traditions regard their laws as applying to everyone, even nonbelievers, on the grounds that their traditions represent the will of an absolute, divine authority. However, there are also versions of universal law that are not dependent on religious assumptions, such as those expressed in the Universal Declara- tion of Human Rights (UN General Assembly, 1948). Can we identify and justify such universal laws, and is there a kind of authority that would sanction them for everyone?

Historically, there have been two main ways of trying to answer this question. One is called the natural law theory, since it grounds the notion of moral law in an account of human nature. The other derives from the 18th-century German philosopher Immanuel Kant, who sought to show how certain moral principles can be true and authoritative for any rational person, regardless of background, culture, or creed, since they are based in human reason itself. We will focus our attention on Kant’s views, but for a brief overview of natural law theory, see the Ethics FYI: Natural Law Theory box.

Ethics FYI

Natural Law Theory Natural law theory received its strongest development and defense from the medieval philosopher and theologian Thomas Aquinas, who was heavily influenced by both the Ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle and the Judeo-Christian tradition of which he was a part. This theory of ethics begins with the notion that humans have a specific nature, and there are certain goods that are part of realizing or fulfilling that nature. The natural law specifies actions that we must do or not do in order to achieve those goods and thus live well in accordance with our natures.

For example, given our nature as social beings, we can identify certain goods like friendship and community as essential to fulfilling that nature. The natural law might specify actions like showing respect and trust, caring for those in need, sharing in responsibilities, refraining from harming or taking advantage of others, and other actions necessary for maintaining strong friendships and communiites. Other goods that are often identified as essential to our human nature include life, procreation, knowledge, rational conduct, integrity, authenticity, spirituality and religion, health, aesthetic appreciation, play, pleasure and avoidance of pain, the natural world, justice and fairness, marriage, excellence in work and play, inner peace, and joy. Can some of these be defended as universal human goods that follow from human nature itself? If so, can we specify actions that should be considered morally required or prohibited in light of human nature?

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4.2 Immanuel Kant Think of a goal, preference, or commitment that you have that not everyone else shares. Per- haps you like certain foods that others find disgusting. Maybe you have chosen to return to college to advance in your career, when your boss thinks that you should focus on your cur- rent job. Perhaps you live in a community in which most people are part of a certain religion, but you belong to a different one (or to no religion at all).

What do you expect of people who may not share your sense of what is meaningful, in terms of how they treat you and that which you care about? Naturally, we don’t expect others to share our attitude, but we do generally expect them to show respect—respect for us and the fact that we find meaning and value in something, as well as respect for whatever it is that we find meaningful and valuable. There are limits to this expectation, of course, but for the most part we would say that others ought to respect us and the things we care about.

This would only make sense if we are committed to the idea that, as a general rule, people ought to show respect to other people and toward the objects of other people’s value and interest. In other words, it is by making reference to such a rule that I can legitimately claim that I am

owed respect, even if a person doesn’t agree with me about certain matters. Notice, however, what this statement further commits us to saying: If I can legitimately demand that others ought to show this respect toward me based on this general principle, then this principle applies to me as well. By saying that others ought to be respecting me, I am also say- ing that I ought to be respecting them.

Notice that we have just identified a moral demand or duty: One ought to respect others. But notice further where that demand comes from. It wasn’t imposed on me by God, society, parents, or any other outside source. Who imposed it upon me? I did! I can’t reasonably demand that others respect me unless I recognize a corresponding duty for me to respect others. To put it differently, the rational- ity of the expectation I place on others to respect me depends on some implicit idea that doing so is the right thing to do in general, but that means that it is not only right for them but also for me.

This duty, we might say, is imposed by reason. This is the core of Immanuel Kant’s account of moral duty: Duties are demands, obligations, or laws that

are ultimately grounded not in any external authority like God, nature, or society but sim- ply in that key characteristic that all humans share—our capacity to think about the reasons

Jaime Abecasis/imageBROKER/SuperStock Immanuel Kant (1724–1804) was a German philosopher who wrote about humanity’s moral duties to act consistently and to treat everyone with respect.

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we have for acting in a specific way and to act accordingly. According to Kant, we have a duty to respect this capacity for rational action by ensuring that all of our reasons for action are consistent with others act- ing in the same way and to always treat this capacity as having inherent value. He calls this duty the “supreme principle of moral- ity” (Kant, 2008, p. 4) or, more specifically, the Categorical Imperative.

As we will see in more detail, the Categori- cal Imperative can be expressed in two ways. The first is the duty to act consistently. In other words, we should only do an action if it is the sort of thing we could will anyone to do in similar circumstances. The second is the duty to treat everyone with respect. Specifically, our actions must respect the dignity each person has as someone capable of making his or her own choices.

The Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals Kant spelled out these kinds of ideas in his most famous text on ethics, Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals, portions of which we will now examine. Start by reading from the begin- ning of Chapter 1, found here: http://earlymoderntexts.com/assets/pdfs/kant1785chapter1 .pdf. Read from the beginning of the chapter (page 5) through the first paragraph on page 6, and from the last paragraph on page 10 through the left column on page 12.

Acting Consistently Kant begins Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals by proposing that the only thing that is good without qualification is a good will. “The good will,” he says, “sparkles like a jewel all by itself, as something that had its full worth in itself” (Kant, 1785/2008, p. 6).

Think of times when someone did something that seemed admirable or noble at first glance but was actually based on ulterior, self-serving motives. For instance, consider a business owner who chooses not to cheat a customer only out of fear of getting caught or a person who is kind to someone simply because he wants help from her well-connected father. Does that lessen our esteem for their choices? On the other hand, suppose that someone tries to do something remarkably courageous, like save someone in danger at great risk to her own life, but fails despite her best efforts. Does that lessen our admiration for the person? If we said yes to the first case but no to the second, that gets to the heart of Kant’s idea—that it is the goodness and purity of the will that we value most, not the actual results.

Going Deeper: The Roots of the Categorical Imperative

To fully understand Kant’s ideas, it is helpful to get a brief sense of the social, political, and intellectual challenges for morality that Kant’s moral philosophy tried to resolve. It is also useful to see how the Categorical Imperative emerged from a consideration of both the idea of duty and the idea of autonomy. See Going Deeper: The Roots of the Categorical Imperative at the end of the chapter for more.

http://earlymoderntexts.com/assets/pdfs/kant1785chapter1.pdf

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But if Kant wants to show what makes certain actions right or wrong, why does he start with this idea of the good will? The reason is that morality involves choosing the right action, and “choosing” is a matter of will. Thus, if we can determine what a person with a truly good will would do, then we can determine which actions are right or wrong. Since the goodness of the will doesn’t lie in the outcomes, it must lie in the motive. The person who acts out of good will isn’t simply seeking to gain something or avoid punishment, merely doing what she’s been told, or following her impulses. Acting from such motivations would presume that if she didn’t have something to gain or lose, wasn’t told to do the action, or didn’t have those impulses, she wouldn’t have a reason to act. Rather, the reasons that motivate good will are independent of these contingent factors.

In other words, the person who displays good will is making a choice that she would consis- tently make in any similar circumstance. We can extend this idea even further to say that she’s making a choice consistent with what she believes anyone in similar circumstances should make, regardless of who they are or what they could gain or lose. She is essentially saying, “This would be the right thing for me to do, and it would be right for everyone to do in similar circumstances.”

This is what Kant is trying to capture in his main formulation of the “Supreme Principle of Morality,” the Categorical Imperative: “I ought never to act in such a way that I couldn’t also will that the maxim on which I act should be a universal law” (Kant, 1785/2008, p. 11).

Let’s break this down.

The Formula of Universal Law First, the Categorical Imperative says that we should only act on those maxims that we can will to be universal law. What is a maxim, and what does it mean to will it as universal law?

A maxim is basically the policy or principle that you follow when you make a conscious, deliber- ate choice. It describes what you take yourself to be doing and why you are doing it. Consider the following example:

Paul has been swamped at work and hasn’t had much time for school, and his grade has suffered. He knows that if he doesn’t receive a good grade on his final paper, he will fail the course, which will cost him a lot of money. He discovers that there is a website where, for a few bucks, he can purchase a paper that would get him a passing grade in the course. That would be cheating, of course, but on the other hand, the money he would spend on the paper is far less than what he would lose if he failed the course. So he considers purchasing the paper and turning it in.

Is this consistent with how Paul thinks everyone should act? His maxim in this case might be: “In order to get a passing grade, I’m going to purchase a paper and turn it in as my own work.” What if everyone followed this policy?

Consider a world in which anytime someone can get a passing grade by turning in a paper that they didn’t write, they will do that. If Paul somehow had the power to make this imagined world a reality—to cause it to be the case that everyone acted the way he is proposing to act— would he do so? This is what Kant means by the idea of willing a maxim to be universal law.

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We can see that a world in which everyone turned in a purchased paper instead of their own would not be one that Paul would bring about, supposing he had the power to do so. In such a world, grades would become meaningless: no one would know whether a student’s grade was a result of their own work or someone else’s, and grades would no longer indicate what a student had learned and achieved. Since the benefits a student like Paul might hope to gain from a passing grade rely on the assumption that he has earned that grade by learning and achieving, and since one could no longer make that assumption in a world in which everyone was cheating, the benefits Paul is after would be lost.

Someone who wanted to cheat, then, would need it to be the case that almost everyone else is not cheating. In other words, they would have to say that, as a rule, people should not cheat (otherwise cheating would not be beneficial, as we just explained). So by cheating, they are making themselves an exception to that rule. To make oneself the exception to the rule—to say “people shouldn’t cheat (except me)”—is to act inconsistently with how one thinks most people should act. It is also contrary to the notion that moral actions are duties and that a duty is exceptionless, applying to everyone equally. Thus, we can see how Kant would defend the idea that cheating on a paper assignment is objectively immoral.

If this is correct, cheating on a paper is an example of violating a duty to avoid doing certain things. However, we also think of duties as actions that we must do, not simply those we must avoid doing. Actions that we are required to perform are called positive duties, and actions we are required to avoid are negative duties. These frequently go hand in hand. For example, if we have a negative duty to avoid cheating on a paper, we also have a corresponding positive duty to only turn in papers that represent our own efforts.

Ethics FYI

Categorical Versus Hypothetical Imperatives An imperative is something that must be done, as in, “it is imperative that you turn in your final paper by the last day of class.”

Categorical means that something is absolute and unconditional, independent of anything else (such as inclinations or purposes). The opposite of this is the hypothetical imperative, which means “if some other condition obtains” (like when we say, “Hypothetically speaking, if worse came to worst we would need a backup plan.”). For instance, “it is necessary to study if I want to get a good grade.” If we don’t care about getting a bad grade and don’t see any other value in studying, then the hypothetical doesn’t apply and we do not have a reason to study. Likewise, the principle of utility is a hypothetical imperative. It maintains that certain actions must be completed if they lead to the greatest happiness for the greatest number of people; if that action doesn’t lead to the greatest happiness, then it shouldn’t be done.

A categorical imperative, then, is something that must be done, no matter what; there is no “if.” It is a duty.

Kant thinks all categorical imperatives can be boiled down to one—the Categorical Imperative.

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What about actions that seem to be morally right and worthy of praise, but we don’t neces- sarily regard as required of everyone? For example, suppose there was a major earthquake that caused massive devastation in a poverty-stricken part of the world, and a person decides that it is her duty to donate half of her paycheck to relief efforts. Does this imply that everyone ought to do the same and that people who don’t donate half their paychecks to help earth- quake victims are failing to respect their moral duty?

Not necessarily. When we consider whether we could will our maxim to be universal law, this doesn’t mean that we think that everyone must do that action. In other words, this per- son would first consider whether a world in which everyone did a similar thing is one that she could consistently will. If so, the action is morally permissible. A morally permissible action is one that does not violate any duties, and thus we may perform that action. But an action that is morally permissible is not necessarily a moral duty. To show that an action is a moral duty, one would need to focus on the opposite maxim—in which one didn’t do the action—and consider whether it could be universalized. In this case, there wouldn’t seem to be anything strictly contradictory about a world in which no one gave half their paychecks to earthquake victims, and thus this particular action does not seem to be a duty. What may be problematic, however, is a world in which no one helped others at all. In fact, Kant argues that we could never will such a world, which shows that we do have a duty to help others in need. It is left to our best judgment to determine when and how to do so.

In sum, Kant’s principle that “I ought never to act in such a way that I couldn’t also will that the maxim on which I act should be a universal law” has us ask of ourselves, “am I acting consistently with how I would want others to act, or am I making myself an exception to the rule?” He argues that if we make ourselves an exception, we fail to act on the kinds of motiva- tions characteristic of a good will, fail to respect our duties, and thus fail to respect what it means to act morally.

See Ethics FYI: Maxims and Their Universalized Form for additional examples of maxims and their universalized form.

Treating People With Respect Kant expressed the Categorical Imperative—the supreme principle of morality—in several different ways, or “formulas.” The one we examined in the previous section is usually called the formula of universal law, because it centers around the notion that our moral duty is to only engage in actions that we could will everyone to do, as if we had the capacity to make the action a universal law. We summed this up as the duty to act consistently, as opposed to mak- ing oneself the exception to the rule.

There is another way of expressing this duty, which is to always treat people with respect. This is sometimes called the formula of humanity, and Kant (1785/2008) expresses it like this: “Act in such a way as to treat humanity, whether in your own person or in that of anyone else, always as an end and never merely as a means” (p. 29).

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Ethics FYI

Maxims and Their Universalized Form Consider the following maxims and the corresponding universal law. What if everyone followed the maxim? In other words, would a world in which everyone acted according to this law be one that you could accept? The key is to consider whether the person proposing to act on that maxim would be making him or herself an exception to the rule.

Maxim: “When I can afford it, I will contribute $50 per month to the Red Cross to help alleviate suffering.”

Universal law: “Everyone who can afford it will help alleviate suffering by contributing $50 a month to a reputable aid organization.”

Maxim: “I’ll tell Pete the truth because I never want to lie to my friends.”

Universal law: “No one will ever lie to their friends.”

Maxim: “I won’t sleep with that person because I never want to act in a way that would make my parents ashamed.”

Universal law: “No one who wishes to avoid acting in ways that make his or her parents feel ashamed will do anything that has that effect.”

Maxim: “I’m going to try to return that guy’s wallet because it belongs to him, not me.”

Universal law: “Any time someone finds something that belongs to someone else, they will try to return it.”

Maxim: “Instead of giving lost-and-found the cell phone someone left on the table, I’m going to sell it on Ebay to earn some money.”

Universal law: “Any time someone can earn some money by selling something that belongs to someone else, they will do so.”

Maxim: “Even though using steroids goes against the rules of the sport, I’m going to use them because winning is everything, and I’m going to do whatever it takes to win.”

Universal law: “Everyone will always do whatever it takes to win, even if means breaking the rules.”

Read from Chapter 2 of Kant’s text here: http://earlymoderntexts.com/assets/pdfs/kant 1785chapter2.pdf. Begin on page 28 with the paragraph beginning “But suppose there were” and read through the end of the next paragraph.

What does it mean to “treat humanity . . . as an end”?

We first need to clarify two key terms here: humanity and end (or as it is sometimes expressed, end-in-itself). It turns out that these terms are pretty closely related.

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Autonomy

In Greek, auto indicates “self,” and nomos is the word for “law.” So autonomous means that one’s own self is the source of the law that governs one’s actions; one is self-legislating. In other words, if we seek to explain why we acted in a certain way, we might say that we were forced to do so by someone else, that we did it instinctively or unconsciously, or that we were driven by some desire. Or we might say that we acted in that way because of our own independent choice. In the first case, someone else’s will served as the law that determined our actions; in the second and third cases it was something more like the law of nature. But in the last case, it’s our own will that determines our action, hence our self legislates how we act, and we are thus auto-nomous.

Humanity can mean many different things (like having a certain DNA), but Kant is refer- ring to something very specific: our capac- ity to set our own ends and act on them, rather than having our ends, purposes, and choices determined by some other being or force. Another word for this is autonomy. This is what distinguishes us from inani- mate objects, plants, and other animals, and so it marks out what is special or distinctive about our humanity.

In Kant’s system, our humanity is our capac- ity to rationally and autonomously set and pursue our own ends.

We can think of an end as the counterpart to being a mere means, or nothing more than an instrument for some other purpose. Think of what it is to call something an instrument or a tool. Consider a hammer, for example. Does it have any goals or purposes of its own? No, of course not. Its whole purpose is

to drive in nails or whatever else we want it to do; a hammer is merely a means to our ends. So treating it as a hammer is just to use it as a means for whatever we need. In Kantian terminol- ogy, it isn’t an end-in-itself; a hammer’s end (or purpose) is whatever we need it for, nothing more, nothing less.

However, if something is an end-in-itself, that means it has value beyond whatever uses or purposes it may have—it is worthy of respect. Correspondingly, to treat something as an end-in-itself means that our decisions respect this value by not treating it simply as a tool or instrument. According to Kant, humanity, in the sense we defined it, is an end-in-itself and should be treated as such. Why is this?

First, humanity, as we just saw, is the capacity to deliberately and rationally set and pursue one’s own ends, as opposed to a tool whose use is determined by the person using it, or a plant or animal whose behavior is determined by nature. The capacity to act freely is what makes us more than mere instru- ments or slaves to desire (our own or anyone else’s). It is what gives human life its special dignity.

But why does Kant think we should respect that dig- nity in the way we treat other people? Recall that at the beginning of this section we considered situ- ations in which we have certain interests or goals

moodboard/Thinkstock A hammer has no inherent value; it is merely a means to achieve an end. The person holding the hammer, on the other hand, has inherent value and dignity, making him an end-in-himself, not a mere means, according to Kant.

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that are meaningful to us, but others don’t share them. How do we expect them to treat us? We would generally say, “I think that people ought to respect my own choices.” And we don’t mean “if they feel like it” or “if it benefits them”; we mean “if I make a choice about how I’m going to live my life, people ought to respect that, because it’s a choice I’ve thoughtfully and deliberately made myself.”

Why should we think that? How could I expect someone to respect and value my choices if it’s not something they would choose or even agree with? It would only make sense if I assumed that the very capacity to rationally and deliberately set and pursue ends was itself of fundamen- tal value and gave value to those ends.

This capacity to rationally and deliberately set and pursue ends is what we defined as humanity. And so, when we reflect on how we expect others to treat us, we seem commit- ted to the view that humanity itself is valuable and worthy of respect, regardless of whether it serves someone else’s purposes. It is an end-in-itself.

Reflecting on how others should treat us leads to a principle about how people should treat each other in general. This means that we have to acknowledge the value of the choices that other people make, even if we disagree with them. Why? Because they are also thinking, choosing beings.

The bottom line is this: We all recognize something valuable about the capacity we humans have to rationally and autono- mously set ends and pursue them. But if that’s going to have any sense to it, then it applies anywhere we find this capacity, no matter the person’s race, religion, gender, social status, history, prior decisions, or any other quality. Therefore, we have a duty to always respect this humanity in ourselves and in others, no matter what.

Misconception 1: We Must Always Accept People’s Choices There are two ways in which people often misunderstand Kant’s principle of always treating humanity as an end-in-itself and never as a mere means. The first is the following:

Does treating people as ends-in-themselves mean we have to accept whatever people choose or that we can’t challenge their beliefs (and vice versa)?

Not at all, for two reasons.

Are Other Things Ends-in- Themselves?

Do other things besides humans (or more specifically, rational beings) have value as ends-in-themselves? What about natural objects like mountains and rivers, plants, or animals? Do they have any purposes or value beyond what we assign to them? Those are tough questions and important ones. To answer them, we might consider the source of that value. If it is simply because we care about them or happen to find them valuable, this isn’t what we mean by an end-in-itself; rather, it’s merely an end-in-someone-else’s-eyes. When I care about something, does the fact that I care about it make it valuable? Or do I care about it because it’s valuable?

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First, we are obligated to respect people’s humanity, which in this case is their capacity to rationally and deliberately set and pursue their own ends. When someone is acting in ways that seem to be irrational, immoral, or driven by desire or impulse, it is not clear that we have an obligation to respect their choices. For example, if someone is driven to make self-destructive choices due to an addiction, we don’t have an obligation to aid in their self- destruction. Or to take another example, if Mary has decided that she wants a promotion at work and spreads lies about her colleagues who also want that promotion, we have no obligation to respect her choice to spread those lies since Mary is clearly not treating her colleagues as ends-in-themselves.

Second, respecting another’s reasoned, deliberate choice doesn’t mean one has to simply accept what they have chosen. In fact, we can often show great respect toward people by offering them reasons we think what they are doing is wrong. When we offer people reasons, we are in effect saying, “I think you are a reasonable person, someone who can make rational choices about how to act. I don’t think your current choices are the best, and I’m going to try to explain why.” This attitude is captured by the famous quotation, “I disapprove of what you say, but I will defend to the death your right to say it” (Tallentyre, 1906, p. 199). In other words, to respect someone does not mean we have to agree with them or approve of what they say or do. By the same token, another’s disagreement or disapproval of our decisions does not necessarily indicate disrespect.

Misconception 2: We Can Never Use Others The second common misconception follows from the claim that we should never treat a per- son as a mere means, as if he or she was just a tool or instrument. This raises the following question:

Does Kant say that we should never use people, period?

No. The claim is that we should never merely use people.

Indeed, it would be impossible to avoid using others. We depend on other people and others depend on us, in almost all areas of our lives; thus, we use people all the time. When students

seek an education, they are using the time and talents of their teachers. When we take our car to the mechanic, we are making use of his or her skills and labor, and we may also be making use of taxi drivers to get us where we want to go in the meantime. We depend on farmers to grow our food and rely on police, firefighters, and military per- sonnel to keep us safe and secure. People put themselves at the service of others by donating to charities, volunteering at ral- lies, serving in churches, and so on.

Given the ways that our lives are interde- pendent, there is hardly any area of life in

Kant and Contemporary Moral Values

Kant’s account strongly correlates with four familiar values or ideals: the Golden Rule, the value of integrity, the importance of fairness, and the notion of rights. To read about these correlations in more depth and how Kant’s theory can clarify these familiar notions, see Going Deeper: Kant and Contemporary Moral Values at the end of the chapter.

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which we do not use other people and others do not use us. So it’s not wrong to use people; rather, our moral responsibility is to avoid merely using people. We ensure that people aren’t merely used by, for example, fairly compensating them, making sure that volunteers are act- ing of their own free will, or expressing appropriate gratitude and reciprocity.

The basic idea, then, is this: there is nothing necessarily wrong with using people or others using us, but when we do we must consider whether we are acknowledging and respecting the fact that we are all people who can think for ourselves and make our own decisions. Are we ensuring that the ends, goals, and choices of the persons being used are being respected just as much as those of the users?

Applying the Categorical Imperative General principles like the two formulations of the Categorical Imperative can sound well and good, but what do they mean when we put them into practice? That is what we will consider in this section.

Let’s rehearse the main points so far:

• A deontological theory of morality focuses on the moral value of actions themselves, independent of the character of the person performing those actions or their results.

• We have a duty to perform actions that are good in themselves and a duty to avoid those that are bad in themselves, regardless of whether we want to act otherwise or think that acting otherwise will bring better results.

• Kant maintains that we can sum up all duties in terms of a single, overriding duty: the Categorical Imperative. Categorical means “applying no matter what”; imperative means “something that must be done.” So the Categorical Imperative is something that must be done, no matter what.

• The Categorical Imperative can be put into words in two different ways. • In one formulation, it says, “I ought only to act on those maxims that I could will to

be universal law.” This is the formula of universal law. • In another formulation, it says, “So act that you treat humanity, whether in your

own person or in the person of any other, always at the same time as an end, never merely as a means.” This is the formula of humanity.

The Categorical Imperative Test We can test whether an action is morally required or prohibited according to the formula of universal law. Remember that the imperative is “I ought never to act except in such a way that I could also will that my maxim should become a universal law.” Earlier, when we considered the example of cheating on a paper, we broke this down into four steps:

1. Formulate the maxim you are considering acting on (what you intend to do and why you intend to do it).

2. Formulate the corresponding universal law. 3. Consider the world in which this maxim was universalized into a law (i.e., imagine a

world in which everyone supports and acts on your maxim).

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4. Figure out if there is a contradiction in this world (i.e., could the goal of your action be achieved?). • If there is no contradiction (the goal could be achieved), then the maxim is univer-

salizable and the action is morally acceptable. • If there is a contradiction (the goal could not be achieved), then the maxim is not

universalizable and the action is immoral.

When applying the formula of humanity, the basic question is, does my action respect the per- son as an autonomous rational agent?

We can think of this as having two dimensions to it: a negative and a positive dimension.

The negative dimension would be to never merely use other people. We can ensure this by asking ourselves if the other person could autonomously (i.e., rationally) accept the maxim of our action. Could they say, “Okay, I accept that”? Are we playing fairly, so to speak?

The positive dimension goes beyond simply not using people without their rational consent. Rather, we also respect human dignity and autonomy by actively trying to promote other people’s ends as much as possible.

Kant provides us with four examples and shows how the formula of universal law and the formula of humanity apply to each.

The examples are as follows:

1. Committing suicide 2. Making a false promise 3. Cultivating one’s talents 4. Acting benevolently toward others

We can immediately notice two things about this list:

• Two of these examples have to do with how we act toward other people (numbers 2 and 4), and two have to do with how we act toward ourselves (numbers 1 and 3). This shows that morality, on Kant’s account, is not merely concerned with how we treat others but also with how we treat ourselves.

• Two of these concern actions we have a duty to do (numbers 3 and 4), and two con- cern actions we have a duty to not do (numbers 1 and 2).

When considering whether an action is a negative duty (something one must not do), we apply the Categorical Imperative test to the maxim of the action, and if it fails the test, the action is morally prohibited. Thus, Kant argues that we have a duty not to commit suicide or make a false promise, and he tries to defend this by showing how a maxim of committing suicide and making a false promise would result in a contradiction if it were universalized.

When considering whether an action is a positive duty (something one must do), we consider a maxim in which one does not do it and see if that passes the test. If it does not, then we know the action is morally required. To demonstrate that we have a duty to act benevolently, Kant

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considers a maxim in which one does not do so and shows that it cannot be consistently uni- versalized. Thus, it would be morally wrong not to act benevolently, which is to say that we have a duty to help others in need. A similar test would show that we have a duty to cultivate our talents.

Let’s look at Kant’s four cases and see this test at work.

To get the full account, see Chapter 2 of Kant’s Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals here: http://earlymoderntexts.com/assets/pdfs/kant1785chapter2.pdf. Read from the last para- graph on the left column of page 24 through the last paragraph on page 25. Then skip down to the first full paragraph on page 29 and read through the left column on page 30.

Test Case 1: Suicide I consider myself in a state of physical or psychological suffering (or expect to soon be in such a state) and decide that I would be better off dead than living in such misery. I propose to take my own life to avoid misery and suffering. Can a maxim of suicide pass the Categorical Impera- tive test?

1. Maxim: “Because I care for myself, and because I foresee that my life holds the pros- pect of more suffering than happiness, I am going to end my life.”

2. Universal law: Everyone will show care for themselves by destroying themselves when they feel that the future promises more suffering than happiness.

3. The world: We are caring for our humanity by destroying it. 4. Contradiction? Yes. My humanity has unconditional value, and by destroying it in the

name of a value (like happiness or the avoidance of suffering) that is conditional, I am destroying the source of value itself.

This is a very challenging and controversial argument, and even some defenders of Kant’s ethics have trouble understanding what Kant meant or doubt that this argument succeeds, at least in terms of the formula of universal law (Herman, 1993; Korsgaard, 1996; Guyer, 2005). But one way to make sense of it is to connect it to the formula of humanity (Velleman, 1999; Cholbi, 2000), which holds that I have an absolute duty to treat humanity (i.e., the autono- mous, rational will) as an end-in-itself, never as a mere means. To show respect to others means I cannot act in a way that treats their life as dispensable, less important than, say, the satisfaction of my own desires or the avoidance my own suffering. Moreover, I can reasonably expect others to respect me in the same way, which means I must will a world in which every- one respects the dignity and unconditional value of humanity (including my own) and no one treats a person (like me) as having less value than their own or someone else’s happiness or suffering. But by treating my own self as having only conditional value—conditional on how much happiness or suffering my existence brings into the world—I am making myself the exception to that rule.

To put it another way, to respect and care for oneself means recognizing and respecting the unconditional value of one’s capacity for rational, autonomous choice, which is incompatible, Kant thinks, with a maxim that would involve destroying it in the name of something with only conditional value, namely happiness and the avoidance of suffering. In other words, a

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contradiction arises in step 4 because one is saying, “Out of respect for my own self (that is, my rational will), which has the highest value, I am going to treat myself as less valuable than the suffering I expect to experience.” Since this is inconsistent and contradictory, one certainly could not will that everyone treat themselves this way.

Test Case 2: False Promises I imagine myself in a situation in which I need money, and the only way to get it is by borrowing it. I will only be able to borrow the money if I promise to pay it back, but I have no intention of doing so. Would it be wrong to make this false promise?

1. Maxim: “When I am in need of money, I will borrow some and promise to pay it back even though I don’t intend to do so.”

2. Universal law: Any time someone can get money by making a false promise, he or she will do so.

3. The world: In such a world, there would be no such thing as promises. 4. Contradiction? Yes. If numbers 2 and 3 are true, I won’t be able to do number 1; that

is, borrow money from someone.

The key here is step 3—if everyone made false promises, no one would believe anyone’s prom- ises, including my own. But I need people to believe my promises; otherwise, I wouldn’t be able to get the money. So essentially I’m saying, “I want to make a false promise, but to do so I can’t have others making false promises. So I want there to be a general rule against false promises but I’m going to make myself the exception to the rule.” That, for Kant, is contrary to duty, so making false promises is immoral.

Test Case 3: Cultivating One’s Talents Do I have a duty to try to develop myself, to spend my time on things that involve using my higher human faculties, and to be the best that I can be? Or do I have a moral right to do whatever I want with my life, even if that means wasting my time on trivial amusements and superficial pleasures?

To consider whether we have a positive duty to cultivate our talents, we should look at the corresponding negative maxim—the maxim associated with not cultivating one’s talents. If that fails the test, then to not cultivate our talents violates our duty, which is to say we have a positive duty to strive to be the best we can be.

1. Maxim: “I’m going to neglect my natural gifts and devote my life merely to enjoyment.”

2. Universal law: Any time someone can find enjoyment one does so, even if it means neglecting the development of one’s natural gifts.

3. The world: My natural gifts serve me and allow me to obtain my purposes. So I wouldn’t be able to attain my purposes (e.g., enjoyment).

4. Contradiction? Yes. I cannot will a world in which I am unable to attain my purposes.

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In short, this argument, like the one concerning suicide, starts from the presumption that I am concerned with my own good. In some cases, I might be tempted to pursue that good in a way that is actually detrimental to myself, in the sense that I am neglecting to cultivate those characteristics that can enable me to fulfill that good. There is an incoherence between an action that aims to fulfill my good and at the same time prevents me from doing so.

Test Case 4: Beneficence Do I have a duty to be generous and helpful to others or is it okay for me to simply keep any extra money, time, and resources that I have? To test this I consider the opposite maxim and see if it passes or fails the test. If it fails, it means I cannot not help others, which is to say I have a posi- tive duty to help others.

1. Maxim: “I shall not help others in need.” 2. Universal law: No one helps others in need. 3. The world: I would not be able to obtain the help that I often need from others. 4. Contradiction? Yes. Without help from others I cannot attain my own ends, so I can-

not will that I not be able to attain what I need.

Here Kant recognizes the interdependency and vulnerability of human life. No one is truly self-sufficient; everyone needs assistance from others to some extent in order to achieve our aims and to overcome obstacles, no matter how independent we think we are. Even those who are largely self-sufficient remain vulnerable to forces outside their control and would depend on the benevolence of others were misfortune to befall them. Therefore, I could never will a world in which no one helped others in need, since that would be a world in which I would not receive the help that I need. By refusing to offer help and support to others, I am saying that I would want others to help and support me, but I am not going to offer the same to them. That’s the kind of inconsistency that indicates that we are not respecting our duties.

The Formula of Humanity Test The formula of humanity states: “So act that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, always at the same time as an end, never merely as a means.”

To test this, I consider (a) whether the person or persons involved (including myself) could autonomously (i.e., rationally) accept the maxim of my action, and (b) whether I am respect- ing human dignity and autonomy by actively trying to promote people’s (including my own) rational ends as much as possible.

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Test: Could the person(s) involved autonomously accept the maxim of my action, and am I actively trying to promote people’s ends as much as possible?

This is a very difficult question since the person considering suicide, and the person directly involved, are one and the same. (While it is true that suicide often affects other people, let’s suppose this is a case in which there wouldn’t be significant effects on others so as to better evaluate the morality of suicide itself, regardless of the situation.) I’m literally asking whether my maxim of suicide is one that I could rationally accept, which seems like a very strange question. However, we should remember that for Kant, when my choices are determined by factors like urges and desires, this is no different than having my choices determined by another person; in both cases, my will is being determined not by my own reason but by some other force. So just like a maxim that simply reflects someone else’s urges and desires could conflict with my own rational self-determination, a maxim that simply reflects my own urges and desires could conflict with my own rational self-determination.

When faced with the question of whether I (that is, my autonomous, rational will) could accept a maxim, I consider whether the maxim involves treating my humanity as having uncondi- tional value, as opposed to instrumental value. If we consider this question with respect to the way others treat me, we can see that if another were to treat me as if my value depended on how much happiness or suffering my existence brought into the world, they would be treat- ing me as a mere means to more happiness and less suffering. In other words, if the value of my existence depended on how much happiness or suffering I contributed to the world, and if killing me brought more happiness or less suffering, then killing me would be justified. But of course, I could never accept a maxim that involved this kind of judgment of my value.

However, Kant argues that by committing suicide, I’m treating myself as having only instru- mental value, which is just as wrong as treating another person as having only instrumental value. If I were to say something like, “I would better off dead,” this can’t literally be true, since once I’m dead I’m not better or worse off—I’m not there at all. So what I really mean is, “The world would be better off if I were dead.” But this is no different than saying that “the world would be better off if so-and-so were dead” when thinking about another person. If this second statement were to be put forward as a justification for killing the other person, the Kantian would object that this would involve treating the other person as if their value was merely instrumental, which is morally wrong. But by the same token, such a statement could not justify killing myself, since I would thereby be treating myself as if my value was merely instrumental, which is likewise morally wrong.

Test: Could the person(s) involved autonomously accept the maxim of my action, and am I actively trying to promote people’s ends as much as possible?

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By making a false promise, I am trying to coerce, manipulate, or deceive the other person into making a decision that she might not otherwise make if she knew my true intentions. If she knew that I did not intend to pay the money back she may still give me the money, but she may not; the important point is that choice would be up to her. But by making a false promise, I am taking that choice away. If a person doesn’t know my actual intentions, then she cannot accept the maxim of my action, since she cannot make a rational choice. Moreover, I am imply- ing that the other person’s own choices don’t matter, only mine do, and thus I can use her as a mere means to my ends. I am failing to recognize her own ends as having value. So making a false promise treats the other person’s humanity as a mere means, and is therefore wrong.

Test Case 3: Cultivating One’s Talents Do I have a duty to try to develop myself, to spend my time on things that involve using my higher human faculties, to be the best that I can be? Or do I have a moral right to do whatever I want with my life, even if that means wasting my time on trivial amusements and superficial pleasures?

Test: Could the person(s) involved autonomously accept the maxim of my action, and am I actively trying to promote people’s ends as much as possible?

As with the case of suicide, this is a question of whether we have duties toward ourselves. Are we treating ourselves in a way that respects our own rational autonomy and dignity?

Because of our humanity, we are capable of far more than trivial amusements or base plea- sures, and so the ends that ought to be respected include those that would engage and apply these higher human possibilities. Kant admits that if I waste myself I’m not necessarily inter- fering with anyone’s pursuit of such ends, but this is why it is important to recognize that our duty isn’t simply to allow people to live however they want. Rather, it is to actively support, encourage, and enable people to develop their abilities, realize their goals, and live good lives. Since I am just as human as anyone else, this duty applies to myself as much as it applies to anyone else.

Thus, I have a moral duty to strive to discover and cultivate my own talents, to build my char- acter and seek to be a better person, and to avoid those kinds of activities that would hinder such goals.

Test: Could the person(s) involved autonomously accept the maxim of my action, and am I actively trying to promote people’s ends as much as possible?

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While refusing to help someone in need won’t necessarily interfere with the pursuit of their ends (i.e., I am not doing anything to actively prevent them from doing so), our duty isn’t to simply allow people to live however they want. Rather, it is to actively support, encourage, and enable people to develop their abilities, realize their goals, and live good lives (O’Neill, 1993).

We all depend on others in various ways to achieve our ends, and we often depend on the benevolence and generosity of others (sometimes we can compensate those who help us out, by paying them or returning a favor, but sometimes this isn’t possible). Since I recognize my occasional dependency on the benevolence of others, I must also recognize that others may depend on my benevolence. Thus, another person couldn’t rationally accept a policy accord- ing to which I never helped others in need.

Moreover, by practicing beneficence I’m saying to the other person, “You have dignity, and your goals are valuable, so I’m going to do what I can to try to help you attain them.” In other words, I’m trying to make their ends my own ends as well, which is how we show respect for their humanity. But to do so, we must be willing to use our own money, time, and resources for the benefit of others. Thus, we have a duty to be beneficent when we can.

4.3 Challenges to Kant’s Theory Kant’s theory has been subject to many forms of criticism, and we will cover three of the most prominent ones: (a) Kant’s theory is too strict and seems to give us incorrect answers in certain cases, (b) the formula of universal law is too flexible, and (c) the formula of humanity depends on questionable assumptions regarding autonomy and the moral life.

Is Kant’s Theory Too Strict? Kant’s moral views may sound plausible in theory and when applied to certain cases, but if we recall from Chapter 1, moral reasoning involves moving back and forth between general principles—like Kant’s Categorical Imperative—and particular cases. Often the difficult cases present the real test of a theory’s plausibility. To test Kant’s theory, let’s consider a straight- forward case: lying.

In Kant’s view, lying involves a maxim that cannot be universalized: if we imagine a world in which everyone lies to achieve a goal, then everyone would lie all the time and trust would be lost. If no one trusted anyone else, we would not be able to achieve any goal by lying. Therefore, it fails the universalizability test. It also involves trying to manipulate and coerce someone into making a choice they otherwise might not make, so it fails to treat others as ends-in-themselves. In both of these ways, it conflicts with the Categorical Imperative and is thus immoral, according to the Kantian view.

Naturally this seems right, for the most part: lying is certainly one of those things we have always been taught is immoral, and it has been regarded as immoral by virtually all cultures. But are there cases when lying would be the right thing to do?

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We can imagine everyday cases in which a white lie might avoid hurting someone’s feelings, and doesn’t seem to cause any real harm. Perhaps your friend bought a new hat that she’s proud of but you find rather hideous. When she asks if you like it, should you lie and say yes? Or, suppose you were planning a surprise for your spouse, and you have to tell a few small lies to keep it a secret. Would that be wrong?

More serious cases arise, however, when lying would prevent some great evil or injustice from occurring. For example, during World War II, in Nazi-occupied parts of Europe, some people hid their Jewish neigh- bors, friends, and family secretly in their homes. Being suspicious of this, Nazis would show up unannounced at people’s homes searching for hid- den Jews. This kind of occurrence was depicted in the opening scene of Quentin Tarantino’s 2009 film Inglorious Basterds. In this scene, a Nazi officer visits a French farmhouse, where he suspects some Jewish

people may be hiding. He asks the farmer whether he is hiding anyone in his house. The farmer is, in fact, hiding some Jews and knows that if he tells the truth, the Jews will either be killed on the spot or taken to a Nazi death camp. What should he do?

Most people would immediately say he should lie. If he tells the truth, the people who entrusted him with their lives would suffer and die. Besides, the Nazi officer is a brutal murderer; he doesn’t deserve to be told the truth.

Not so fast, answers Kant. In a short article provocatively entitled, “On the Supposed Right to Lie from Philanthropy” (Kant, 1797/1997b), he considers a similar situation and steadfastly maintains that the authority and dignity of the moral law does not change, even in cases such as these. If we make an exception here, what is to prevent us from making an exception in another situation in which lying would benefit us?

Additionally, a person’s human dignity does not depend on who they are or what choices they make. Remember that the notion of human dignity was based in our autonomous rational- ity—our capacity to freely set and pursue our own ends—and a person does not lose this capacity when he or she makes immoral choices. Thus, we still have a duty to respect every person—even a brutal Nazi officer—as an end, which means we cannot lie.

What about the victims? If the farmer tells the Nazi officer the truth, isn’t he responsible for their suffering and death?

No, Kant says—the officer would be the one responsible. By telling the truth, the farmer would gives the officer the chance to make the right decisions for himself, and so respects his autonomy. If the officer makes the wrong choice, it is an unfortunate tragedy, but the farmer is not responsible for what the officer does; he is responsible for what he does. That’s the essence of human autonomy.

lisafx/iStock/Thinkstock Would you tell this woman that you think her outfit is hideous, or would you lie to spare her feelings?

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Convinced? Many people aren’t, even those who otherwise defend Kant’s moral philosophy. What implications does this have for Kant’s moral theory? One possibility is that Kant’s the- ory of morality is flawed in some way. Another is that we must conclude that even in these cases lying is wrong and we must tell the truth, however tragic the outcome or however much it may spoil one’s plans or hurt someone’s feelings.

A third possibility is that we can avoid the negative consequences in ways that don’t involve outright lying—by being evasive or simply remaining silent, for instance.

A final option is to argue that Kant misapplied his own theory, and that at least some cases of lying, such as the ones we’ve considered, don’t violate the Categorical Imperative after all. Perhaps we can construe the maxim of the action in such a way that it could be willed to be universal law. For instance, suppose the maxim were something like, “In order to prevent unjust harm, I’m going to present false information to the person intending to commit the injustice.” What if everyone were to present false information to another person intending to commit injustice in order to try to prevent them from carrying that out? Would that not be an acceptable world?

Is the Formula of Universal Law Too Flexible? If the problem cases can be resolved by modifying the maxim of one’s action in such a way as to make it universalizable, this may help us avoid having to say that certain actions—like lying to the Nazi officer—are wrong when intuitively they seem right. But the concern is that this could go the other way as well: actions that intuitively seem wrong could have their maxims described in such a way so as to be universalizable and thus morally right according to the Categorical Imperative.

For example, let’s return to the example of cheating on a paper. Suppose you are a student and a paper is due on Monday. The weekend before your paper is due, your best friend gets married, which means you spend most of your weekend at parties and events, entertaining guests, writing your toast, and so on. By Sunday night you are exhausted and only have a few hours to work on your paper anyway, so you consider turning to an online source where you can get all or most of the material you need and turn that in as your own (which is plagia- rism). As we saw before, this seems to fail the universalization test. My maxim might be, “in order to avoid writing my own paper I will copy from another source and pass it off as my own.” If we universalize this such that everyone copies from other sources rather than writing their own papers, grades would be meaningless and our purpose of trying to get a good grade would be undermined.

But what if, instead of this maxim, we considered one that was much more specific to the situation? We might come up with a universalized law that says, “Whenever someone is exhausted from their best friend’s wedding and has a paper due the next day, they will copy from another source and pass it off as their own.” This law won’t apply to many people, and certainly not enough to make any difference to our own educational goals. Therefore, it is hard to see how it would fail the universalization test.

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In response, the Kantian might say that the person is missing the point of the universaliza- tion test, which is to help us determine whether we are being consistent: are we making an exception for ourselves to a policy that we think everyone else should follow? This requires a bit of honesty about our true intentions and motivations, and in being honest, we may have to admit that we’re not being consistent after all, even if we can manipulate our maxims enough to pass the universalization test.

However, this doesn’t quite resolve the problem. To see why, consider another example. Sup- pose a store owner decides not to serve people of a certain race. This would strike us as obviously immoral, but would the Categorical Imperative show why this is? His maxim might be, “To maintain a separation between whites and blacks, I’m not going to serve blacks in my store.” Universalized, this would be, “Any time a white person can help keep the races separate by refusing to serve black people, they will do so.” Is this universal law something the store owner could will? It is hard to see why not; in fact, it would seem quite attractive to him. So it seems he is being consistent: his honest motives do involve making this distinction between whites and blacks in excluding people from his store.

Problems like these are why it is important to remember that there are multiple ways of expressing the Categorical Imperative, and we will often have to consider other formulations when assessing an action’s morality. In cases like these, while the formula of universal law seems to leave us with the intuitively wrong answer, the formula of humanity can show why these actions are immoral.

In the case of the racist store owner, his actions fail to respect others as ends-in-themselves. Recall that respecting others means not treating them as if they were mere means to our ends, and it also involves respecting their capacity to freely pursue ends they regard as valu- able. So by allowing whites to shop at his store but not blacks, the store owner is essentially saying that the ends and choices of white people are more valuable than those of blacks for no reason other than their race. But for Kant, the respect that we owe people has to do with their humanity and nothing to do with race, so race does not provide a legitimate reason to treat the ends and choices of one group differently than another. Thus, by failing to respect the ends and choices of blacks for no legitimate reason, the store owner is failing to respect their humanity and dignity and is behaving immorally.

So the formula of humanity might help us clarify and refine our moral judgments where the formula of universal law falls short. But it, too, has some potential problems that are worth considering.

Problems With the Formula of Humanity The formula of humanity is the imperative to never treat people as if they were simply a means or tool but to always respect their capacity to set their own ends, make their own choices, and act autonomously. This involves considering whether our action would be one that another person could reasonably accept (even if they don’t necessarily like it) and striv- ing to make their ends our own as much as possible.

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This imperative is based, we recall, on our capacity to step back from our situation, including the desires, inclinations, and emotions that we happen to have, and consider whether we have good reason to act one way or another. This is the only thing, Kant believes, that has inherent value, since everything else is simply a natural occurrence that is inherently neither good nor bad; whatever value other things have is due to the fact that some human values it.

The first problem arises when we consider beings that lack such a capacity. Nonhuman ani- mals, especially advanced ones like apes and dolphins, seem to have ends and goals that they pursue. They also appear to act purposefully and have a wide range of desires and emotions. However, they do not seem to have the kind of full-fledged capacity for free, rational thought and choice that humans have. Does this mean they aren’t deserving of respect as ends-in- themselves or that we don’t have an obligation to avoid treating them as mere means? Many people would insist that nonhuman animals do deserve respect, and object that Kant’s theory does not adequately account for this.

It is not just the nonhuman animals that seem to be excluded from the category of ends-in-themselves, but humans who lack full rational autonomy, such as infants and the mentally disabled. If the duty to treat others as ends-in-themselves depends on their possession of dignity, and if that dignity correlates to a capacity for rational autonomy, we may worry that Kant’s account does not sufficiently account for the dignity possessed by infants and the mentally disabled as well.

Philosophers have made various attempts to show that even though infants, the mentally disabled, and some nonhuman animals lack full rational autonomy, they still fall under the scope of beings that should not be regarded as mere means (Cohen, 1986; Korsgaard, 2004). But what about the lower animals, plants, and the inanimate natural world? Many would claim that there is inherent value in these as well and that the wrong of treating them as mere resources goes beyond the fact that doing so may upset human inter- ests in some way. However, it is difficult to reconcile this idea with the Kantian system.

The Problem of Autonomy We considered whether associating respect and dignity so closely with autonomy would mean that beings who lack full autonomy aren’t given the proper respect and value that they deserve. On the other hand, a second set of concerns questions whether humans even have autonomy to the extent that Kant supposed, and to the extent that we do, whether this auton- omy alone is the fundamental good.

Kant’s defense of the moral law depends on the assumption that we can make choices on the basis of good reasons, meaning that we are not determined by outside forces or inner forces such as feelings, desires, and impulses. Is this a legitimate assumption to make? Philosophers have debated about whether the notion of free will is coherent in a world in which, as far as

Rayes/DigitalVision/Thinkstock This infant isn’t yet capable of full rational autonomy, but does that mean he has less dignity than older humans?

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we know, matter operates in accordance with physical laws. We, too, are bodies composed of matter, and we have learned much about the correlation between our choices and the opera- tions of our brains. Does free will fit into such a world?

Kant was well aware of this problem, and his solution invokes his broader ideas about meta- physics (the study of the basic nature of reality) and epistemology (the study of knowledge). His basic claim, to greatly oversimply it, is that there is a limit to what we can say about the whole of reality using the empirical methods of the sciences (sense perception, measure- ments). This leaves open the possibility that there are deeper layers to reality than what the sciences can tell us, and so even though it might seem that the universe is determined, at a deeper level it may be possible for there to be rational wills that determine themselves.

Suppose that this philosophical objection stemming from our knowledge of the natural world can be met. A second, and perhaps much more difficult, problem arises when we consider the ways that our own beliefs, choices, values, and modes of thinking are affected by various social, psychological, and physiological factors, many if not most of which are hidden to us. Are we able to adopt a standpoint completely independent of the influences of history and upbringing, social and cultural environment, desires, feelings, impulses, and any other such factors that can influence us? For Kant, all of these factors are contrary to the autonomy of the will. The pressing question becomes: What becomes of Kant’s theory if these kinds of factors are ultimately inescapable, given the centrality that autonomy has to his account of human dignity as well as the moral law?

Kant was aware of this problem as well, for the notion that we are always formed and influ- enced by such factors to some degree (even if not exactly determined by them) goes back to the earliest days of philosophy, especially Aristotle. Kant (1785/2008) concedes that

even the strictest examination can never lead us entirely behind the secret action-drivers—or rather, behind the pretended action-driver to where the real one secretly lurks—because when moral worth is in question it is not a matter of visible actions but of their invisible inner sources. (p. 14)

In other words, if we remember that the primary factor for determining moral worth isn’t the outward action but the motives and intentions, Kant acknowledges that no matter how pure one’s motives might seem, there is always the possibility that there are “covert incen- tives” and other factors at play that detract from the moral worth of one’s actions. Still, we can coherently form the idea of a pure, autonomous will unaffected by these other factors. If we use this idea of a pure, autonomous will as the basis for an account of the moral law and for assessing the moral value of actions, it doesn’t matter if no one ever truly escapes these other influences when making choices. We can still establish what a person would choose if reason was the only determining factor.

The Representation of the Moral Life This leads us to a third concern, however. Even if the two previous challenges can be answered, we might question whether the picture of the moral life we are left with is a distortion of what it means to be a human who lives, chooses, and acts in the world. Some interpreters argue that grounding morality in an account of the autonomous practical reasoner requires conceiving

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ourselves as standing apart from nature, history, society, and even our own deeper selves. One might worry that morality, on Kant’s account, disregards many of those sources of mean- ing and value that give our lives their sense and purpose and that inspire us, enrage us, bring us joy and sadness, and motivate acts of nobility or atrocity. Does ensuring that all of one’s maxims can be consistently willed to be universal law and that one’s choices respect others as ends in themselves account for all of the depth and richness to human life when considering how to answer Socrates’s question of how one should live?

For example, the formula of humanity’s primary injunction is to avoid choices that treat oth- ers as mere means. But this tells us very little about what we ought to be doing, only what we ought not to be doing. The other dimension of the principle—that which has us adopt the ends of others as much as possible, to exercise benevolence, and so on—remains vague. How should we go about fulfilling this duty? To what extent are we to do so? How do we balance our own ends with those of others when they conflict? And perhaps most importantly, by what standard can we determine which ends are worth pursuing and which are not?

Some Kantians respond that these are questions that fall outside of morality, which only con- cerns a very narrow range of human life and choices. But according to critics, this is pre- cisely one of the main drawbacks of the theory. If we think of ethics in the traditional sense as addressing the question “how should one live?,” as we discussed at the beginning of this book, and since our lives are rich, complex, and full of depth, it would be surprising if the best answer we can provide concerns only a very narrow range of choices. In this respect, utili- tarianism, natural law theory, and especially virtue ethics differ from Kantian deontology by concerning a much broader range of human life and choices.

Going Deeper

Did something in this chapter catch your interest? Want to get a little more in depth with some of the theory, or learn about how it can be applied? Check out these features at the end of the chapter.

The Roots of the Categorical Imperative

Kant and Contemporary Moral Values

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Conclusion & Summary

Conclusion & Summary In this chapter, we examined the general features of a deontological approach to moral reasoning, which associates morality primarily with actions themselves, as opposed to the consequences of our actions or the character of the person performing them. This approach focuses on duties to either perform or avoid certain actions. The source of these duties are moral laws or rules. Although the moral law should not be confused with the laws of a com- munity, country, or organization, some key features they have in common include the ideas that our obligations are independent of whether they benefit us or fulfill our interests or desires; that they are unconditional and do not vary according to our circumstances; and that they are exceptionless, applying equally to everyone under their scope.

We also examined one of the most prominent ways to explain and defend the notion of moral laws and duties: the Kantian approach articulated and defended by Immanuel Kant. This approach identified the Categorical Imperative to be the supreme principle of moral- ity, which he expressed in two ways: the duty to act only on those maxims that can be willed as universal law and the duty to always treat humanity as an end-in-itself and never as a mere means. While this approach can help us make sense of and justify many of our deepest intuitions about ethics, there are some possible worries and limitations that may lead us to reflect on the merits of the utilitarian approach. However, there are other, much older ethical theories that we might consider as alternatives to both utilitarian and deontology. The most prominent of these is the view that takes its inspiration from the Ancient Greek philosopher Aristotle, to whose ethical views we will turn in Chapter 5.

Key Terms autonomy The capacity to freely determine one’s own action by following a principle that one’s own reason has determined.

Categorical Imperative An action that is necessary in itself, independent of any ends or purposes.

civil laws The local, national, and interna- tional laws that govern people’s common political life.

duty An action that one is required or obli- gated to either do or refrain from doing.

end-in-itself Someone or something that has value beyond what its uses or purposes may be. Respect for this value should always be part of the end or purpose of one’s choices. This is opposed to having value merely in terms of usefulness for attaining some other end.

formula of humanity The formulation of the Categorical Imperative that says to use humanity, whether in your own person or in the person of any other, always as an end and never merely as a means.

formula of universal law The formula- tion of the Categorical Imperative that says, “I ought never to act except in such a way that I could also will that my maxim should become a universal law.”

humanity In Kant’s use of the term, human- ity is the capacity to freely and rationally set one’s own ends and pursue them.

hypothetical imperative An action that is necessary in order to achieve something else.

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maxim The policy or principle that a ratio- nal person follows when he or she makes a conscious, deliberate choice.

morally permissible An act that is not contrary to duty and thus may be performed but is not required.

morally prohibited An act that must not be performed.

morally required An act that must be performed.

natural law theory The theory that objec- tive moral standards and laws for governing human behavior can be derived from the nature of humans and the world.

negative duties Actions we are required to avoid, such as lying or killing.

positive duties Actions that we are required to perform, such as helping others in need or respecting one’s elders.

rights Certain entitlements, privileges, or other goods owed to a person or entity such that others (such as the state, other per- sons, or other entities) either have a duty to provide them or to not interfere with their pursuit of them, so long as doing so doesn’t violate another’s rights.

Additional Resources Immanuel Kant: Links. http://comp.uark.edu/~rlee/semiau96/kantlink.html. This is a compilation of web links

about Kant and his works.

Kant on the Web. http://staffweb.hkbu.edu.hk/ppp/Kant.html. Another site offering a variety of links to different Kant-related resources.

Further Reading Alexander, L. (2016). Deontological ethics. In E. Zalta (Ed.), The Stanford encyclopedia of philosophy. Retrieved

from https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/ethics-deontological

Anscombe, G. E. M. (1958). Modern moral philosophy. Philosophy, 33(124), 1–19.

Bennett, J. (1974). The conscience of Huckleberry Finn. Philosophy, 49, 123–134.

Cavanaugh, T. (2006). Double-effect reasoning: Doing good and avoiding evil. Oxford: Claredon Press.

Connell, F. J. (1967). Principle of double effect. In New Catholic encyclopedia (Vol. 4, pp. 1020–1022). New York: McGraw-Hill.

Foot, P. (1967). The problem of abortion and the doctrine of double effect. Oxford Review, 5, 5–15.

Foot, P. (1972). Morality as a system of hypothetical imperatives. Philosophical Review, 84, 305–316.

Garcia, J. (1995). Double effect. In W. T. Reich (Ed.), Encyclopedia of bioethics (pp. 636–641). New York: Macmillan.

George, R. P. (2008). Natural law. Harvard Journal of Law & Public Policy, 31(1), 171–196.

Guyer, P. (2007). Kant’s groundwork of the metaphysics of morals: A reader’s guide. London: Continuum.

Hill, T. (1991). Autonomy and self-respect. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

Korsgaard, C. (1996). Creating the kingdom of ends. Cambridge: Cambridge University Press.

McIntyre, A. (2014). Doctrine of double effect. In E. Zalta (Ed.), The Stanford encyclopedia of philosophy. Retrieved from https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/double-effect

Murphy, M. (2011). The natural law tradition in ethics. In E. Zalta (Ed.), The Stanford encyclopedia of philosophy. Retrieved from https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/natural-law-ethics

http://comp.uark.edu/~rlee/semiau96/kantlink.html

http://staffweb.hkbu.edu.hk/ppp/Kant.html

https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/ethics-deontological

https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/double-effect

https://plato.stanford.edu/entries/natural-law-ethics

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Oderberg, D. S., & Chappell, T. (Eds.). (2004). Human values: New essays on ethics and natural law. New York: Palgrave.

Quinn, P. L. (2002). God and morality. In J. Feinberg & R. Shafer-Landau (Eds.), Reason & responsibility (11th ed., pp. 664–679). Belmont, CA: Wadsworth.

Ross, W. D. (1930). What makes right acts right? In The right and the good. Oxford: Oxford University Press. Retrieved from http://www.ditext.com/ross/right2.html

Sayre-McCord, G. (2000). Kant’s grounding for the metaphysics of morals. A very brief selective summary of sec- tions I and II. Retrieved from http://www.unc.edu/~gsmunc/phil22/Kantsum.pdf

Scanlon, T. (1999). What we owe to each other. Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press.

Solomon, W. D. (1992). Double effect. In L. C. Becker & C. B. Becker (Eds.), The encyclopedia of ethics. New York: Garland. Retrieved from http://sites.saintmarys.edu/~incandel/doubleeffect.html

Thomson, J. J. (1985). The trolley problem. Yale Law Journal 94, 1395–1415.

Primary Sources

Excerpts from Summa Theologica, by Thomas Aquinas Aquinas begins each article with a question, but before providing his own view he first con- siders several “objections,” which are reasons in support of the contrary view. In other words, when you read the objections, think of them as defending the view that Aquinas himself rejects.

“On the contrary” appeals to an authority, like Aristotle or Augustine, in support of the posi- tion that Aquinas tries to defend.

His own view and its defense come after the phrase, “I answer that . . .”

Finally, he ends each article by replying to each objection.

In most of these selections only the section expressing his own view has been included.

Question 90: Of the Essence of Law (Four Articles) . . . Concerning law, we must consider: (1) Law itself in general; (2) its parts. Concerning law in general three points offer themselves for our consideration: (1) Its essence; (2) The differ- ent kinds of law; (3) The effects of law.

Under the first head there are four points of inquiry:

1. Whether law is something pertaining to reason? 2. Concerning the end of law; 3. Its cause; 4. The promulgation of law.

http://www.ditext.com/ross/right2.html

http://www.unc.edu/~gsmunc/phil22/Kantsum.pdf

http://sites.saintmarys.edu/~incandel/doubleeffect.html

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Article 1: Whether law is something pertaining to reason? . . . I answer that, Law is a rule and measure of acts, whereby man is induced to act or is restrained from acting. . . . Now the rule and measure of human acts is the reason, which is the first principle of human acts . . .; since it belongs to the reason to direct to the end, which is the first principle in all matters of action, according to the Philosopher (Phys. ii). . . . Consequently it follows that law is something pertaining to reason.

Article 2: Whether the law is always something directed to the common good? I answer that, As stated above (A[1]), the law belongs to that which is a principle of human acts, because it is their rule and measure. Now as reason is a principle of human acts, so in reason itself there is something which is the principle in respect of all the rest: wherefore to this principle chiefly and mainly law must needs be referred. Now the first principle in prac- tical matters, which are the object of the practical reason, is the last end: and the last end of human life is bliss or happiness, as stated above (Q[2], A[7]; Q[3], A[1]). Consequently the law must needs regard principally the relationship to happiness. Moreover, since every part is ordained to the whole, as imperfect to perfect; and since one man is a part of the perfect community, the law must needs regard properly the relationship to [communal] happiness. Wherefore the Philosopher, in the above definition of legal matters mentions both happiness and the body politic: for he says (Ethic. v, 1) that we call those legal matters “just, which are adapted to produce and preserve happiness and its parts for the body politic”: since the state is a perfect community, as he says in Polit. i, 1.

. . . Therefore every law is ordained to the common good.

Question 91: Of the Various Kinds of Law (Six Articles) We must now consider the various kinds of law: under which head there are six points of inquiry:

1. Whether there is an eternal law? 2. Whether there is a natural law? 3. Whether there is a human law? 4. Whether there is a Divine law? 5. Whether there is one Divine law, or several? 6. Whether there is a law of sin?

Article 2: Whether there is in us a natural law? . . . I answer that, As stated above (Q[90], A[1], ad 1), law, being a rule and measure, can be in a person in two ways: in one way, as in him that rules and measures; in another way, as in that which is ruled and measured, since a thing is ruled and measured, in so far as it partakes of the rule or measure. Wherefore, since all things subject to Divine providence are ruled and measured by the eternal law, as was stated above (A[1]); it is evident that all things partake

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somewhat of the eternal law, in so far as, namely, from its being imprinted on them, they derive their respective inclinations to their proper acts and ends. Now among all others, the rational creature is subject to Divine providence in the most excellent way, in so far as it par- takes of a share of providence, by being provident both for itself and for others. Wherefore it has a share of the Eternal Reason, whereby it has a natural inclination to its proper act and end: and this participation of the eternal law in the rational creature is called the natural law. Hence the Psalmist after saying (Ps. 4:6): “Offer up the sacrifice of justice,” as though some- one asked what the works of justice are, adds: “Many say, Who showeth us good things?” in answer to which question he says: “The light of Thy countenance, O Lord, is signed upon us”: thus implying that the light of natural reason, whereby we discern what is good and what is evil, which is the function of the natural law, is nothing else than an imprint on us of the Divine light. It is therefore evident that the natural law is nothing else than the rational creature’s participation of the eternal law.

Question 94: Of the Natural Law (Six Articles) We must now consider the natural law; concerning which there are six points of inquiry:

1. What is the natural law? 2. What are the precepts of the natural law? 3. Whether all acts of virtue are prescribed by the natural law? 4. Whether the natural law is the same in all? 5. Whether it is changeable? 6. Whether it can be abolished from the heart of man?

Article 1: Whether the natural law is a habit? . . . since the precepts of the natural law are sometimes considered by reason actually, while sometimes they are in the reason only habitually, in this way the natural law may be called a habit. Thus, in speculative matters, the indemonstrable principles are not the habit itself whereby we hold those principles, but are the principles the habit of which we possess.

Article 2: Whether the natural law contains several precepts, or only one? . . . I answer that, As stated above (Q[91], A[3]), the precepts of the natural law are to the practical reason, what the first principles of demonstrations are to the speculative reason; because both are self-evident principles. Now a thing is said to be self-evident in two ways: first, in itself; secondly, in relation to us. Any proposition is said to be self-evident in itself, if its predicate is contained in the notion of the subject: although, to one who knows not the definition of the subject, it happens that such a proposition is not self-evident. For instance, this proposition, “Man is a rational being,” is, in its very nature, self-evident, since who says “man,” says “a rational being”: and yet to one who knows not what a man is, this proposition is not self-evident. . . . [S]ome propositions are self-evident only to the wise, who understand the meaning of the terms of such propositions: thus to one who understands that an angel is

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not a body, it is self-evident that an angel is not circumscriptively in a place: but this is not evident to the unlearned, for they cannot grasp it.

Now a certain order is to be found in those things that are apprehended universally. For that which, before aught else, falls under apprehension, is “being,” the notion of which is included in all things whatsoever a man apprehends. Wherefore the first indemonstrable principle is that “the same thing cannot be affirmed and denied at the same time,” which is based on the notion of “being” and “not-being”: and on this principle all others are based, as is stated in Metaph. iv, text. 9. Now as “being” is the first thing that falls under the apprehension simply, so “good” is the first thing that falls under the apprehension of the practical reason, which is directed to action: since every agent acts for an end under the aspect of good. Consequently the first principle of practical reason is one founded on the notion of good, viz. that “good is that which all things seek after.” Hence this is the first precept of law, that “good is to be done and pursued, and evil is to be avoided.” All other precepts of the natural law are based upon this: so that whatever the practical reason naturally apprehends as man’s good (or evil) belongs to the precepts of the natural law as something to be done or avoided.

Since, however, good has the nature of an end, and evil, the nature of a contrary, hence it is that all those things to which man has a natural inclination, are naturally apprehended by reason as being good, and consequently as objects of pursuit, and their contraries as evil, and objects of avoidance. Wherefore according to the order of natural inclinations, is the order of the precepts of the natural law. Because in man there is first of all an inclination to good in accordance with the nature which he has in common with all substances: inasmuch as every substance seeks the preservation of its own being, according to its nature: and by rea- son of this inclination, whatever is a means of preserving human life, and of warding off its obstacles, belongs to the natural law. Secondly, there is in man an inclination to things that pertain to him more specially, according to that nature which he has in common with other animals: and in virtue of this inclination, those things are said to belong to the natural law, “which nature has taught to all animals” [Pandect. Just. I, tit. i], such as sexual intercourse, education of offspring and so forth. Thirdly, there is in man an inclination to good, according to the nature of his reason, which nature is proper to him: thus man has a natural inclination to know the truth about God, and to live in society: and in this respect, whatever pertains to this inclination belongs to the natural law; for instance, to shun ignorance, to avoid offending those among whom one has to live, and other such things regarding the above inclination.

Article 3: Whether all acts of virtue are prescribed by the natural law? . . . I answer that, We may speak of virtuous acts in two ways: first, under the aspect of virtu- ous; secondly, as such and such acts considered in their proper species. If then we speak of acts of virtue, considered as virtuous, thus all virtuous acts belong to the natural law. For it has been stated (A[2]) that to the natural law belongs everything to which a man is inclined according to his nature. Now each thing is inclined naturally to an operation that is suitable to it according to its form: thus fire is inclined to give heat. Wherefore, since the rational soul is the proper form of man, there is in every man a natural inclination to act according to rea- son: and this is to act according to virtue. Consequently, considered thus, all acts of virtue are

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prescribed by the natural law: since each one’s reason naturally dictates to him to act virtu- ously. But if we speak of virtuous acts, considered in themselves, i.e. in their proper species, thus not all virtuous acts are prescribed by the natural law: for many things are done virtu- ously, to which nature does not incline at first; but which, through the inquiry of reason, have been found by men to be conducive to well-living.

Article 4: Whether the natural law is the same in all men? . . . I answer that, As stated above (AA[2],3), to the natural law belongs those things to which a man is inclined naturally: and among these it is proper to man to be inclined to act accord- ing to reason. . . . [S]ince the speculative reason is busied chiefly with the necessary things, which cannot be otherwise than they are, its proper conclusions, like the universal principles, contain the truth without fail. The practical reason, on the other hand, is busied with contin- gent matters, about which human actions are concerned: and consequently, although there is necessity in the general principles, the more we descend to matters of detail, the more frequently we encounter defects. Accordingly then in speculative matters truth is the same in all men, both as to principles and as to conclusions: although the truth is not known to all as regards the conclusions, but only as regards the principles which are called common notions. But in matters of action, truth or practical rectitude is not the same for all, as to matters of detail, but only as to the general principles: and where there is the same rectitude in matters of detail, it is not equally known to all.

It is therefore evident that, as regards the general principles whether of speculative or of practical reason, truth or rectitude is the same for all, and is equally known by all. As to the proper conclusions of the speculative reason, the truth is the same for all, but is not equally known to all: thus it is true for all that the three angles of a triangle are together equal to two right angles, although it is not known to all. But as to the proper conclusions of the practical reason, neither is the truth or rectitude the same for all, nor, where it is the same, is it equally known by all. . . .

Consequently we must say that the natural law, as to general principles, is the same for all, both as to rectitude and as to knowledge. But as to certain matters of detail, which are conclu- sions, as it were, of those general principles, it is the same for all in the majority of cases, both as to rectitude and as to knowledge; and yet in some few cases it may fail, both as to rectitude, by reason of certain obstacles (just as natures subject to generation and corruption fail in some few cases on account of some obstacle), and as to knowledge. . . .

Justice as Fairness1 by John Rawls The following article is the basis of one of the most important and influential accounts of justice in the 20th century that John Rawls developed more fully in his 1971 book, A Theory of Justice. In this article and the book, he addresses the question of how a society can be just and its citizens free and equal despite the wide variety of backgrounds, cultures, beliefs, and so on. He proposes two basic principles of justice that can meet this challenge: first, that each person has an equal

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right to the greatest degree of liberty possible so long as all people have that same liberty; and second, that inequalities are justified only if they make things better for the least advantaged. Finally, he argues that the reasons these principles are just is that they are the principles every- one would agree to if we all were on equal footing, with no one having any advantages over anyone else when determining which principles should be basic. These ideas have been heavily discussed in political and moral philosophy ever since.

1. It might seem at first sight that the concepts of justice and fairness are the same, and that there is no reason to distinguish them, or to say that one is more fundamental than the other. I think that this impression is mistaken. In this paper I wish to show that the fundamental idea in the concept of justice is fairness; and I wish to offer an analysis of the concept of justice from this point of view. To bring out the force of this claim, and the analysis based upon it, I shall then argue that it is this aspect of justice for which utilitarianism, in its classical form, is unable to account, but which is expressed, even if misleadingly, by the idea of the social contract.

To start with I shall develop a particular conception of justice by stating and com- menting upon two principles which specify it, and by considering the circumstances and conditions under which they may be thought to arise. The principles defining this conception, and the conception itself, are, of course, familiar. It may be possible, however, by using the notion of fairness as a framework, to assemble and to look at them in a new way. Before stating this conception, however, the following preliminary matters should be kept in mind.

Throughout I consider justice only as a virtue of social institutions, or what I shall call practices.2 The principles of justice are regarded as formulating restrictions as to how practices may define positions and offices, and assign thereto powers and liabilities, rights and duties. Justice as a virtue of particular actions or of persons I do not take up at all. It is important to distinguish these various subjects of justice, since the mean- ing of the concept varies according to whether it is applied to practices, particular actions, or persons. These meanings are, indeed, connected, but they are not identical. I shall confine my discussion to the sense of justice as applied to practices, since this sense is the basic one. Once it is understood, the other senses should go quite easily.

Justice is to be understood in its customary sense as representing but one of the many virtues of social institutions, for these may he antiquated, inefficient, degrading, or any number of other things, without being unjust. Justice is not to be confused with an all-inclusive vision of a good society; it is only one part of any such conception. It is important, for example, to distinguish that sense of equality which is an aspect of the concept of justice from that sense of equality which belongs to a more comprehensive social ideal. There may well be inequalities which one concedes are just, or at least not unjust, but which, nevertheless, one wishes, on other grounds, to do away with. I shall focus attention, then, on the usual sense of justice in which it is essentially the elimination of arbitrary distinctions and the establishment, within the structure of a practice, of a proper balance between competing claims.

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Finally, there is no need to consider the principles discussed below as the principles of justice. For the moment it is sufficient that they are typical of a family of principles normally associated with the concept of justice. The way in which the principles of this family resemble one another, as shown by the background against which they may be thought to arise, will be made clear by the whole of the subsequent argument.

2. The conception of justice which I want to develop may be stated in the form of two principles as follows: first, each person participating in a practice, or affected by it, has an equal right to the most extensive liberty compatible with a like liberty for all; and second, inequalities are arbitrary unless it is reasonable to expect that they will work out for everyone’s advantage, and provided the positions and offices to which they attach, or from which they may be gained, are open to all. These principles express justice as a complex of three ideas: liberty, equality, and reward for services contribut- ing to the common good.3

The term “person” is to be construed variously depending on the circumstances. On some occasions it will mean human individuals, but in others it may refer to nations, provinces, business firms, churches, teams, and so on. The principles of justice apply in all these instances, although there is a certain logical priority to the case of human individuals. As I shall use the term “person,” it will be ambiguous in the manner indicated.

The first principle holds, of course, only if other things are equal: that is, while there must always be a justification for departing from the initial position of equal liberty (which is defined by the pattern of rights and duties, powers and liabilities, estab- lished by a practice), and the burden of proof is placed on him who would depart from it, nevertheless, there can be, and often there is, a justification for doing so. Now, that similar particular cases, as defined by a practice, should be treated similarly as they arise, is part of the very concept of a practice; it is involved in the notion of an activity in accordance with rules.4 The first principle expresses an analogous conception, but as applied to the structure of practices themselves. It holds, for example, that there is a presumption against the distinctions and classifications made by legal systems and other practices to the extent that they infringe on the original and equal liberty of the persons participating in them. The second principle defines how this presumption may be rebutted.

It might be argued at this point that justice requires only an equal liberty. If, however, a greater liberty were possible for all without loss or conflict, then it would be irra- tional to settle on a lesser liberty. There is no reason for circumscribing rights unless their exercise would be incompatible, or would render the practice defining them less effective. Therefore no serious distortion of the concept of justice is likely to fol- low from including within it the concept of the greatest equal liberty.

The second principle defines what sorts of inequalities are permissible; it speci- fies how the presumption laid down by the first principle may be put aside. Now by

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inequalities it is best to understand not any differences between offices and positions, but differences in the benefits and burdens attached to them either directly or indi- rectly, such as prestige and wealth, or liability to taxation and compulsory services. Players in a game do not protest against there being different positions, such as bat- ter, pitcher, catcher, and the like, nor to there being various privileges and powers as specified by the rules; nor do the citizens of a country object to there being the differ- ent offices of government such as president, senator, governor, judge, and so on, each with their special rights and duties. It is not differences of this kind that are normally thought of as inequalities, but differences in the resulting distribution established by a practice, or made possible by it, of the things men strive to attain or avoid. Thus they may complain about the pattern of honors and rewards set up by a practice (e.g., the privileges and salaries of government officials) or they may object to the distribution of power and wealth which results from the various ways in which men avail them- selves of the opportunities allowed by it (e.g., the concentration of wealth which may develop in a free price system allowing large entrepreneurial or speculative gains).

It should be noted that the second principle holds that an inequality is allowed only if there is reason to believe that the practice with the inequality, or resulting in it, will work for the advantage of every party engaging in it. Here it is important to stress that every party must gain from the inequality. Since the principle applies to practices, it implies that the representative man in every office or position defined by a practice, when he views it as a going concern, must find it reasonable to prefer his condition and prospects with the inequality to what they would be under the practice without it. The principle excludes, therefore, the justification of inequalities on the grounds that the disadvantages of those in one position are outweighed by the greater advan- tages of those in another position. This rather simple restriction is the main modifica- tion I wish to make in the utilitarian principle as usually understood. When coupled with the notion of a practice, it is a restriction of consequence5, and one which some utilitarians, e.g., Hume and Mill, have used in their discussions of justice without real- izing apparently its significance, or at least without calling attention to it.6 Why it is a significant modification of principle, changing one’s conception of justice entirely, the whole of my argument will show.

Further, it is also necessary that the various offices to which special benefits or bur- dens attach are open to all. It may be, for example, to the common advantage, as just defined, to attach special benefits to certain offices. Perhaps by doing so the requi- site talent can be attracted to them and encouraged to give its best efforts. But any offices having special benefits must be won in a fair competition in which contestants are judged on their merits. If some offices were not open, those excluded would nor- mally be justified in feeling unjustly treated, even if they benefited from the greater efforts of those who were allowed to compete for them. Now if one can assume that offices are open, it is necessary only to consider the design of practices themselves and how they jointly, as a system, work together. It will be a mistake to focus attention on the varying relative positions of particular persons, who may be known to us by their proper names, and to require that each such change, as a once for all transaction viewed in isolation, must be in itself just. It is the system of practices which is to be

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judged, and judged from a general point of view: unless one is prepared to criticize it from the standpoint of a representative man holding some particular office, one has no complaint against it.

3. Given these principles one might try to derive them from a priori principles of reason, or claim that they were known by intuition. These are familiar enough steps and, at least in the case of the first principle, might be made with some success. Usually, how- ever, such arguments, made at this point, are unconvincing. They are not likely to lead to an understanding of the basis of the principles of justice, not at least as principles of justice. I wish, therefore, to look at the principles in a different way.

Imagine a society of persons amongst whom a certain system of practices is already well established. Now suppose that by and large they are mutually self-interested; their allegiance to their established practices is normally founded on the prospect of self-advantage. One need not assume that, in all senses of the term “person,” the persons in this society are mutually self-interested. If the characterization as mutu- ally self-interested applies when the line of division is the family, it may still be true that members of families are bound by ties of sentiment and affection and willingly acknowledge duties in contradiction to self-interest. Mutual self-interestedness in the relations between families, nations, churches, and the like, is commonly associated with intense loyalty and devotion on the part of individual members. Therefore, one can form a more realistic conception of this society if one thinks of it as consisting of mutually self-interested families, or some other association. Further, it is not nec- essary to suppose that these persons are mutually self-interested under all circum- stances, but only in the usual situations in which they participate in their common practices.

Now suppose also that these persons are rational: they know their own interests more or less accurately; they are capable of tracing out the likely consequences of adopting one practice rather than another; they are capable of adhering to a course of action once they have decided upon it; they can resist present temptations and the entice- ments of immediate gain; and the bare knowledge or perception of the difference between their condition and that of others is not, within certain limits and in itself, a source of great dissatisfaction. Only the last point adds anything to the usual defini- tion of rationality. This definition should allow, I think, for the idea that a rational man would not be greatly downcast from knowing, or seeing, that others are in a better position than himself, unless he thought their being so was the result of injustice, or the consequence of letting chance work itself out for no useful common purpose, and so on. So if these persons strike us as unpleasantly egoistic, they are at least free in some degree from the fault of envy.7

Finally, assume that these persons have roughly similar needs and interests, or needs and interests in various ways complementary, so that fruitful cooperation amongst them is possible; and suppose that they are sufficiently equal in power and abil- ity to guarantee that in normal circumstances none is able to dominate the others. This condition (as well as the others) may seem excessively vague; but in view of the

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conception of justice to which the argument leads, there seems no reason for making it more exact here.

Since these persons are conceived as engaging in their common practices, which are already established, there is no question of our supposing them to come together to deliberate as to how they will set these practices up for the first time. Yet we can imag- ine that from time to time they discuss with one another whether any of them has a legitimate complaint against their established institutions. Such discussions are per- fectly natural in any normal society. Now suppose that they have settled on doing this in the following way. They first try to arrive at the principles by which complaints, and so practices themselves, are to be judged. Their procedure for this is to let each per- son propose the principles upon which he wishes his complaints to be tried with the understanding that, if acknowledged, the complaints of others will be similarly tried, and that no complaints will be heard at all until everyone is roughly of one mind as to how complaints are to be judged. They each understand further that the principles proposed and acknowledged on this occasion are binding on future occasions. Thus each will be wary of proposing a principle which would give him a peculiar advantage, in his present circumstances, supposing it to be accepted. Each person knows that he will be bound by it in future circumstances the peculiarities of which cannot be known, and which might well be such that the principle is then to his disadvantage. The idea is that everyone should be required to make in advance a firm commitment, which others also may reasonably be expected to make, and that no one be given the opportunity to tailor the canons of a legitimate complaint to fit his own special con- dition, and then to discard them when they no longer suit his purpose. Hence each person will propose principles of a general kind which will, to a large degree, gain their sense from the various applications to be made of them, the particular circum- stances of which being as yet unknown. These principles will express the conditions in accordance with which each is the least unwilling to have his interests limited in the design of practices, given the competing interests of the others, on the supposition that the interests of others will be limited likewise. The restrictions which would so arise might be thought of as those a person would keep in mind if he were designing a practice in which his enemy were to assign him his place.

The two main parts of this conjectural account have a definite significance. The character and respective situations of the parties reflect the typical circumstances in which questions of justice arise. The procedure whereby principles are proposed and acknowledged represents constraints, analogous to those of having a morality, whereby rational and mutually self-interested persons are brought to act reasonably. Thus the first part reflects the fact that questions of justice arise when conflicting claims are made upon the design of a practice and where it is taken for granted that each person will insist, as far as possible, on what he considers his rights. It is typical of cases of justice to involve persons who are pressing on one another their claims, between which a fair balance or equilibrium must be found. On the other hand, as expressed by the second part, having a morality must at least imply the acknowledg- ment of principles as impartially applying to one’s own conduct as well as to anoth- er’s, and moreover principles which may constitute a constraint, or limitation, upon

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the pursuit of one’s own interests. There are, of course, other aspects of having a morality: the acknowledgment of moral principles must show itself in accepting a reference to them as reasons for limiting one’s claims, in acknowledging the burden of providing a special explanation, or excuse, when one acts contrary to them, or else in showing shame and remorse and a desire to make amends, and so on. It is sufficient to remark here that having a morality is analogous to having made a firm commitment in advance; for one must acknowledge the principles of morality even when to one’s dis- advantage.8 A man whose moral judgments always coincided with his interests could be suspected of having no morality at all.

Thus the two parts of the foregoing account are intended to mirror the kinds of cir- cumstances in which questions of justice arise and the constraints which having a morality would impose upon persons so situated. In this way one can see how the acceptance of the principles of justice might come about, for given all these conditions as described, it would be natural if the two principles of justice were to be acknowl- edged. Since there is no way for anyone to win special advantages for himself, each might consider it reasonable to acknowledge equality as an initial principle. There is, however, no reason why they should regard this position as final; for if there are inequalities which satisfy the second principle, the immediate gain which equality would allow can be considered as intelligently invested in view of its future return. If, as is quite likely, these inequalities work as incentives to draw out better efforts, the members of this society may look upon them as concessions to human nature: they, like us, may think that people ideally should want to serve one another. But as they are mutually self-interested, their acceptance of these inequalities is merely the acceptance of the relations in which they actually stand, and a recognition of the motives which lead them to engage in their common practices. They have no title to complain of one another. And so provided that the conditions of the principle are met, there is no reason why they should not allow such inequalities. Indeed, it would be shortsighted of them to do so, and could result, in most cases, only from their being dejected by the bare knowledge, or perception, that others are better situated. Each person will, however, insist on an advantage to himself, and so on a common advan- tage, for none is willing to sacrifice anything for the others.

These remarks are not offered as a proof that persons so conceived and circumstanced would settle on the two principles, but only to show that these principles could have such a background, and so can be viewed as those principles which mutually self- interested and rational persons, when similarly situated and required to make in advance a firm commitment, could acknowledge as restrictions governing the assign- ment of rights and duties in their common practices, and thereby accept as limiting their rights against one another. The principles of justice may, then, be regarded as those principles which arise when the constraints of having a morality are imposed upon parties in the typical circumstances of justice.

4. These ideas are, of course, connected with a familiar way of thinking about justice which goes back at least to the Greek Sophists, and which regards the acceptance of the principles of justice as a compromise between persons of roughly equal power

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who would enforce their will on each other if they could, but who, in view of the equality of forces amongst them and for the sake of their own peace and security, acknowledge certain forms of conduct insofar as prudence seems to require. Justice is thought of as a pact between rational egoists the stability of which is dependent on a balance of power and a similarity of circumstances.9 While the previous account is connected with this tradition, and with its most recent variant, the theory of games,10 it differs from it in several important respects which, to forestall misinterpretations, I will set out here.

First, I wish to use the previous conjectural account of the background of justice as a way of analyzing the concept. I do not want, therefore, to be interpreted as assuming a general theory of human motivation: when I suppose that the parties are mutu- ally self-interested, and are not willing to have their (substantial) interests sacrificed to others, I am referring to their conduct and motives as they are taken for granted in cases where questions of justice ordinarily arise. Justice is the virtue of practices where there are assumed to be competing interests and conflicting claims, and where it is supposed that persons will press their rights on each other. That persons are mutually self-interested in certain situations and for certain purposes is what gives rise to the question of justice in practices covering those circumstances. Amongst an association of saints, if such a community could really exist, the disputes about justice could hardly occur; for they would all work selflessly together for one end, the glory of God as defined by their common religion, and reference to this end would settle every question of right. The justice of practices does not come up until there are several different parties (whether we think of these as individuals, associations, or nations and so on, is irrelevant) who do press their claims on one another, and who do regard themselves as representatives of interests which deserve to be considered. Thus the previous account involves no general theory of human motivation. Its intent is sim- ply to incorporate into the conception of justice the relations of men to one another which set the stage for questions of justice. It makes no difference how wide or gen- eral these relations are, as this matter does not bear on the analysis of the concept.

Again, in contrast to the various conceptions of the social contract, the several par- ties do not establish any particular society or practice; they do not covenant to obey a particular sovereign body or to accept a given constitution.11 Nor do they, as in the theory of games (in certain respects a marvelously sophisticated development of this tradition), decide on individual strategies adjusted to their respective circumstances in the game. What the parties do is to jointly acknowledge certain principles of appraisal relating to their common practices either as already established or merely proposed. They accede to standards of judgment, not to a given practice; they do not make any specific agreement, or bargain, or adopt a particular strategy. The subject of their acknowledgment is, therefore, very general indeed; it is simply the acknowl- edgment of certain principles of judgment, fulfilling certain general conditions, to be used in criticizing the arrangement of their common affairs. The relations of mutual self-interest between the parties who are similarly circumstanced mirror the condi- tions under which questions of justice arise, and the procedure by which the prin- ciples of judgment are proposed and acknowledged reflects the constraints of having

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a morality. Each aspect, then, of the preceding hypothetical account serves the pur- pose of bringing out a feature of the notion of justice. One could, if one liked, view the principles of justice as the “solution” of this highest order “game” of adopting, subject to the procedure described, principles of argument for all coming particular “games” whose peculiarities one can in no way foresee. But this comparison, while no doubt helpful, must not obscure the fact that this highest order “game” is of a special sort.12 Its significance is that its various pieces represent aspects of the concept of justice.

Finally, I do not, of course, conceive the several parties as necessarily coming together to establish their common practices for the first time. Some institutions may, indeed, be set up de novo; but I have framed the preceding account so that it will apply when the full complement of social institutions already exists and represents the result of a long period of development. Nor is the account in any way fictitious. In any society where people reflect on their institutions they will have an idea of what principles of justice would be acknowledged under the conditions described, and there will be occasions when questions of justice are actually discussed in this way. Therefore if their practices do not accord with these principles, this will affect the quality of their social relations. For in this case there will be some recognized situations wherein the parties are mutually aware that one of them is being forced to accept what the other would concede is unjust. The foregoing analysis may then be thought of as represent- ing the actual quality of relations between persons as defined by practices accepted as just. In such practices the parties will acknowledge the principles on which it is constructed, and the general recognition of this fact shows itself in the absence of resentment and in the sense of being justly treated. Thus one common objection to the theory of the social contract, its apparently historical and fictitious character, is avoided.

5. That the principles of justice may be regarded as arising in the manner described illustrates an important fact about them. Not only does it bring out the idea that justice is a primitive moral notion in that it arises once the concept of morality is imposed on mutually self-interested agents similarly circumstanced, but it empha- sizes that, fundamental to justice, is the concept of fairness which relates to right deal- ing between persons who are cooperating with or competing against one another, as when one speaks of fair games, fair competition, and fair bargains. The question of fairness arises when free persons, who have no authority over one another, are engaging in a joint activity and amongst themselves settling or acknowledging the rules which define it and which determine the respective shares in its benefits and burdens. A practice will strike the parties as fair if none feels that, by participating in it, they or any of the others are taken advantage of, or forced to give in to claims which they do not regard as legitimate. This implies that each has a conception of legitimate claims which he thinks it reasonable for others as well as himself to acknowledge. If one thinks of the principles of justice as arising in the manner described, then they do define this sort of conception. A practice is just or fair, then, when it satisfies the principles which those who participate in it could propose to one another for mutual acceptance under the aforementioned circumstances. Persons engaged in a just, or fair, practice can face one another openly and support their respective positions,

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should they appear questionable, by reference to principles which it is reasonable to expect each to accept.

It is this notion of the possibility of mutual acknowledgment of principles by free persons who have no authority over one another which makes the concept of fairness fundamental to justice. Only if such acknowledgment is possible can there be true community between persons in their common practices; otherwise their relations will appear to them as founded to some extent on force. If, in ordinary speech, fairness applies more particularly to practices in which there is a choice whether to engage or not (e.g., in games, business competition), and justice to practices in which there is no choice (e.g., in slavery), the element of necessity does not render the conception of mutual acknowledgment inapplicable, although it may make it much more urgent to change unjust than unfair institutions. For one activity in which one can always engage is that of proposing and acknowledging principles to one another supposing each to be similarly circumstanced; and to judge practices by the principles so arrived at is to apply the standard of fairness to them.

Now if the participants in a practice accept its rules as fair, and so have no complaint to lodge against it, there arises a prima facie duty (and a corresponding prima facie right) of the parties to each other to act in accordance with the practice when it falls upon them to comply. When any number of persons engage in a practice, or conduct a joint undertaking according to rules, and thus restrict their liberty, those who have submitted to these restrictions when required have the right to a similar acquies- cence on the part of those who have benefited by their submission. These conditions will obtain if a practice is correctly acknowledged to be fair, for in this case all who participate in it will benefit from it. The rights and duties so arising are special rights and duties in that they depend on previous actions voluntarily undertaken, in this case on the parties having engaged in a common practice and knowingly accepted its benefits.13 It is not, however, an obligation which presupposes a deliberate performa- tive act in the sense of a promise, or contract, and the like.14 An unfortunate mistake of proponents of the idea of the social contract was to suppose that political obligation does require some such act, or at least to use language which suggests it. It is suffi- cient that one has knowingly participated in and accepted the benefits of a practice acknowledged to be fair. This prima facie obligation may, of course, be overridden: it may happen, when it comes one’s turn to follow a rule, that other considerations will justify not doing so. But one cannot, in general, be released from this obligation by denying the justice of the practice only when it falls on one to obey. If a person rejects a practice, he should, so far as possible, declare his intention in advance, and avoid participating in it or enjoying its benefits.

This duty I have called that of fair play, but it should be admitted that to refer to it in this way is, perhaps, to extend the ordinary notion of fairness. Usually acting unfairly is not so much the breaking of any particular rule, even if the infraction is difficult to detect (cheating), but taking advantage of loopholes or ambiguities in rules, avail- ing oneself of unexpected or special circumstances which make it impossible to enforce them, insisting that rules be enforced to one’s advantage when they should

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be suspended, and more generally, acting contrary to the intention of a practice. It is for this reason that one speaks of the sense of fair play: acting fairly requires more than simply being able to follow rules; what is fair must often be felt, or perceived, one wants to say. It is not, however, an unnatural extension of the duty of fair play to have it include the obligation which participants who have knowingly accepted the benefits of their common practice owe to each other to act in accordance with it when their performance falls due; for it is usually considered unfair if someone accepts the benefits of a practice but refuses to do his part in maintaining it. Thus one might say of the tax-dodger that he violates the duty of fair play: he accepts the benefits of govern- ment but will not do his part in releasing resources to it; and members of labor unions often say that fellow workers who refuse to join are being unfair: they refer to them as “free riders,” as persons who enjoy what are the supposed benefits of unionism, higher wages, shorter hours, job security, and the like, but who refuse to share in its burdens in the form of paying dues, and so on.

The duty of fair play stands beside other prima facie duties such as fidelity and grati- tude as a basic moral notion; yet it is not to be confused with them.15 These duties are all clearly distinct, as would be obvious from their definitions. As with any moral duty, that of fair play implies a constraint on self-interest in particular cases; on occasion it enjoins conduct which a rational egoist strictly defined would not decide upon. So while justice does not require of anyone that he sacrifice his interests in that general position and procedure whereby the principles of justice are proposed and acknowl- edged, it may happen that in particular situations, arising in the context of engaging in a practice, the duty of fair play will often cross his interests in the sense that he will be required to forego particular advantages which the peculiarities of his circumstances might permit him to take. There is, of course, nothing surprising in this. It is simply the consequence of the firm commitment which the parties may be supposed to have made, or which they would make, in the general position, together with the fact that they have participated in and accepted the benefits of a practice which they regard as fair.

Now the acknowledgment of this constraint in particular cases, which is manifested in acting fairly or wishing to make amends, feeling ashamed, and the like, when one has evaded it, is one of the forms of conduct by which participants in a common practice exhibit their recognition of each other as persons with similar interests and capacities. In the same way that, failing a special explanation, the criterion for the recognition of suffering is helping one who suffers, acknowledging the duty of fair play is a neces- sary part of the criterion for recognizing another as a person with similar interests and feelings as oneself.16 A person who never under any circumstances showed a wish to help others in pain would show, at the same time, that he did not recognize that they were in pain; nor could he have any feelings of affection or friendship for anyone; for having these feelings implies, failing special circumstances, that he comes to their aid when they are suffering. Recognition that another is a person in pain shows itself in sympathetic action; this primitive natural response of compassion is one of those responses upon which the various forms of moral conduct are built.

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Similarly, the acceptance of the duty of fair play by participants in a common prac- tice is a reflection in each person of the recognition of the aspirations and interests of the others to be realized by their joint activity. Failing a special explanation, their acceptance of it is a necessary part of the criterion for their recognizing one another as persons with similar interests and capacities, as the conception of their relations in the general position supposes them to be. Otherwise they would show no recognition of one another as persons with similar capacities and interests, and indeed, in some cases perhaps hypothetical, they would not recognize one another as persons at all, but as complicated objects involved in a complicated activity. To recognize another as a person one must respond to him and act towards him in certain ways; and these ways are intimately connected with the various prima facie duties. Acknowledging these duties in some degree, and so having the elements of morality, is not a matter of choice, or of intuiting moral qualities, or a matter of the expression of feelings or attitudes (the three interpretations between which philosophical opinion frequently oscillates); it is simply the possession of one of the forms of conduct in which the rec- ognition of others as persons is manifested.

These remarks are unhappily obscure. Their main purpose here, however, is to fore- stall, together with the remarks in Section 4, the misinterpretation that, on the view presented, the acceptance of justice and the acknowledgment of the duty of fair play depends in every day life solely on there being a de facto balance of forces between the parties. It would indeed be foolish to underestimate the importance of such a balance in securing justice; but it is not the only basis thereof. The recognition of one another as persons with similar interests and capacities engaged in a common prac- tice must, failing a special explanation, show itself in the acceptance of the principles of justice and the acknowledgment of the duty of fair play.

The conception at which we have arrived, then, is that the principles of justice may be thought of as arising once the constraints of having a morality are imposed upon rational and mutually self-interested parties who are related and situated in a special way. A practice is just if it is in accordance with the principles which all who par- ticipate in it might reasonably be expected to propose or to acknowledge before one another when they are similarly circumstanced and required to make a firm com- mitment in advance without knowledge of what will be their peculiar condition, and thus when it meets standards which the parties could accept as fair should occasion arise for them to debate its merits. Regarding the participants themselves, once per- sons knowingly engage in a practice which they acknowledge to be fair and accept the benefits of doing so, they are bound by the duty of fair play to follow the rules when it comes their turn to do so, and this implies a limitation on their pursuit of self-interest in particular cases.

Now one consequence of this conception is that, where it applies, there is no moral value in the satisfaction of a claim incompatible with it. Such a claim violates the con- ditions of reciprocity and community amongst persons, and he who presses it, not being willing to acknowledge it when pressed by another, has no grounds for com- plaint when it is denied; whereas he against whom it is pressed can complain. As

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it cannot be mutually acknowledged it is a resort to coercion; granting the claim is possible only if one party can compel acceptance of what the other will not admit. But it makes no sense to concede claims the denial of which cannot be complained of in preference to claims the denial of which can be objected to. Thus in deciding on the justice of a practice it is not enough to ascertain that it answers to wants and interests in the fullest and most effective manner. For if any of these conflict with justice, they should not be counted, as their satisfaction is no reason at all for having a practice. It would be irrelevant to say, even if true, that it resulted in the greatest satisfaction of desire. In tallying up the merits of a practice one must toss out the satisfaction of interests the claims of which are incompatible with the principles of justice.

6. The discussion so far has been excessively abstract. While this is perhaps unavoid- able, I should now like to bring out some of the features of the conception of justice as fairness by comparing it with the conception of justice in classical utilitarianism as represented by Bentham and Sidgwick, and its counterpart in welfare econom- ics. This conception assimilates justice to benevolence and the latter in turn to the most efficient design of institutions to promote the general welfare. Justice is a kind of efficiency.17

Now it is said occasionally that this form of utilitarianism puts no restrictions on what might be a just assignment of rights and duties in that there might be circumstances which, on utilitarian grounds, would justify institutions highly offensive to our ordi- nary sense of justice. But the classical utilitarian conception is not totally unprepared for this objection. Beginning with the notion that the general happiness can be rep- resented by a social utility function consisting of a sum of individual utility functions with identical weights (this being the meaning of the maxim that each counts for one and no more than one),18 it is commonly assumed that the utility functions of individ- uals are similar in all essential respects. Differences between individuals are ascribed to accidents of education and upbringing, and they should not be taken into account. This assumption, coupled with that of diminishing marginal utility, results in a prima facie case for equality, e.g., of equality in the distribution of income during any given period of time, laying aside indirect effects on the future. But even if utilitarianism is interpreted as having such restrictions built into the utility function, and even if it is supposed that these restrictions have in practice much the same result as the applica- tion of the principles of justice (and appear, perhaps, to be ways of expressing these principles in the language of mathematics and psychology), the fundamental idea is very different from the conception of justice as fairness. For one thing, that the prin- ciples of justice should be accepted is interpreted as the contingent result of a higher order administrative decision. The form of this decision is regarded as being similar to that of an entrepreneur deciding how much to produce of this or that commodity in view of its marginal revenue, or to that of someone distributing goods to needy persons according to the relative urgency of their wants. The choice between prac- tices is thought of as being made on the basis of the allocation of benefits and burdens to individuals (these being measured by the present capitalized value of their utility over the full period of the practice’s existence), which results from the distribution of rights and duties established by a practice.

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Moreover, the individuals receiving these benefits are not conceived as being related in any way: they represent so many different directions in which limited resources may be allocated. The value of assigning resources to one direction rather than another depends solely on the preferences and interests of individuals as individuals. The sat- isfaction of desire has its value irrespective of the moral relations between persons, say as members of a joint undertaking, and of the claims which, in the name of these interests, they are prepared to make on one another;19 and it is this value which is to be taken into account by the (ideal) legislator who is conceived as adjusting the rules of the system from the center so as to maximize the value of the social utility function.

It is thought that the principles of justice will not be violated by a legal system so conceived provided these executive decisions are correctly made. In this fact the prin- ciples of justice are said to have their derivation and explanation; they simply express the most important general features of social institutions in which the administrative problem is solved in the best way. These principles have, indeed, a special urgency because, given the facts of human nature, so much depends on them; and this explains the peculiar quality of the moral feelings associated with justice.20 This assimilation of justice to a higher order executive decision, certainly a striking conception, is cen- tral to classical utilitarianism; and it also brings out its profound individualism, in one sense of this ambiguous word. It regards persons as so many separate directions in which benefits and burdens may be assigned; and the value of the satisfaction or dissatisfaction of desire is not thought to depend in any way on the moral relations in which individuals stand, or on the kinds of claims which they are willing, in the pursuit of their interests, to press on each other.

7. Many social decisions are, of course, of an administrative nature. Certainly this is so when it is a matter of social utility in what one may call its ordinary sense: that is, when it is a question of the efficient design of social institutions for the use of com- mon means to achieve common ends. In this case either the benefits and burdens may be assumed to be impartially distributed, or the question of distribution is misplaced, as in the instance of maintaining public order and security or national defense. But as an interpretation of the basis of the principles of justice, classical utilitarianism is mistaken. It permits one to argue, for example, that slavery is unjust on the grounds that the advantages to the slaveholder as slaveholder do not counterbalance the dis- advantages to the slave and to society at large burdened by a comparatively ineffi- cient system of labor. Now the conception of justice as fairness, when applied to the practice of slavery with its offices of slaveholder and slave, would not allow one to consider the advantages of the slaveholder in the first place. As that office is not in accordance with principles which could be mutually acknowledged, the gains accru- ing to the slaveholder, assuming them to exist, cannot be counted as in any way miti- gating the injustice of the practice. The question whether these gains outweigh the disadvantages to the slave and to society cannot arise, since in considering the justice of slavery these gains have no weight at all which requires that they be overridden. Where the conception of justice as fairness applies, slavery is always unjust.

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I am not, of course, suggesting the absurdity that the classical utilitarians approved of slavery. I am only rejecting a type of argument which their view allows them to use in support of their disapproval of it. The conception of justice as derivative from efficiency implies that judging the justice of a practice is always, in principle at least, a matter of weighing up advantages and disadvantages, each having an intrinsic value or disvalue as the satisfaction of interests, irrespective of whether or not these interests necessarily involve acquiescence in principles which could not be mutually acknowledged. Utilitarianism cannot account for the fact that slavery is always unjust, nor for the fact that it would be recognized as irrelevant in defeating the accusation of injustice for one person to say to another, engaged with him in a common practice and debating its merits, that nevertheless it allowed of the greatest satisfaction of desire. The charge of injustice cannot be rebutted in this way. If justice were derivative from a higher order executive efficiency, this would not be so.

But now, even if it is taken as established that, so far as the ordinary conception of justice goes, slavery is always unjust (that is, slavery by definition violates commonly recognized principles of justice), the classical utilitarian would surely reply that these principles, as other moral principles subordinate to that of utility, are only generally correct. It is simply for the most part true that slavery is less efficient than other insti- tutions; and while common sense may define the concept of justice so that slavery is unjust, nevertheless, where slavery would lead to the greatest satisfaction of desire, it is not wrong. Indeed, it is then right, and for the very same reason that justice, as ordinarily understood, is usually right. If, as ordinarily understood, slavery is always unjust, to this extent the utilitarian conception of justice might be admitted to differ from that of common moral opinion. Still the utilitarian would want to hold that, as a matter of moral principle, his view is correct in giving no special weight to consid- erations of justice beyond that allowed for by the general presumption of effective- ness. And this, he claims, is as it should be. The every day opinion is morally in error, although, indeed, it is a useful error, since it protects rules of generally high utility.

The question, then, relates not simply to the analysis of the concept of justice as com- mon sense defines it, but the analysis of it in the wider sense as to how much weight considerations of justice, as defined, are to have when laid against other kinds of moral considerations. Here again I wish to argue that reasons of justice have a special weight for which only the conception of justice as fairness can account. Moreover, it belongs to the concept of justice that they do have this special weight. While Mill recognized that this was so, he thought that it could be accounted for by the special urgency of the moral feelings which naturally support principles of such high utility. But it is a mistake to resort to the urgency of feeling; as with the appeal to intuition, it manifests a failure to pursue the question far enough. The special weight of considerations of justice can be explained from the conception of justice as fairness. It is only necessary to elaborate a bit what has already been said as follows.

If one examines the circumstances in which a certain tolerance of slavery is justified, or perhaps better, excused, it turns out that these are of a rather special sort. Perhaps slavery exists as an inheritance from the past and it proves necessary to dismantle

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it piece by piece; at times slavery may conceivably be an advance on previous insti- tutions. Now while there may be some excuse for slavery in special conditions, it is never an excuse for it that it is sufficiently advantageous to the slaveholder to out- weigh the disadvantages to the slave and to society. A person who argues in this way is not perhaps making a wildly irrelevant remark; but he is guilty of a moral fallacy. There is disorder in his conception of the ranking of moral principles. For the slave- holder, by his own admission, has no moral title to the advantages which he receives as a slaveholder. He is no more prepared than the slave to acknowledge the principle upon which is founded the respective positions in which they both stand. Since slav- ery does not accord with principles which they could mutually acknowledge, they each may be supposed to agree that it is unjust: it grants claims which it ought not to grant and in doing so denies claims which it ought not to deny. Amongst persons in a general position who are debating the form of their common practices, it cannot, therefore, be offered as a reason for a practice that, in conceding these very claims that ought to be denied, it nevertheless meets existing interests more effectively. By their very nature the satisfaction of these claims is without weight and cannot enter into any tabulation of advantages and disadvantages.

Furthermore, it follows from the concept of morality that, to the extent that the slave- holder recognizes his position vis-a-vis the slave to be unjust, he would not choose to press his claims. His not wanting to receive his special advantages is one of the ways in which he shows that he thinks slavery is unjust. It would be fallacious for the leg- islator to suppose, then, that it is a ground for having a practice that it brings advan- tages greater than disadvantages, if those for whom the practice is designed, and to whom the advantages flow, acknowledge that they have no moral title to them and do not wish to receive them.

For these reasons the principles of justice have a special weight; and with respect to the principle of the greatest satisfaction of desire, as cited in the general position amongst those discussing the merits of their common practices, the principles of jus- tice have an absolute weight. In this sense they are not contingent; and this is why their force is greater than can be accounted for by the general presumption (assuming that there is one) of the effectiveness, in the utilitarian sense, of practices which in fact satisfy them.

If one wants to continue using the concepts of classical utilitarianism, one will have to say, to meet this criticism, that at least the individual or social utility functions must be so defined that no value is given to the satisfaction of interests the representative claims of which violate the principles of justice. In this way it is no doubt possible to include these principles within the form of the utilitarian conception; but to do so is, of course, to change its inspiration altogether as a moral conception. For it is to incor- porate within it principles which cannot be understood on the basis of a higher order executive decision aiming at the greatest satisfaction of desire.

It is worth remarking, perhaps, that this criticism of utilitarianism does not depend on whether or not the two assumptions, that of individuals having similar utility

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functions and that of diminishing marginal utility, are interpreted as psychologi- cal propositions to be supported or refuted by experience, or as moral and political principles expressed in a somewhat technical language. There are, certainly, several advantages in taking them in the latter fashion.21 For one thing, one might say that this is what Bentham and others really meant by them, as least as shown by how they were used in arguments for social reform. More importantly, one could hold that the best way to defend the classical utilitarian view is to interpret these assumptions as moral and political principles. It is doubtful whether, taken as psychological proposi- tions, they are true of men in general as we know them under normal conditions. On the other hand, utilitarians would not have wanted to propose them merely as practical working principles of legislation, or as expedient maxims to guide reform, given the egalitarian sentiments of modern society.22 When pressed they might well have invoked the idea of a more or less equal capacity of men in relevant respects if given an equal chance in a just society. But if the argument above regarding slavery is correct, then granting these assumptions as moral and political principles makes no difference. To view individuals as equally fruitful lines for the allocation of benefits, even as a matter of moral principle, still leaves the mistaken notion that the satisfac- tion of desire has value in itself irrespective of the relations between persons as mem- bers of a common practice, and irrespective of the claims upon one another which the satisfaction of interests represents. To see the error of this idea one must give up the conception of justice as an executive decision altogether and refer to the notion of jus- tice as fairness: that participants in a common practice be regarded as having an origi- nal and equal liberty and that their common practices be considered unjust unless they accord with principles which persons so circumstanced and related could freely acknowledge before one another, and so could accept as fair. Once the emphasis is put upon the concept of the mutual recognition of principles by participants in a com- mon practice the rules of which are to define their several relations and give form to their claims on one another, then it is clear that the granting of a claim the principle of which could not be acknowledged by each in the general position (that is, in the posi- tion in which the parties propose and acknowledge principles before one another) is not a reason for adopting a practice. Viewed in this way, the background of the claim is seen to exclude it from consideration; that it can represent a value in itself arises from the conception of individuals as separate lines for the assignment of benefits, as isolated persons who stand as claimants on an administrative or benevolent largesse. Occasionally persons do so stand to one another; but this is not the general case, nor, more importantly, is it the case when it is a matter of the justice of practices them- selves in which participants stand in various relations to be appraised in accordance with standards which they may be expected to acknowledge before one another. Thus however mistaken the notion of the social contract may be as history, and however far it may overreach itself as a general theory of social and political obligation, it does express, suitably interpreted, an essential part of the concept of justice.23

8. By way of conclusion I should like to make two remarks: first, the original modifica- tion of the utilitarian principle (that it require of practices that the offices and posi- tions defined by them be equal unless it is reasonable to suppose that the representa- tive man in every office would find the inequality to his advantage), slight as it may

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appear at first sight, actually has a different conception of justice standing behind it. I have tried to show how this is so by developing the concept of justice as fairness and by indicating how this notion involves the mutual acceptance, from a general posi- tion, of the principles on which a practice is founded, and how this in turn requires the exclusion from consideration of claims violating the principles of justice. Thus the slight alteration of principle reveals another family of notions, another way of looking at the concept of justice.

Second, I should like to remark also that I have been dealing with the concept of jus- tice. I have tried to set out the kinds of principles upon which judgments concerning the justice of practices may be said to stand. The analysis will be successful to the degree that it expresses the principles involved in these judgments when made by competent persons upon deliberation and reflection.24 Now every people may be sup- posed to have the concept of justice, since in the life of every society there must be at least some relations in which the parties consider themselves to be circumstanced and related as the concept of justice as fairness requires. Societies will differ from one another not in having or in failing to have this notion but in the range of cases to which they apply it and in the emphasis which they give to it as compared with other moral concepts.

A firm grasp of the concept of justice itself is necessary if these variations, and the rea- sons for them, are to be understood. No study of the development of moral ideas and of the differences between them is more sound than the analysis of the fundamental moral concepts upon which it must depend. I have tried, therefore, to give an analysis of the concept of justice which should apply generally, however large a part the con- cept may have in a given morality, and which can be used in explaining the course of men’s thoughts about justice and its relations to other moral concepts. How it is to be used for this purpose is a large topic which I cannot, of course, take up here. I mention it only to emphasize that I have been dealing with the concept of justice itself and to indicate what use I consider such an analysis to have.

Source: Rawls, J. (1958). Justice as Fairness. The Philosophical Review, 67(2), 164–194. Retrieved from http://www.jstor.org/stable /2182612

Published by Duke University Press on behalf of Philosophical Review.

1 An abbreviated version of this paper (less than one-half the length) was presented in a symposium with the same title at the American Philosophical Association, Eastern Division, December 28, 1957, and appeared in the Journal of Philosophy, LIV, 653662. 2 I use the word “practice” throughout as a sort of technical term meaning any form of activity specified by a system of rules which defines offices, roles, moves, penalties, defenses, and so on, and which gives the activity its structure. As examples one may think of games and rituals, trials and parliaments, markets and systems of prop- erty. I have attempted a partial analysis of the notion of a practice in a paper “Two Concepts of Rules,” Philosophi- cal Review, LXIV (I955), 3–32. 3 These principles are, of course, well-known in one form or another and appear in many analyses of justice even where the writers differ widely on other matters. Thus if the principle of equal liberty is commonly associated with Kant (see The Philosophy of Law, tr. by W. Hastie, Edinburgh, 1887, pp. 56 f.), it may be claimed that it can also be found in J. S. Mill’s On Liberty and elsewhere, and in many other liberal writers. Recently H. L. A. Hart

http://www.jstor.org/stable/2182612

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has argued for something like it in his paper “Are There Any Natural Rights?,” Philosophical Review, LXIV (1955), 175–191. The injustice of inequalities which are not won in return for a contribution to the common advantage is, of course, widespread in political writings of all sorts. The conception of justice here discussed is distinctive, if at all, only in selecting these two principles in this form; but for another similar analysis, see the discussion by W. D. Lamont, The Principles of Moral Judgment (Oxford, 1946), ch. v. 4 This point was made by Sidgwick, Methods of Ethics, 6th ed. (London, 1901), Bk. III, ch. v, sec. I. It has recently been emphasized by Sir Isaiah Berlin in a symposium, “Equality,” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, n.s. I (1955–56), 305 f. 5 In the paper referred to above, footnote 2, I have tried to show the importance of taking practices as the proper subject of the utilitarian principle. The criticisms of so-called “restricted utilitarianism” by J. J. C. Smart, “Extreme and Restricted Utilitarianism,” Philosophical Quarterly, VI (1956), 344–354, and by H. J. McCloskey, “An Examina- tion of Restricted Utilitarianism,” Philosophical Review, LXVI (1957), 466–485, do not affect my argument. These papers are concerned with the very general proposition, which is attributed (with what justice I shall not con- sider) to S. E. Toulmin and P. H. Nowell-Smith (and in the case of the latter paper, also, apparently, to me); namely, the proposition that particular moral actions are justified by appealing to moral rules, and moral rules in turn by reference to utility. But clearly I meant to defend no such view. My discussion of the concept of rules as maxims is an explicit rejection of it. What I did argue was that, in the logically special case of practices (although actu- ally quite a common case) where the rules have special features and are not moral rules at all but legal rules or rules of games and the like (except, perhaps, in the case of promises), there is a peculiar force to the distinction between justifying particular actions and justifying the system of rules themselves. Even then I claimed only that restricting the utilitarian principle to practices as defined strengthened it. I did not argue for the position that this amendment alone is sufficient for a complete defense of utilitarianism as a general theory of morals. In this paper I take up the question as to how the utilitarian principle itself must be modified, but here, too, the subject of inquiry is not all of morality at once, but a limited topic, the concept of justice. 6 It might seem as if J. S. Mill, in paragraph 36 of Chapter V of Utilitarianism, expressed the utilitarian principle in this modified form, but in the remaining two paragraphs of the chapter, and elsewhere, he would appear not to grasp the significance of the change. Hume often emphasizes that every man must benefit. For example, in dis- cussing the utility of general rules, he holds that they are requisite to the “well-being of every individual”; from a stable system of property “every individual person must find himself a gainer in balancing the account. . . .” “Every member of society is sensible of this interest; everyone expresses this sense to his fellows along with the resolution he has taken of squaring his actions by it, on the conditions that others will do the same.” A Treatise of Human Nature, Bk. III, Pt. II, Section II, paragraph 22. 7 It is not possible to discuss here this addition to the usual conception of rationality. If it seems peculiar, it may be worth remarking that it is analogous to the modification of the utilitarian principle which the argument as a whole is designed to explain and justify. In the same way that the satisfaction of interests, the representative claims of which violate the principles of justice, is not a reason for having a practice (see sec. 7), unfounded envy, within limits, need not to be taken into account. 8 The idea that accepting a principle as a moral principle implies that one generally acts on it, failing a special explanation, has been stressed by R. M. Hare, The Language of Morals (Oxford, 1952). His formulation of it needs to be modified, however, along the lines suggested by P. L. Gardiner, “On Assenting to a Moral Principle,” Proceed- ings of the Aristotelian Society, n.s. LV (1955), 23–44. See also C. K. Grant, “Akrasia and the Criteria of Assent to Practical Principles,” Mind, LXV (I956), 400–407, where the complexity of the criteria for assent is discussed. 9 Perhaps the best known statement of this conception is that given by Glaucon at the beginning of Book II of Plato’s Republic. Presumably it was, in various forms, a common view among the Sophists; but that Plato gives a fair representation of it is doubtful. See K. R. Popper, The Open Society and Its Enemies, rev. ed. (Princeton, 1950), pp. 112–118. Certainly Plato usually attributes to it a quality of manic egoism which one feels must be an exaggeration; on the other hand, see the Melian Debate in Thucydides, The Peloponnesian War, Book V, ch. vii, although it is impossible to say to what extent the views expressed there reveal any current philosophical opinion. Also in this tradition are the remarks of Epicurus on justice in Principal Doctrines, XXXI–XXXVIII. In modern times elements of the conception appear in a more sophisticated form in Hobbes The Leviathan and in Hume A Treatise of Human Nature, Book III, Pt. II, as well as in the writings of the school of natural law such as Pufendorf’s De jure naturae et gentium. Hobbes and Hume are especially instructive. For Hobbes’s argument see

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Howard Warrender’s The Political Philosophy of Hobbes (Oxford, I957). W. J. Baumol’s Welfare Economics and the Theory of the State (London, 1952), is valuable in showing the wide applicability of Hobbes’s fundamental idea (interpreting his natural law as principles of prudence), although in this book it is traced back only to Hume’s Treatise. 10 See J. von Neumann and O. Morgenstern, The Theory of Games and Economic Behavior, 2nd ed. (Princeton, 1947). For a comprehensive and not too technical discussion of the developments since, see R. Duncan Luce and Howard Raiffa, Games and Decisions: Introduction and Critical Survey (New York, 1957). Chs. VI and XIV discuss the developments most obviously related to the analysis of justice. 11 For a general survey see J. W. Gough, The Social Contract, 2nd ed. (Oxford, 1957), and Otto von Gierke, The Development of Political Theory, tr. by B. Freyd (London, 1939), Pt. II, ch. ii. 12 The difficulty one gets into by a mechanical application of the theory of games to moral philosophy can be brought out by considering among several possible examples, R. B. Braithwaite’s study, Theory of Games as a Tool for the Moral Philosopher (Cambridge, 1955). On the analysis there given, it turns out that the fair division of playing time between Matthew and Luke depends on their preferences, and these in turn are connected with the instruments they wish to play. Since Matthew has a threat advantage over Luke, arising purely from the fact that Matthew, the trumpeter, prefers both of them playing at once to neither of them playing, whereas Luke, the pianist, prefers silence to cacophony, Matthew is alloted 26 evenings of play to Luke’s 17. If the situation were reversed, the threat advantage would be with Luke. See pp. 36 f. But now we have only to suppose that Mat- thew is a jazz enthusiast who plays the drums, and Luke a violinist who plays sonatas, in which case it will be fair, on this analysis, for Matthew to play whenever and as often as he likes, assuming, of course, as it is plau- sible to assume, that he does not care whether Luke plays or not. Certainly something has gone wrong. To each according to his threat advantage is hardly the principle of fairness. What is lacking is the concept of morality, and it must be brought into the conjectural account in some way or other. In the text this is done by the form of the procedure whereby principles are proposed and acknowledged (Section 3). If one starts directly with the particular case as known, and if one accepts as given and definitive the preferences and relative positions of the parties, whatever they are, it is impossible to give an analysis of the moral concept of fairness. Braithwaite’s use of the theory of games, insofar as it is intended to analyze the concept of fairness, is, I think, mistaken. This is not, of course, to criticize in any way the theory of games as a mathematical theory, to which Braithwaite’s book certainly contributes, nor as an analysis of how rational (and amoral) egoists might behave (and so as an analysis of how people sometimes actually do behave). But it is to say that if the theory of games is to be used to analyze moral concepts, its formal structure must be interpreted in a special and general manner as indicated in the text. Once we do this, though, we are in touch again with a much older tradition. 13 For the definition of this prima facie duty, and the idea that it is a special duty, I am indebted to H. L. A. Hart. See his paper “Are There Any Natural Rights?,” Philosophical Review, LXIV (1955), 185 f. 14 The sense of “performative” here is to be derived from J. L. Austin’s paper in the symposium, “Other Minds,” Proceedings of the Aristotelian Society, Supplementary Volume (1946), pp. 170–174. 15 This, however, commonly happens. Hobbes, for example, when invoking the notion of a “tacit covenant,” appeals not to the natural law that promises should be kept but to his fourth law of nature, that of gratitude. On Hobbes’s shift from fidelity to gratitude, see Warrender, op. cit., pp. 51–52, 233–237. While it is not a seri- ous criticism of Hobbes, it would have improved his argument had he appealed to the duty of fair play. On his premises he is perfectly entitled to do so. Similarly Sidgwick thought that a principle of justice, such as every man ought to receive adequate requital for his labor, is like gratitude universalized. See Methods of Ethics, Bk. III, ch. v, Sec. 5. There is a gap in the stock of moral concepts used by philosophers into which the concept of the duty of fair play fits quite naturally. 16 I am using the concept of criterion here in what I take to be Wittgenstein’s sense. See Philosophical Investiga- tions, (Oxford, 1953); and Norman Malcolm’s review, “Wittgenstein’s Philosophical Investigations,” Philosophical Review, LXIII (1954), 543–547. That the response of compassion, under appropriate circumstances, is part of the criterion for whether or not a person understands what “pain” means, is, I think, in the Philosophical Investiga- tions. The view in the text is simply an extension of this idea. I cannot, however, attempt to justify it here. Similar thoughts are to be found, I think, in Max Scheler, The Nature of Sympathy, tr. by Peter Heath (New Haven, 1954). His way of writing is often so obscure that I cannot be certain.

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17 While this assimilation is implicit in Bentham’s and Sidgwick’s moral theory, explicit statements of it as applied to justice are relatively rare. One clear instance in The Principles of Morals and Legislation occurs in ch. X, footnote 2 to section XL: “. . . justice, in the only sense in which it has a meaning, is an imaginary personage, feigned for the convenience of discourse, whose dictates are the dictates of utility, applied to certain particular cases. Justice, then, is nothing more than an imaginary instrument, employed to forward on certain occasions, and by certain means, the purposes of benevolence. The dictates of justice are nothing more than a part of the dictates of benevolence, which, on certain occasions, are applied to certain subjects. . . .” Likewise in The Limits of Jurisprudence Defined, ed. by C. W. Everett (New York, 1945), pp. 117 f., Bentham criticizes Grotius for denying that justice derives from utility; and in The Theory of Legislation, ed. by C. K. Ogden (London, 1931), p. 3, he says that he uses the words “just” and “unjust” along with other words “simply as collective terms including the ideas of certain pains or pleasures.” That Sidgwick’s conception of justice is similar to Bentham’s is admittedly not evident from his discussion of justice in Book III, ch. v of Methods of Ethics. But it follows, I think, from the moral theory he accepts. Hence C. D. Broad’s criticisms of Sidgwick in the matter of distributive justice in Five Types of Ethical Theory (London, 1930), pp. 249–253, do not rest on a misinterpretation. 18 This maxim is attributed to Bentham by J. S. Mill in Utilitarianism, ch. V, paragraph 36. I have not found it in Bentham’s writings, nor seen such a reference. Similarly James Bonar, Philosophy and Political Economy (London, 1893), p. 234 n. But it accords perfectly with Bentham’s ideas. See the hitherto unpublished manuscript in David Baumgardt, Bentham and the Ethics of Today (Princeton, 1952), Appendix IV. For example, “the total value of the stock of pleasure belonging to the whole community is to be obtained by multiplying the number expressing the value of it as respecting any one person, by the number expressing the multitude of such individuals” (p. 556). 19 An idea essential to the classical utilitarian conception of justice. Bentham is firm in his statement of it: “It is only upon that principle [the principle of asceticism], and not from the principle of utility, that the most abomi- nable pleasure which the vilest of malefactors ever reaped from his crime would be reprobated, if it stood alone. The case is, that it never does stand alone; but is necessarily followed by such a quantity of pain (or, what comes to the same thing, such a chance for a certain quantity of pain) that the pleasure in comparison of it, is as noth- ing: and this is the true and sole, but perfectly sufficient, reason for making it a ground for punishment” (The Principles of Morals and Legislation, ch. II, sec. iv. See also ch. X, sec. x, footnote i). The same point is made in The Limits of Jurisprudence Defined, pp. 115 f. Although much recent welfare economics, as found in such important works as I. M. D. Little, A Critique of Welfare Economics, 2nd ed. (Oxford, 1957) and K. J. Arrow, Social Choice and Individual Values (New York, 1951 ), dispenses with the idea of cardinal utility, and use instead the theory of ordinal utility as stated by J. R. Hicks, Value and Capital, 2nd ed. (Oxford, 1946), Pt. I, it assumes with utilitari- anism that individual preferences have value as such, and so accepts the idea being criticized here. I hasten to add, however, that this is no objection to it as a means of analyzing economic policy, and for that purpose it may, indeed, be a necessary simplifying assumption. Nevertheless it is an assumption which cannot be made in so far as one is trying to analyze moral concepts, especially the concept of justice, as economists would, I think, agree. Justice is usually regarded as a separate and distinct part of any comprehensive criterion of economic policy. See, for example, Tibor Scitovsky, Welfare and Competition (London, 1952), pp. 59–69, and Little, op. cit., ch. vii. 20 See J. S. Mill’s argument in Utilitarianism, ch. v, pars. 16–25. 21 See D. G. Ritchie, Natural Rights (London, 1894), pp. 95 ff., 249 ff. Lionel Robbins has insisted on this point on several occasions. See An Essay on the Nature and Significance of Economic Science, 2nd ed. (London, 1935), pp. 134–43, “Interpersonal Comparisons of Utility: A Comment,” Economic Journal, XLVIII (1938), 635–41, and more recently, “Robertson on Utility and Scope,” Economica, n.s. XX (1953), 108 f. 22 As Sir Henry Maine suggested Bentham may have regarded them. See The Early History of Institutions (London, 1875), pp. 398 ff. 23 Thus Kant was not far wrong when he interpreted the original contract merely as an “Idea of Reason”; yet he still thought of it as a general criterion of right and as providing a general theory of political obligation. See the second part of the essay, “On the Saying ‘That may be right in theory but has no value in practice’ “ (I793), in Kant’s Principles of Politics, tr. by W. Hastie (Edinburgh, 1891). I have drawn on the contractarian tradition not for a general theory of political obligation but to clarify the concept of justice. 24 For a further discussion of the idea expressed here, see my paper, “Outline of a Decision Procedure for Ethics,” in the Philosophical Review, LX (1951), 177–197. For an analysis, similar in many respects but using the notion of the ideal observer instead of that of the considered judgment of a competent person, see Roderick Firth,

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“Ethical Absolutism and the Ideal Observer,” Philosophy and Phenomenological Research, XII (1952), 317–345. While the similarities between these two discussions are more important than the differences, an analysis based on the notion of a considered judgment of a competent person, as it is based on a kind of judgment, may prove more helpful in understanding the features of moral judgment than an analysis based on the notion of an ideal observer, although this remains to be shown. A man who rejects the conditions imposed on a considered judgment of a competent person could no longer profess to judge at all. This seems more fundamental than his rejecting the conditions of observation, for these do not seem to apply, in an ordinary sense, to making a moral judgment.

Going Deeper

The Roots of the Categorical Imperative

Kant’s Situation When discussing the general notion of a law, rule, or command, we noted the role of some kind of law-giver that has the authority to place us under an obligation. If the laws, rules, or commands are associated with a political entity like a city, country, or organization like a university or military, it is much easier to accept that we have a duty to pay taxes, turn in assignments on time, or obey a commanding officer. But this doesn’t quite apply to the notion of universal moral duties, which are supposed to be independent of institutions or associations. Moreover, state laws, military commands, and the like pertain only to particu- lar kinds of actions or areas of people’s lives (like how fast to drive or one’s responsibilities while deployed on a military operation), whereas moral duties are much more comprehen- sive, including those that pertain to personal relationships and private choices.

So how can we make sense of the idea that there are universal moral laws and duties that apply to everyone? To do so would require identifying the right kind of authority. But who or what has authority over everyone, including private matters not regulated by governments or institutions?

In most societies, religion played this role—God or the gods imposed laws on humanity, and the authority of these laws comes from the notion of the Divine as the supreme ruler. Prob- lems arose when it came to which God or gods to acknowledge, how to know what they com- mand, how to interpret and apply the laws, and so on. It was often the established religious institutions or the rulers of a group or region that resolved these problems. Or, as with natural law theory, some sought to ground the law in the order of nature rather than in a direct com- mand from God. However, the authority of these laws still depended and depends on certain presumptions about human nature and, most likely, human nature’s relationship to God as the eternal law-giver.

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This is a highly oversimplified description, but it is important to recognize that by Kant’s time, most of these traditional sources of moral authority had been called into question. In Europe, starting roughly in the 1500s, the Scientific Revolution, the emergence of new political struc- tures, and the Protestant Reformation had undermined the dominant authorities up to that time, such as the monarchy and the Catholic Church. These revolutions left in their wake con- flicts and wars that threatened Europe’s social fabric. More specifically, they questioned the traditional sources of moral authority. Without the support of these sources, disagreements and disputes became much more substantial, widespread, and often violent.

Some philosophers, such as the Scottish philosopher David Hume, thought that we should abandon the idea that morality has a rational basis and proposed that we think of it as a senti- ment or feeling that we have when we consider certain kinds of actions (see the feature titled Emotivism in Chapter 2 for more). Although Hume thought we could make sense of the notion of duty, many people disagreed and worried that associating morality with sentiment or feel- ing would mean we have to do away with the notion of objective duties altogether.

Kant proposed a solution that could vindicate the idea of objective and universal moral duty even without the traditional authorities. This is explained in Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals. We examine this text in the main part of our text, but what follows is the basic idea.

Kant’s Solution Kant came at this problem from two angles. One starts with an intuitive idea about what morality is and tries to spell out and defend it in a way that can resolve disagreements about particular cases. The other angle begins with what we all have in common, no matter our reli- gion, culture, or background—that we are rational beings capable of making our own choices. It turns out that these converge on a single idea, what Kant calls the Categorical Imperative.

The Idea of Duty Despite the many cultural, religious, and individual differences about morality, almost every- one recognizes that some actions are required and others are prohibited. That is, everyone is familiar with the notion of a duty. Kant proposed that if we think about what the notion of a duty means, we can formulate a single moral principle that encapsulates this idea, and we can refer to this principle to determine whether particular actions or policies are in line with moral duty or would violate it.

As we have discussed, a duty is independent of interests and desires, unconditional, and exceptionless. Kant compares these characteristics of the moral law to the laws of nature. It would be nice if gravity switched off for a while so we could fly home rather than deal with traffic, or so we wouldn’t break our necks if we fall off a cliff. But just because it would be nice doesn’t mean it’s possible—regardless of how beneficial it might be to be free from the law of gravity, it will not happen.

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According to Kant, that’s how duties work. Obviously we aren’t physically subjected to moral duties in the same way we are to the laws of nature, but morally they apply regardless of who we are, what benefits there might be in breaking them, and so forth. Just like everyone will fall if they jump off a cliff, everyone is morally obligated to do their duties.

This allows us to determine whether certain actions fulfill our duties or conflict with them. If a duty is something that everyone is obligated to do or to avoid doing, I simply ask: What if everyone did this action I’m considering?

If the outcome is not something I would want, then there is a problem. For instance, consider our example of a doctor saving several lives by harvesting the organs of a random patient. If I was a doctor in that position, I might think that harvesting organs from this random patient would lead to good results . . . but what if everyone did that? What if I or my child was the one who would be killed for their organs? Or more broadly, what if every time I saw the doctor, even for a routine procedure, there was a chance that I might leave as a corpse without a set of organs?

If I would never want things to be this way and yet I still choose that action, then I am making myself an exception to the rule that I would want others to follow. In other words, I am saying, “It would be wrong for others to do this . . . but not me.” However, according to Kant, if it is wrong for others, then it is wrong for me too; this is what it means for something to be a duty.

Intuitively, the idea behind the notion of duty is that if something is morally right for me to do, then it is morally right for others as well. Or to put it the other way around, if it is not right for others to do, then it is not right for me to do either. So again, I ask myself: What if everyone did what I’m considering?

The Idea of Autonomy Kant wanted to show how there can be objective and universal moral duties despite religious, cultural, and other differences. One angle starts with an intuitive idea about what morality is, namely, duty. The other angle starts with something we all have in common: our capacity for reason and free self-determination, or autonomy. There are other things we have in common, to be sure; Mill and Bentham, for example, believed that we all seek pleasure and avoid pain. Kant agrees (though he would not agree that we seek these things above all else). However, we also have this in common with animals.

What animals cannot do, as far as we know, is step back from their desires, impulses, and appetites, and think something along the lines of, “I want to do this, but should I? Do I really have a good reason for doing this?” and to act on that thought.

For instance, have you ever been tempted by a desire for something but made a different choice because you tell yourself that you shouldn’t do it? Or have you ever been in that situa- tion and felt yourself unable to resist?

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If we reflect on those kinds of experiences, we often find that when we give in to temptation, it feels as if it’s not really our own self determining our actions but some other force, such as our desires and appetites, that we haven’t chosen. We feel enslaved by that force, whereas when we are the authors of our own actions and act on the basis of what we have deliberately chosen to do for good reasons, we feel free.

Kant thinks that this capacity to act autonomously is what gives humans their special dignity, and respecting this dignity will be the basis of an important part of our moral duties, as we will see shortly. For now, the question is: What does it mean to act freely, rather than to be governed by our desires or what someone else tells us to do? What determines our actions when we, say, resist that piece of chocolate cake? It’s our rational will.

Intuitively, the idea behind autonomy is that of rationally determining one’s own actions, rather than having them determined by some other will or force. So if acting autonomously means acting on the basis of what one’s own, independent rational will decides, and rational- ity is universal rather than something that varies from person to person or culture to culture, then whatever it is that makes one person’s choice rational (and thus freely chosen) should be something that any rational person could appreciate. So we must ask ourselves: Are my reasons for acting ones that anyone could rationally accept?

Whether we start from the idea of duty or the idea of autonomy, we are led to consider whether we are making a choice that we would want everyone to make. Or, to put it another way, that the reasons for our action are ones that everyone could accept; otherwise, we would be mak- ing ourselves an exception to the rule. This is the basic idea that Kant develops into what he considers the most fundamental duty of all: the Categorical Imperative.

Kant and Contemporary Moral Values

1. The Golden Rule The Golden Rule, probably the most well-known moral principle, states, “Do unto others as you would have them do unto you.” There are strong similarities between this principle and Kant’s Categorical Imperative, especially the formula the universal law. In both cases, we are enjoined to look beyond our own wants, needs, desires, and interests and consider whether our actions are consistent. Both principles also call us to show the same respect to others that we would expect them to show to us.

One thing to note, however, is that when we apply the Categorical Imperative, thinking about whether we would want the same thing done to us is only the starting point. Really what we should be considering is whether we would want everyone to do this action. For example, there are people who might be thinking about cheating on an assignment who could honestly say, “If I was the professor, I wouldn’t really care if my students cheated,” and thus the Golden Rule doesn’t move them. However, what they can’t say is that they would want all students to cheat, because then grades would be meaningless.

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This is an important distinction between Kant’s idea and the Golden Rule. One can think of the Golden Rule as a “rule of thumb,” while the Categorical Imperative would be a more precise way of expressing the same general idea.

2. The Value of Integrity When asked what they regard as a central value or the most important thing that a parent or mentor taught them, many people would answer, “Integrity.” One way to describe this is as “doing the right thing even when no one is looking,” or staying true to one’s values no matter what. A military serviceperson once described the way that this value affects his own behav- ior by talking about how he would salute the flag at certain times, even when no one was around. Clearly there are no obvious benefits gained or harms avoided by this action, yet it is something he believes is right to do for its own sake.

Even though saluting the flag isn’t a moral duty, the idea that we act consistently and are true to our values would display itself in similar ways when it came to moral choices. Parents often feel a sense of shame when they tell their children to act one way while they themselves act differently, recognizing how their words and actions fail to form an integral harmony. We heap praise on those who stick to their principles, even when they or others could benefit by not doing so. And for many, living in so that our beliefs, words, and actions are in harmony gives our lives a sense of wholeness and meaning, even in the face of misfortune or hardship.

Integrity alone isn’t enough, however; it is also important that the values and principles asso- ciated with integrity be the right ones. For example, there is no doubt that many fanatical religious extremists, Nazi soldiers, or those raised in highly racist environments display a high degree of integrity. We would simply say that they are being true to the wrong values. A view like Kant’s would explain why it is essential to do right no matter what, as well as help us discern what actually is right.

3. The Importance of Fairness If we think about which of the standard moral values seem to take root earliest in our lives, the value of fairness would be a strong candidate. One needs only think about how early in a child’s development parents have to start hearing the cry of “It’s not fair!” issuing from a child’s temperamental mouth. The child almost certainly lacks an understanding of what fairness really means, but we can appreciate the fact that even young children recognize its importance (Piaget, 1965). The problem is that children are likely to invoke the concept of fairness only when it suits them and then excuse themselves from that requirement when it doesn’t. Or they may twist the meaning of fairness so that “unfair” simply means not getting what they want or what other people have.

While we would like to say that people tend to outgrow these behaviors, that is not always the case. Adults have a tendency to either find excuses for why a certain standard doesn’t apply to them in this or that case, or to characterize the standard in such a way as to avoid the inconvenience of abiding by its usual characterization. In other words, we have a tendency to

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rationalize behavior that is fundamentally self-serving (as anyone who watches a politician speak can attest) or we even find cases in which such rationalization provides an excuse to perform heinous deeds in the name of “the greater good.”

Deontological theories can help us guard against such tendencies, and this can be so even if a procedure for determining one’s duty, such as that offered by Kant, doesn’t succeed. If the for- mula of universal law or the formula of humanity has flaws in its application, the injunction to seriously consider whether we are acting in a genuinely fair way can still be a powerful check on our behavior, as can the mandate to seriously consider whether we are paying the kind of respect toward others that they deserve and that we would expect from them.

4. Rights If the idea of fairness is one of the earliest moral notions people recognize, the idea of rights is one of the most common and pervasive. The Declaration of Independence speaks of the unalienable rights of life, liberty, and the pursuit of happiness possessed by all men. Later we realized that this was originally construed too narrowly and that the founders should have recognized that all people, regardless of gender, color, and so on have a right to equal treat- ment, to not be enslaved, and so forth.

Since 1948 the Universal Declaration of Human Rights has significantly impacted national and international policies and relations (UN General Assembly, 1948). Hardly a day goes by when we don’t hear a claim by or on behalf of an individual or group that their rights have been violated or that they have a right to thus-and-such. Many of the most prominent moral and political debates involve claims about rights: the right not to be tortured vs. the right to protect one’s country when debating the treatment of suspected terrorists; the right to life vs. the right to choice in the abortion debate; the right to marry vs. the rights of children to have both a mother and a father in the same-sex marriage debates; the right to bear arms vs. the right to live without the fear of violence in the gun control debate; and so on. Rights are also invoked at much more personal levels, such as the right to be repaid by the friend who bor- rowed money, the right of a student to be graded fairly by her teacher, or the right of the child to get the toy he wants.

Rights claims are everywhere, and as the previous list shows, some are almost indisputable (the right to equal treatment and to not be enslaved); some are silly (the right of the child to get the toy he wants); and many are the subject of much debate in terms of whether there is such a right, to whom and how widely it extends, and whether and when it can be ignored or overridden. Many rights are established through law as pertaining to certain designated indi- viduals, such as the right of citizens of a particular state to a certain minimum wage, the right of American citizens to vote, and the right of citizens in a certain county to use its recycling facilities.

However, established laws do not always settle the question of rights: even though women have the legal right to abort their pregnancy, many people feel that they should not on the grounds that the fetus has a right to life. Before 2015 most same-sex couples did not have the right to marry, but many people believed they should. In such cases, there is supposed to be

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a moral right that the laws have failed to recognize. Moreover, many people would assert that every human, no matter their country, religion, culture, race, or background, has a right not to be enslaved or exploited, and some would extend this right to animals as well.

We cannot begin to discuss all of the various theories about rights, but in order to connect the idea of rights to deontological ethics, a few points can be made. First, almost all theorists agree that rights are closely associated with duties. If we say that someone has a right to life, then everyone has a duty not to kill that person. To look at the relation the other way around, if we have a duty not to lie or a duty to keep our promises, then we might say that others have a right not to be lied to or have the right to have the promise fulfilled. To be able to decide between competing rights claims, therefore, we must be able to invoke the concept of duty that is at the center of deontological ethics.

It is important to note that utilitarians have also defended an account of rights, usually on the grounds that recognizing or granting certain rights better promotes overall human welfare than not recognizing or granting them (Mill, 1956; Pettit, 1997). But on this account, it is theoretically possible that a society might refuse to recognize certain rights, even fundamen- tal ones such as the right not to be enslaved, if the social benefit is great enough. Accounts of rights rooted in deontological views, however, are independent of the social consequences. On such accounts, the right not to be enslaved, for instance, is absolute, and should not be violated no matter the benefits of doing so.

This is generally what people mean when they speak of natural or human rights—rights that people have regardless of the society in which they live, much less how that society would be benefited or harmed by ascribing such rights. When we refer to natural rights, it generally invokes a corresponding notion of a natural law, such as the kind defended by Thomas Aqui- nas or (more frequently in contemporary society) a somewhat different kind that has its roots in the theories of the 17th-century British philosopher John Locke (1689/1998).

The notion of universal human rights as we know it today has been heavily influenced by Kant’s attempts to ground the notion of moral law in something independent of nature, soci- ety, culture, or any other such feature. As we can see, whichever approach one favors, deon- tological ethics plays an indispensable role in some of the most important public issues and debates today.

Furthermore, on most accounts, rights are absolute, and thereby override considerations of social benefits and harms on specific occasions (Dworkin, 1984). On both the natural law and Kantian accounts of deontological ethics, we have certain duties and obligations that are inde- pendent of the benefits and harms that would result from respecting or not respecting them. This idea carries over to the notion of rights.

We can see this at the level of legal rights. There is a legal right not to be discriminated against because of one’s race. Law enforcement officials, therefore, cannot decide to focus their efforts on people of certain races while ignoring those of other races, even if they were to judge (rightly or wrongly) that doing so would be the most effective way to reduce overall crime rates.

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Moral rights involve the same idea but at a much deeper level. In the debates over slavery during the 19th century, defenders of slavery would often appeal to the social and economic harms that would follow, especially for the South, if slavery were abolished. They were almost certainly correct—the Southern culture and economy was heavily dependent upon slaves, and abolishing slavery did, in fact, cause significant economic disruption and great social upheaval. Some also suggested that blacks were better off as slaves and that abolishing slav- ery would ultimately harm them in addition to the harm it would cause white society.

One response to this kind of argument would be to try to counter these claims by showing, for instance, that the benefits of abolishing slavery would outweigh the harms; that blacks were not, in fact, better off as slaves; and so on. But to many, invoking the idea of benefits and harms when discussing slavery would involve “one thought too many” (Williams, 1981, p. 18): the right not to be enslaved is fundamental and has nothing to do with social benefits and harms.

Similar ways of thinking can be observed in many debates today, such as the ones mentioned at the beginning of this section. In such debates, we often find arguments that appeal to the social benefits or harms of a certain policy. But we also find other kinds of arguments that assert something more absolute and fundamental—a fundamental right to freedom and self-determination, for example, or an argument that certain actions or policies violate basic human dignity. Such ideas will generally be expressive of the force and prominence that deon- tological thinking has in our contemporary world.