1
Moral Worth
Sometimes a person does the right thing without earning our admiration. The reader of Madame Bovary is told of the protagonist:
She sewed clothes for the poor, she sent wood to women in childbirth; and on coming home one day, Charles found three tramps eating soup in the kitchen. Her little girl, whom her husband had sent back to the nurse during her illness, returned home. She wanted to teach her to read; even Berthe’s crying no longer irritated her. She was resigned, universally tolerant. Her speech was full of elevated expressions. She would say: ‘Is your stomach-ache any better, my angel?’
Flaubert does not admire Madame Bovary for her charity, referring to her as ‘indulging’ in ‘excessive charity.’ But why? It is hardly morally wrong for her to do so much. But Madame Bovary’s good works are taken up, briefly, after a long illness brought about by the traumatic end of her first extramarital affair, and she loses her interest in orphans as soon as her next lover comes along.
Madame Bovary’s actions appear motivated by a mere infatuation with morality. Perhaps her actions are ‘indulgent’ in that, even though she desires to be moral, and performs her good works because they are moral, she has an ulterior motive of sorts. Like the romantic who is in love not with her lover but with love, Madame Bovary seems to be in love not so much with morality as with the romance of morality. To desire to become the kind of person who cares about morality may be a worthy motive, but something about Madame Bovary’s dwelling upon the long trimmed-trains of these ladies’ long gowns, something about the quasi-sexual passion with which she kisses the image of Christ seems suspicious. Why the same actions prompt us to praise—or blame—some agents much less than others is what I shall call the question of moral worth.
1 A Few Clarifications
The moral worth of an action is the extent to which the agent deserves moral praise or blame for performing the action, the extent to which the action speaks well of the agent. I will speak interchangeably of ‘a morally praiseworthy action’ and ‘an action which has positive moral worth.’ In deviation from the Kantian use of the term ‘moral worth’, I will also speak interchangeably of an action with negative moral worth as an action for which the agent is blameworthy and as a ‘morally blameworthy action.’
Obviously, the extent to which
an agent deserves praise or blame for her action depends substantially on the
action’s moral desirability:
whether it is right or wrong, or how grave a wrong it is, or whether it is the
best possible action, but two actions which are equal in moral desirability may
be of different moral worth. To give a simple example, two people may donate
equally to Oxfam, but one of them may do so out of compassion, while the other
does so purely at the urgings of her accountant. Even if the two agents’ deeds
are equally morally desirable, it is not true that both deserve the same
praise. Similarly, a person rude to her colleagues due to the stress caused by
grave news may merit less blame than a genius rude to her colleagues due to her
indifference to ‘lesser minds.’
While this distinction between moral desirability and moral
worth appears trivial, it is often ignored. One hears that ‘Kant is concerned
with the motives for our actions, while utilitarians only care about the
results,’ but paying attention to the distinction between moral desirability
and moral worth reveals the falsity of the classroom cliché. When it comes to
moral desirability, Kantians are interested in whether the action, under a
certain description, is permitted by a universal law. Recall Kant’s prudent
grocer, who prices his merchandise fairly because a reputation for honesty
tends to increase his profit. Despite the prudent grocer’s unimpressive motive,
Kant never denies that the grocer does the right thing.
In this sense, Kantians care about more then motives alone. On the other hand,
when it comes to moral worth, utilitarians are free to be as concerned with
motives as Kantians. In fact, just as Mill[1] repeats
the claim that the rightness or wrongfulness of actions has nothing to do with
the agent’s motives, he also repeats the claim that motives are relevant to our
moral evaluation of the agent:
... the
motive has nothing to do with the morality of the action, though much with the
worth of the agent .... The motive, that is, the feeling which makes him will
so to do, if it makes no difference in the act, makes none in the morality [of
the act]; though it makes a great difference in our moral
estimation of the agent.
(Italics added.)
As the moral worth of an action is the ‘estimation’ merited by the agent for the action, it is not implausible to think of Mill as allowing motives to be relevant to the moral worth of actions, even if they have nothing to do with rightness or wrongfulness. More importantly, putting interpretive issues aside, it is quite consistent to view the moral desirability of actions as depending entirely on their consequences, and the moral worth of actions as depending partly on motive. One can believe that giving to charity is desirable because it promotes happiness, but that an agent giving to charity out of a desire for this end merits more praise than does her counterpart who is merely concerned with her tax situation.[2]
2 Responsiveness to Moral Reasons
Consider again the prudent grocer. One need not know the
details of Kant’s discussion to agree that a grocer motivated solely by concern
for profit is not particularly praiseworthy for pricing fairly. One is happy
the grocer does the right thing, but feels it is a mere accident, for which one
is not inclined to give the grocer moral credit. But what, exactly, makes it
accidental? It is not simply the fact that the profit
motive does not reliably produce moral actions. We can imagine a world in which
some invisible hand makes the profit motive reliably produces morally right
actions, place Kant’s grocer in that world, and still not free ourselves from
the sense that there is something accidental in his acting well. It is
accidental in the same way it is accidental that a person reading Lolita for
the love of scandal reads an aesthetically superior book. The scandal-lover is
attracted to Lolita for
reasons that are of no interest to the aesthetician, and Kant’s grocer is
attracted to fair pricing for reasons that are of no interest to the ethicist.
The salient feature of Kant’s case is that the grocer’s action does not stem
from any responsiveness on his part to moral reasons. In pricing fairly, the
grocer acts for a reason that has nothing to do with morality, or with the features
of his action which makes it morally right. His reasons
for action do not correspond to the action’s right-making
features, suggesting:
Praiseworthiness as Responsiveness to Moral Reasons: for an agent to be morally
praiseworthy for doing the right thing is for her to have done the right thing
for the relevant moral reasons, i.e., the reasons making it right.
Kant appeals to this idea when he argues that only the good
will is necessarily good, and Aristotle appeals to it when he explains that
defending one’s city would not be virtuous if motivated by desire for fame.
Thus, it may look tempting, or even trivial, to move to the more elegant Kantian
claim that morally praiseworthy actions are all and only those right actions
performed from duty, or
the venerable Aristotelian view that to act virtuously, one needs to perform
fine actions for the sake of the fine. But
as these claims are often understood, this would be an error. Usually, ‘acting
from duty’ and ‘acting for the sake of the fine’ are taken to indicate acting
for reasons believed or known to
be moral reasons, but it can be shown that moral worth is fundamentally about
acting for moral reasons, not about acting for reasons believed or known to be
such.
3 Moral Responsiveness Versus Concern for Morality
Consider the Kantian claim that all and only morally
praiseworthy right actions—or, in his language, all and only dutiful actions that
‘have moral worth’—are performed from duty. In her ‘On the Value of Acting from
the Motive of Duty,’ Barbara Herman[3]
phrases the doctrine of the motive of duty in the following way:
For a motive to be a moral motive, it must provide the agent with an interest in the general rightness of his actions. And when we say that an action has moral worth, we mean to indicate (at the very least) that the agent acted dutifully from an interest in the rightness of his action: an interest that therefore makes its being a right action the non-accidental effect of the agent’s concern.
But for a right action to have (positive) moral worth, it is
neither sufficient nor necessary that it stem from the agent’s interest in the
rightness of his action. To see that it is not sufficient, one
can look at cases in which an agent does the right thing out of concern for
doing the right thing, and still the fact that he did the right thing appears
accidental. This can happen when the agent has a mistaken view of morality.
Consider:
The Extremist: After the assassination of Yitzhack Rabin, some Jewish extremists expressed the opinion that the murder was horrible mostly because it involved a Jew killing a Jew. Imagine for a moment that Ron is such an extremist, believing deeply that killing a person is not generally immoral, but that killing a fellow Jew is. Ron would very much like to kill Tamara, but he refrains from doing so, because he wants to do the right thing, and he believes the right thing to do is not to kill Jews like Tamara.
Here Ron does the right thing—refrain from killing
Tamara—because he wants to do the right thing and believes, rightly, that
refraining from killing would be the right thing to do. He does not, however,
do the right thing for the relevant moral reasons, Tamara’s ethnicity being
morally irrelevant. Hence the impression that it is merely accidental that
Ron does the right thing. Ron is not morally praiseworthy for his inaction, for
he is unmoved by the morally relevant reasons, but rather by reasons he
mistakenly believes to be morally relevant.
The story of Ron shows that for an agent to be morally praiseworthy for acting well it is not sufficient that she act on a desire to do what is right. One might suggest instead that one is morally praiseworthy for acting well iff one acts on a desire to do what is right and has moral knowledge, or knowledge of the virtues. Perhaps this formulation would better capture Kant’s view, and it certainly appears to be Aristotle’s. But even if acting on a desire to do what is right assisted by knowledge of the right is sufficient for granting one’s good deeds moral worth, it is not necessary for it. Consider cases in which a person does the right thing for moral reasons, but does not in any way act out of a desire to do the right thing. It is exactly ignorance of the virtues, or lack of moral knowledge, that can lead a person to this state. The same ignorance that led the extremist to mistake racist reasons for moral reasons can sometimes cause a person to mistake moral reasons—for which he acts—for something else.
Consider first what I have
called ‘inverse akrasia’[4],
a term referring to the phenomenon in which an agent does the right thing, but
does so against her best judgment. Davidson[5]
points out that, contra Aristotle, akrasia does not always involve an agent
doing something she should not do—it need only involve an agent doing something
which she thinks she should not do. If we were to believe that the average
person should
brush his teeth every night, Davidson’s well-known case of the man who decides
not to brush his teeth but brushes them anyway would be a case of inverse akrasia.[6] Some
cases of inverse akrasia are quite clearly cases in which an agent accidentally
does something that happens to be right, i.e., cases of right action without
moral worth. But some cases of inverse akrasia are also cases of morally
praiseworthy action.
Huckleberry Finn befriends Jim and helps him escape from
slavery. While Huckleberry and Jim are together on their raft, Huckleberry is
plagued by what he calls ‘conscience.’ He believes, as everyone in his society
‘knows,’ that helping a slave escape amounts to stealing, and stealing is
wrong. He also believes that one should be helpful and loyal to one’s friends,
but loyalty to friends is outweighed by some things, such as property rights,
and does Miss Watson, Jim’s owner, not have property rights? Hoping to find
some excuse not to turn Jim in, Huckleberry deliberates. He is not very good at
abstract deliberation, and it never occurs to him to doubt what his society
considers common sense. Thus, he fails to find a loophole. ‘What has poor Miss
Watson done to me,’ he berates himself, ‘that I can see her nigger go away and
say nothing at all?’ Having thus deliberated, Huckleberry resolves to turn Jim
in, because it is ‘the right thing.’ But along comes a perfect opportunity, and
he finds himself psychologically unable to do it. He accuses himself of being a
weak-willed boy who has not ‘the spunk of a rabbit,’ and decides that being
moral is such a hard and thankless a task that he might as well give up and
remain a bad boy. Obviously, Huckleberry does the right thing, but does he
merit praise? The answer to this question depends on our reconstruction of
Huckleberry’s motives, but, on at least some, Huckleberry is morally
praiseworthy for his action. If Huckleberry were to help Jim because of the
operation, within himself, of some purely atavistic mechanism—akin, perhaps, to
the human tendency to favor animals with infantile appearance (big eyes, etc.)—we
would not regard his action as morally praiseworthy, because he would not be
acting for reasons at all. This is, perhaps, what Kant thinks about when he
talks of acting out of ‘mere inclination’ and it is the interpretation favored
by Bennett,[7] who sees
Huckleberry as merely squeamish, soft-hearted, unable to see a man in chains.
In this interpretation, Huckleberry is a racist boy who accidentally does
something good. There is, however, a version of the story in which Huckleberry
is morally praiseworthy for his action.[8] In this
scenario, Huckleberry’s visceral experience of black people is inconsistent
with his ‘official’ racist views. There are people who sport liberal views but
cross the road when a person of a different race appears. Huckleberry, on this
reading, is the opposite: racist in conscious opinion but viscerally more
egalitarian. This discrepancy widens during the time he spends with Jim.
Talking to Jim and interacting with him, Huckleberry constantly perceives data
(never deliberated upon) that amount to the impression that Jim is a full
person, just like Huckleberry himself. While he never deliberates on his perceptions,[9] they
prompt him to increasingly act towards Jim as a friend. Twain makes it very
easy for the boy to perceive that Jim is very similar to him: Jim shares
Huckleberry’s language, knowledge, ignorance and superstitions, and all in all
it does not take the genius of John Stuart Mill to see that there is no particular
reason to think of one of them as inferior to the other. That Huckleberry
begins to perceive Jim as a fellow human being is suggested when Huckleberry
finds himself, to his surprise, apologizing to Jim—an action unthinkable
in a society treating black men as subhuman. Contra Hursthouse,[10] my
point is not simply that Huckleberry Finn does not have the belief that his
action is moral on his mind while he acts. He does not have the belief that
what he does is right anywhere in his head—this
moral insight is exactly what eludes him. Yet when the opportunity comes to turn
Jim in, and Huckleberry experiences a strong reluctance to do so, his reluctance
is to a large extent the result of the fact that he has come to perceive Jim as
a person, even if his conscious mind has not yet come to reflective awareness
of this. To the extent that Huckleberry is reluctant to turn Jim in because of
Jim’s personhood, he is acting for morally significant
reasons. This is so even though he knows neither that these are the right
reasons nor that that he is acting from them. Huckleberry Finn, on this
reading, is not a bad boy who has accidentally done something good, but a good
boy with imperfect knowledge.
Huckleberry Finn is not an isolated case. Inverse akrasia is
not unlike a more common sort of behavioral inconsistency: the person whose
explicit moral or political views are terribly wrong, but who in practice
‘cannot hurt a fly.’ We all have friends, family members, or acquaintances of
this sort: the likes of a student who, waving his copy of Atlas
Shrugged in one’s face, preaches that one should be selfish, and
then proceeds to lose sleep generously helping his peers. Were philosophers
right in believing that only actions following from one’s conscious moral
principles are done for moral reasons, we should view these people as bad people
with moral luck. More commonly, however, we treat these people as fundamentally
good people who happen to be incompetent abstract thinkers. While such people
may be baffling—note the fascination with the character of Oskar Schindler—they
are as commonplace as their opposite numbers, people with wonderful convictions
who act immorally. The idea that we can sometimes act for moral reasons without
knowing that we act for moral reasons is not strange when posed against the
background of epistemology and psychology, where many have maintained that we
can know without knowing that we know, believe without believing that we believe,
or act for a reason without knowing that we act for a reason. It is only
strange when posed against certain traditions in ethics and action theory,
wherein we are used to viewing people as divided neatly into the Faculty of
Reason and that shady realm of emotion, inclination and instinct. I argue
against this picture elsewhere;[11] here, I
would just like to point out the following: on the Reason/Inclination picture,
an agent who is pulled into action by ‘inclination’ can only be blamed indirectly—for
failing to restrain his desires and emotions properly—and can only be praised
indirectly—for managing to train his desires and emotions so that they appear
in the right time and place. One may attempt, with difficulty, to force the
plethora of different cases in which one condemns the viscerally racist liberal
or the child-beating Christian into a picture in which it is only a lack of
self-control that one condemns. But Huckleberry Finn, Oskar Schindler, and our Atlas
Shrugged-toting friend are obviously not praiseworthy for any kind
of self-training or character-building on their parts. They are praiseworthy
because some of their moral common sense—their responsiveness to moral
reasons—is intact.
4 Blame and Moral Unresponsiveness
To recapitulate: some people do the right thing by accident, while others do the right thing in response to moral reasons. Those who do the right thing in response to moral reasons are those who are morally praiseworthy for their actions. It stands to reason, then, that something similar would be true of people who do the wrong thing. Sometimes, the fact that one did the wrong thing appears to be accidental, while at other times it seems to stem from what can be called ‘ill will’, or from a deficiency of good will. If good will is responsiveness to moral reasons, deficiency in good will is insufficient responsiveness to moral reasons, and ill will is responsiveness to sinister reasons—reasons which, in their essence, conflict with morality. Imagine, for example, that Jeanne is very rude to Joseph and hurts his feelings. Many scenarios can be imagined which fill in her motives. Perhaps she comes from an aggressive culture in which ‘shut up’ is a commonly used phrase, and has not met people who find it offensive. In this case, the fact that she did something hurtful is, in a clear sense, accidental. Perhaps, on the other hand, she has no such excuse, and she acts the way she does because she desires to vent the tensions of a long day by saying exactly what comes to her mind, which happens to be offensive to Joseph in an obvious way. In this case, she is blameworthy, because her action indicates a failure to respond to morally relevant considerations—she should be motivated by the fact that Joseph is likely to be hurt by what she says, but she is unmoved. A third possibility is that she is rude to Joseph because she enjoys inflicting suffering on others and wishes to hurt Joseph. In this scenario, she is even more blameworthy than in the previous one, as her action not only expresses a deficiency of good will, but also expresses ill will. There is nothing about the desire to vent one’s feelings which essentially conflicts with morality. Like the more celebrated motives of love and money, it can sometimes conflict with morality, while at other times it leads to morally good or neutral actions. On the other hand, a desire to inflict suffering for its own sake is essentially in conflict with morality. To do something purely because it would inflict suffering on a fellow human being is to act for sinister or ‘anti-moral’ reasons. Other things being equal, a person is more blameworthy for a given wrong if she acts out of ill will (from sinister reasons) than she would be if she were to act out of a lack of good will (out of neutral reasons, while ignoring moral reasons to the contrary). This does not, however, imply that a sadist or a proponent of a sinister ideology is always a worse person than an opportunist. A chilling, profound indifference to moral reasons, the kind compatible with, say, killing for profit, is much worse than a predilection for the mildly immoral, such as a taste for unnerving one’s underlings.
Consider again the person who fails to respond to relevant moral factors. There seems to be more than one way one can lack this responsiveness. Sometimes, one is deficient in moral perception—blind, as it were, to some moral factors. Some people, for example, do not seem to be able to grasp the idea of personal autonomy. Imagine here the sort of parent who not only fails to see that anything could be wrong with her extremely paternalistic treatment of her adult son, but cannot understand the concept of ‘paternalism’ even after it has been explained over and over. (‘But if no one tells you what to do, how will you know?’ she asks in bewilderment.) More often, however, one perceives all the morally relevant features of a situation, but is not sufficiently moved by them. One need not be an amoralist for this to happen; it is enough that one be a more common, though much less discussed figure—the human, all-too-human person who cares about morality, but not very much. Mary may realize that if she does not promptly return a friend’s book she will break a promise and cause unnecessary distress, and she may still not send it, because it is freezing outside or because it would be nice if she finished the novel she is writing before her birthday, and so she cannot really spare the time to make a special trip. Not being an amoralist, it is not the case that she is indifferent to the institution of promising or other relevant moral factors. She cares about these things—enough to feel morally guilty for her course of action and enough not to commit more serious breaches of trust, but not enough to motivate her to go to the post office. The first kind of morally unresponsive person is analogous to the person who does not notice it when his clothes do not match. The second kind is analogous to the person who notices very well when his clothes are unmatched, but does not care about appearance enough to make sure that he is never stuck with nothing to wear but his orange shirt and purple pants. Deficiency of perception and deficiency of motivation are, admittedly, hard to tell apart. Many people have wondered if a spouse don’t see the dust on the floor or doesn’t care if it is there, and the diagnosis is hard because there is often a combination. Similar things apply to the person of mediocre moral sensibilities. A person who does not care much about morality may not give much thought to some things to which a more morally concerned person would pay more attention, and thus in fact be less competent in perceiving other people’s feelings, putting herself in their shoes, etc.[12]
5 Degrees of Moral Concern
The above discussion of moral unresponsiveness has brought to the foreground the idea that, given that a person is motivated by moral (or anti-moral) reasons, she can be motivated by them more or less powerfully. Let us go back, for a moment, to the realm of praise. Kant’s prudent grocer and his ilk demonstrate to us that moral praise is warranted for the agent who acts for moral reasons, as opposed to others. But suppose we know that an agent acts for moral reasons. What bearing should the amount of concern that he has for moral considerations have on our assessment of his action’s moral worth? I suggest:
Praiseworthiness as Responsivness to Moral Reasons (revised version): For an agent to be morally praiseworthy for doing the right thing is for her to have done the right thing for the relevant moral reasons—i.e., in response to the features that make it right (the right reasons clause); and an agent is more praiseworthy, other things being equal, the stronger the moral concern that has led to her action (the concern clause). Moral concern is to be understood as concern for what is in fact morally relevant and not as concern for what the agent takes to be morality.[13]
I take concern to be a form of desire: for a person to be
concerned with morality is for her to have an intrinsic desire that people
(herself included) do that which is, in fact, moral. Much work has been devoted
to the study of desire, and very different views have been defended by philosophers
of mind.[14]
Giving a full account of concern in general or moral concern in particular
would require choosing a theory of desire, which is not my aim here.[15] What
I will do instead is, first, sharpen our intuitive idea of concern by making a
few points about what depth of concern does not
amount to, and, second, to point out what I take to be important markers of
depth of concern.
Strength of concern does not
amount to a type of reflective endorsement.
Erica and I may reflectively endorse the same kind of political action, but she
may be more concerned with it than I am, which may explain why she is at a
demonstration while I am writing. It is also natural to say that I am less committed
to political action than Erica is, and this may tempt some readers to think of
caring in terms of commitment—reflective
endorsement with some sort of emotional back-up, perhaps. This would also be
misleading, as we may deeply care about things that we do not reflectively
endorse at all. Lisa may care deeply about Todd and her relationship with him
even though she believes she should not do so, or even though she is utterly
unaware of her deep concern, ignoring it in practical deliberation. Strength of
concern also does not amount simply to intensity of feeling at a
given moment. I may care about the well-being of my friends more than I care
about drinking soda, even though now, thirsty as I am, I experience my desire
for soda considerably more intensely than I experience my concern for my
friends. Yet intensity of feeling is not disconnected from depth of concern
either.
Surges of emotion are not what constitute depth of concern,
nor are they infallible indicators of it. Yet they strike me as one of three modestly
reliable indices of concern, the other two being cognitive dispositions and
motivational dispositions. Lacking a satisfactory consensus theory of desire,
these signposts will have to suffice. As for emotions, the more one cares about
morality, the more it colors one’s emotional world, other things being equal
(though other things are rarely equal when it comes to people’s emotional
lives). The morally concerned person tends to find the thought of doing wrong
distressing—that is, she feels guilt. She also
feels anger when reading about atrocities in the news, sadness when wondering,
as Kant did, if ‘anything straight can be fashioned from the crooked timber of
humanity,’ admiration for moral heroes, and so on. The cognitive/perceptual
signs of moral concern are more subtle: a person concerned with morality is, to
that degree, other things being equal, ‘morality conscious,’ noticing morally
relevant things others might not. It is a feature of the human mind that we
learn more about things of more concern to us: other things being equal, a
bird-lover will notice a bird on the roof while a person who does not care
about birds might not. If one cares about morality, one is more apt to notice,
for example, that a fellow human being is showing the signs of distress, or
that a joke has the potential to offend certain people. Finally, motivation is
an obvious guide to depth of concern. The more you care about something, the
more it takes to stop you from acting for its sake (again, other things being
equal). In this paper, I will focus on motivational and emotional factors, but
this is for convenience of discussion only.
Imagine a person who cares so much for her fellow human
beings, or for what she rightly takes to be her moral duty to them, that she
would act benevolently even if severe depression came upon her and made it hard
for her to pay attention to others. Now imagine benevolence’s fair-weather
friend, who acts benevolently so long as no serious problems cloud her mind.
Last, imagine the person who acts benevolently as a whim. It is Sunday morning
and she is awakened by a call from a charity asking for a donation. Our agent
thinks, ‘Oh, why not?’ and is moved to do something right, so long as her
credit card happens to be close enough to the bed. The first agent is more
praiseworthy for her actions than the second, I hold, because of the first’s
greater moral concern, revealed by her persistent devotion to moral issues even
in hard times. Kant, though, would have offered a different explanation,
holding that the first agent is more praiseworthy than the second because she
acts out of one motive, duty, while the second one acts out of a motive called
‘inclination’, a basically hedonistic motive. This, however, need not be the
case. My second agent, unlike Kant’s own happy philanthropist, is not someone
who ‘gets her kicks’ out of doing good deeds (like Jane Austen’s Emma), and her
disposition need not be particularly sunny. She is just an ordinary person who
does good for moral reasons, but whose moral concern is not deep enough to override
some other concerns when they appear. Certainly, she sometimes feels a sense of
satisfaction with herself, but one needs to be quite a psychological hedonist
to think that any action which results in pleasure is motivated solely by it.
There is no reason to say that her motives are different from the motives of
the first agent, any more than there is a reason to say that the person who is
truly devoted to her exercise program goes to the gym for different reasons
than the person whose devotion is somewhat weaker. Both may go to the gym for
health reasons, but one cares more about her health. Similarly, my first and
second philanthropists both act benevolently for moral reasons, but one of them
cares more. The contrast is not that happy philanthropists
are less praiseworthy for their actions than sad philanthropists, but rather
that fair
weather, frivolous philanthropists deserve less
praise than those whose concern for morality or for the well-being of others is
more serious
or deep.
The third agent—the person whose concern for morality is skin deep—may be
called the capricious
philanthropist, and should not expect much praise for an action that almost
seems accidental, attributable to the charity’s call and the location of the
credit card more than to her depth of concern for her fellow human beings.
Still, there is no reason to doubt that she acts for moral reasons. When a
person whimsically asks for milk instead of cream in the coffee she has with
her chocolate cake one need not doubt that she does it for health reasons, one
merely doubts the seriousness of her concern.
A natural question concerns Kant’s misanthropic philanthropist who, in ordinary circumstances, must force himself to help people despite having no inclination to do so. Neither the misanthropic philanthropist nor the sorrowing philanthropist just discussed enjoys his action very much, which makes it deceptively easy to see them as similar instances of ‘acting out of duty.’ However, each has a different story behind the fact that he drags his feet on his way to charity. The sorrowing philanthropist drags himself to action because he cares about the welfare of others so much that his concern moves him even when sorrow tempts him to stay home. The misanthropic philanthropist has to drag himself to his good works because his philanthropy, even at the happiest times, is half-hearted. This could mean that he cares about the good of others just enough to wish he cared more, or this could mean that his concern for morality is offset by essentially conflicting attitudes,[16] such as disdain for humankind. The fact that one’s concern, whether for humanity or for one’s wife or one’s art, is enough to motivates one—albeit barely—even though one is grief-stricken, is a testimony to the strength of one’s concern. The fact that one’s concern, in the best of times, is barely enough to motivate one, shows a deficiency of concern or a half-heartedness. Thus, under many descriptions, the misanthropic philanthropist is less praiseworthy than he would be if it were not for his misanthropy. The picture becomes complicated, however, when one remembers how underdescribed Kant’s case is. I have followed Hursthouse in taking the coldness of this philanthropist’s heart to be a sign of half-heartedness, but truly, many different things can cause a person to appear cold or to experience himself as indifferent, and these things differ in morally significant ways (recall that what one cares about most is not always what one feels about most strongly and warmly). Also, while one’s philanthropy may be halfhearted, it may be a part of a serious effort to habituate oneself into being a better person, a praiseworthy effort all by itself.[17]
What
about blameworthy actions? There are two types: those done for sinister reasons
and those done for morally neutral reasons, as a result of some indifference to
moral considerations. It stands to reason that a person who acts for sinister
reasons is more blameworthy the stronger the ill will indicated by his action.
Consider, however, a misdeed motivated by moral indifference. If philanthropists
are judged by the depth of concern for relevant moral considerations which
their actions express, wrongdoers can be judged by the depth of indifference to
moral reasons they reveal. The more moral concern required to take the right
course of action, the less blameworthy an agent is for not doing so. Imagine
that in a certain situation, it is right to act charitably and wrong to act uncharitably.
Imagine also that, in this situation, it is much harder to act charitably if
sad than if cheerful. The person who is charitable in sorrow shows herself to
be more praiseworthy for her action than the person who is charitable
generally, but not in sorrow. Likewise, it does not take a great deal of moral
indifference to be uncharitable while sorrowing, but it does take a lot of such
indifference to be uncharitable while happy. Thus, if the sorrowing
philanthropist is more praiseworthy than the happy philanthropist, the
sorrowing failed philanthropist is less blameworthy than the happy failed
philanthropist. Hence, for example, the use of ‘she was under stress’ to excuse
minor wrongs. In a more dramatic vein, if one wonders if actions such as hiding
Jews from the Nazis are required by morality or are supererogatory, one
compromise suggestion is that such actions are required,
but performing them requires a degree of moral concern so rare that the person
who fails to perform them shows hardly any measure moral indifference, and thus
is not particularly blameworthy.
If depth of one’s concern for the right-making features of
one’s action changes an action’s moral worth, how does Huckleberry Finn measure
up? Huckleberry merits praise for helping Jim, because he is acting for the
right reasons—he performs his action because of its right-making features. But
can he be said to be acting out of deep concern for the right-making features
of his action? Yes—at least in the scenario imagined above. Recall that concern
does not amount to reflective endorsement and does not have to be conscious.
Let us compare Huckleberry to another inverse akratic, whose action I take not
to be morally praiseworthy. Joseph Göbbels, as is evident from his diaries and
some of his public speeches, suffered from surprisingly frequent attacks of
what he called ‘weakness of will’, which he attributed to fatigue and stress,
that consisted in feeling compassion for the victims of the Nazi regime.
Göbbels repressed and overcame them with relative ease, the way a civil person
may overcome a desire to be rude at a family dinner. Let us suppose that on a
certain occasion, Göbbels, tired at the end of a long day, finds himself
momentarily unable to resist his compassion. Against his best judgment, he
makes a low-risk compassionate gesture, such as permitting a Jewish
acquaintance to leave
6 Character?
It is tempting to rephrase what I have said about
Huckleberry Finn in terms of character. Huckleberry’s human concern seems to be
a deep feature of his character, while his racist convictions seem not to be.
It is no accident that talk of character comes naturally here. Just as the idea
of doing the right things for the right reasons, or out of concern for the
right-making features of one’s action, accounts for the appeal of the doctrine
of the motive of duty, the idea that deep concern for these features is worth
more than shallow concern for these features accounts for the appeal of the
Aristotelian idea that right (or fine) actions are only praiseworthy (or
virtuous) if they follow from the agent’s character.
Consider Aristotle’s treatment of bravery. For an instance of defending one’s city in war to be praiseworthy, it is not enough for Aristotle that it is performed for the right reasons. However pure his motive is, if he is only capable of defending his city because he is pathologically fearless, drunk, or such a skilled soldier that war does not frighten him, an agent’s action will still not be morally praiseworthy. If, like Kant’s misanthropic philanthropist, he needs the aid of soldierly self-control to drag himself to action, he is only partially virtuous. The fully morally praiseworthy agent is the man who defends his city because he fears moral disgrace more than he fears death: he cares more for what is right than for his life. Such deep concern for the right-making features of defending one’s city is to be found in the brave person—the person in whom risking his life for the sake of doing the right thing expresses a virtue of character. The virtuous person is different from others in possessing the markers of moral concern. He has a die-hard disposition to do what is fine (defend the city): he has a different emotional life from that of the non-virtuous person (the thought of moral failing disturbs him) and he has an ability to recognize the right occasions for certain kinds of action that a mere theoretical knowledge of ethics does not give us.[18]
Why should Aristotle, or anyone else, believe that the praiseworthiness of an individual action depends on the character from which is stems? If one thinks of character as a stable disposition of some sort, the idea may seem strange. Why should the moral worth of the action that Steve performs on November 13, 1999, be any different if Steve has performed similar actions for years and will most likely continue to do so?
The
answer is that the mere frequency or predictability of an action does not
matter at all to the moral worth of the actor, but these things may be signs of
something relevant: deep moral concern. The pathologically fearless
man or the well-trained soldier may have just as stable a disposition as the brave
man to defend his city, but fearless or merely well-drilled actions do not
express courage.[19] Consider Steve, a teacher, who
has not missed class in twenty-six years. This says something good about him
precisely because it is a sign of his devotion to his students and his job.
Such evidence, however, can be overridden. Imagine, for example, that Steve’s
disposition to is due to a blind adherence to a work ethic which would be
manifested even if Steve were the manager of children working in an unsafe
fireworks factory. If so, we would no longer be inclined to think that Steve’s
disposition says anything particularly good about him. Steve’s devotion to his
students is his virtue: his actions over the last twenty-six years are mere
evidence—incomplete, defeasible evidence—of this virtue. If we wish to be
neo-Aristotelian, we might want to say that Steve’s coming to class on November
13th despite his severe migraine is especially praiseworthy because it stems
from a virtue of character. This is untenable if ‘stems from a virtue of
character’ means only ‘stems out of a stable disposition,’ but makes perfect
sense if it means ‘stems out of a markedly deep morally relevant concern’—in
this case, deep devotion to his students. Note that ‘deep concern’ does not
automatically mean ‘long-lived concern.’ It happens to be empirically true that
deep concerns do not generally change overnight: Dr. Jeckyll is science-fiction.
On the rare occasions when deep concerns do
undergo rapid change, the resulting actions are not capricious, but on a par
with those produced from long-standing concern. For example, if it were known
to us that that a teacher, previously indifferent to his students, having read Up the Down Staircase,
underwent a conversion of sorts and developed a genuinely deep concern for his
students, we would have no reason to regard his devotion to his students as any
shallower than Steve’s, even if the conversion happened only a few months ago.
We might say that the person’s character changed. Of course, nobody knows for
sure if such a person’s new concern is deep or not, and so we tend to postpone
our judgments until we see if it lasts; but the ‘test of time’ is only that—a
mere test for the depth of a concern, and
an imperfect one at that. Longevity does not make a concern deep any more than
its lack makes a concern shallow—in a comfortable climate, one may be a
fair-weather friend for many years. Thus, the idea that character matters for
the moral worth of individual actions makes sense if one takes character to be
about depth of concern and not about predictability or frequency. Many
traditional objections to character-oriented views lose their force in this
way. To give only one example, suppose that as the Nazis come to power, your
long time fair-weather friend, who has never done you wrong before, cheerfully
informs on you. A traditional objection states that virtue ethics is committed
to excusing his action as ‘out of character,’ but if ‘in character’ does not
mean ‘predictable,’ or ‘in keeping with historical trends’ then ‘unpredictable’
and ‘out of keeping with trends’ does not always mean ‘out of character,’
either. But in defense of the critics of virtue ethics it can be said that
virtue ethicists themselves have focused on predictability and stability, to
their own detriment.
Unfortunately for traditional virtue ethicists, even stable, deep concern for morality (or concern anything else) results in little predictability or stability of behavior, as has been shown by various psychological experiments[20] but can also be deduced from more intuitive evidence. A corrupt lawyer may be more likely to return your book on time than an activist whose life is devoted to global justice, and soldiers who are brave in battle often fear public speaking. Likewise, one cannot infer the degree to which busy university faculty value friendship or conversation from their willingness to chat in the halls: some grouchy professors are merely nearing tenure decisions, some talkative professors simply have more time as a result of being on leave, and so on. Even a talkative person nearing a tenure decision is not certain to be displaying her strong desire for affiliation: a childhood in which strict norms of politeness were imposed upon her might be a much stronger factor. In a world in which people are rarely allowed to act on their hearts’ desires, one’s actions do not always reflect one’s concerns very well.
While these tales show problems for the traditional notion of a character trait, they do not show that there is no fact of the matter about moral concern. The person who loves more is not always the person who says ‘I love you’ more often, but some people do love more than others. The person who comes to class more often is not always the person who is more devoted to his students, but some people are more devoted to their students. And the connection between depth of concern and moral worth is an important truth aimed at by talk of character.
7 A Few More Clarifications
This account of moral worth raises a tremendous number of questions. In this final section, I attempt to answer a few of the most pressing concerning self-control, misguided conscience, and moral knowledge.
First, is there not some merit in self-control, which characters like Huckleberry Finn lack? The fact that he helps Jim despite his convictions might show that Huckleberry has very little self-control, or it may show that his concern for Jim’s humanity is so strong that it overwhelms normal self-control, and I was assuming the latter, which would make Huckleberry paradoxically similar to Aristotle’s brave person. The brave person’s desire to avoid disgrace is stronger than his fear of death. Huckleberry Finn’s well-motivated desire to help Jim overrides his attachment to his misguided convictions. The brave person’s desire to defend his city is strong enough that it does not need the aid of self-control to win his inner struggle. Similarly, Huckleberry’s concern for Jim’s humanity is strong enough that it does not need the aid of unusually weak self-control to win the inner struggle. In both the cases of Huckleberry and the brave person, it is a virtuous concern that wins the struggle, and that is all that matters to the moral worth of their actions.
What
of misguided consciences?[21] Can there be anything praiseworthy
about a person’s devotion to a morally wrong cause? The conclusion that seems
to follow from my view is that there cannot be. Moral praiseworthiness is
rooted in responsiveness to what in fact are moral reasons, not to whatever it
is that one takes to be moral reasons, and so the fact that the advocate of the
bad cause thinks she is acting for moral reasons does not by itself redeem her.
The reasons to which the advocate of the bad cause responds are in fact
anti-moral reasons, in which case she acts malevolently, or at best reasons
which accidentally conflict with morality, in which case she shows moral
indifference. How can there be anything good in this?
There
could be none, if it were true that being an advocate of an ideology entailed
having the beliefs required by the ideology, and if being an advocate of a
person or a country entailed being an advocate of what the person or the country
really are. However, things are much more complicated than this. Klaus Mann
provides us with the character of Hans Miklas, a young, uneducated, naïve man
who becomes a member of the Nazi party while it is still a fringe group. Yet
the reader gets the impression that Miklas is not really a bad man. His attraction
to Nazism appears to rely a lot on his desire for social justice and his
disgust with corruption. In his mind, he associates ‘German honor,’ not with conquering
other countries, but with a public life free of corruption. After Hitler comes
to power, Miklas, despite being promoted and respected due to his long-standing
party membership, quickly discovers that not only has social injustice remained
ubiquitous, but it has in fact increased, and so has corruption. He is so
devastated that he consciously destroys himself by publicly denouncing the regime.
This action authenticates the suspicion that, from the start, his attraction to
Nazism was a morally mixed bag, containing an element of true attraction to
justice. Can one really act for a mix of morally good and bad reasons? It seems
Miklas does, because some frustration and hatred have obviously affected his
infatuation with the Nazi movement instead of some other workers’ movement and
made him all too willing to believe anti-Semitic propaganda—but a true concern
for justice surely contributes to his great disappointment with the Nazi
regime. (To complicate the character even further, Miklas’ Nazism is also the
result of his ignorance and cognitive limitations, which makes it hard to tell
innocent false beliefs from irrational, motivated prejudice.) It may seem, from
a Kantian[22] point of view, that one either is
motivated by morally relevant reasons or is not, without the possibility of
mixed motives, but this is not the way we think when we judge people’s motivations.
Granted, in some contexts, it may seem as if it is. To borrow an observation
from Korsgaard, if a student tells us that he has decided to study calculus for
the sake of the intellectual challenges involved, but we learn that it is also
a required class, we tend to take a cynical attitude towards his claim. But
consider a student who always wanted to take calculus but been afraid of doing
so because she doubts her abilities. Upon entering college, she discovers a
degree requirement can be met by one of a few classes, one of which is
calculus. She decides to take calculus, thankful for the requirement at the
same time as she fears it. While this student would not have taken calculus if
it were not required, it would be unjust on the part of her math professor to
treat her as on par with her peer who is dragged, kicking and screaming, into
the required class. Moral motives admit of the same complications.
Finally,
what of the view that there is something especially good in having knowledge of
the virtues, correct moral convictions, and the ability to deliberate well on
moral matters? If acting for moral reasons is not the same as acting for what
we take to be moral reasons, and depth of moral concern is not the same as
conscious commitment to moral principles, how can this be true? I have conceded
earlier that Huckleberry Finn would be a better person if his conscious moral
convictions were not appalling. However, some will argue that, in addition to
this fact, there is something especially regrettable in the fact Huckleberry’s
character deficiency is located specifically in his ability for moral deliberation,
as opposed to somewhere else. I believe that there is something to this claim,
but that the goodness of having the ability to deliberate well about morality
can be maintained without denying that Huckleberry Finn’s action is morally
praiseworthy. First of all, an agent who does not know his virtues from his
vices is likely to try to make himself a worse person, whereas the person who
knows his virtues from his vices is likely to try to make himself a better
person. More importantly, there are certain types of morally desirable actions
that are very hard to perform if one does not have the right moral principles,
or at least the ability to deliberate well on moral matters. For example, it is
very hard to vote for the right political candidate if one cannot deliberate
well on moral (and other) matters. While some of those who voted for Hitler
were obviously bad people, others strike us as morally average people (or, in
the case of Miklas, somewhat better) whose unreflectiveness, simplicity and
incompetence at deliberation made them easy prey to a candidate who promised
jobs, national pride, and order in the streets. Given the complex moral
decisions that even the most mundane life has to offer, it seems that we have a
moral duty not to allow ourselves or our children to be too stupid, unreflective
or uninformed, especially with regard to morally relevant issues, and thus the
fact that a person—even a good person—cannot deliberate very well or is
ignorant when it comes to morally relevant matters has a special sadness to it.
It has been my goal in this paper to sketch a quality-of-will based theory of moral worth, and show that such a view is potentially useful in understanding some facts of moral life. On my view, people are praiseworthy for act of good will and blameworthy for acts of ill will or the absence of good will, and the amount of praise or blame they deserve varies with the depth of their motivation or the extent of their indifference. But since, I hold, good will is wanting to perform actions which have whatever property it is that makes actions right, a full account of moral worth is impossible until we know what property it is that makes actions right. Other gaps remain in my account, such as the significance of my view for moral responsibility and autonomy[23]. I leave these topics for another occasion.
[1]Utilitarianism (Indianapolis: Hackett, 1979), pp.17-18.
[2]Note that the moral
worth of an action is the extent to which the agent deserves praise or blame
for the action, not the extent to which the agent should be morally praised or
blamed for it. The purpose of this work is to capture the conditions under
which praise or blame is warranted,
not those under which it is required.
See
[3]In The Practice of Moral Judgment (Cambridge, MA: Harvard University
Press, 1993).
[4]‘Praise, Blame, and the
Whole Self,’ Philosophical Studies,
93 (1998): 161-188.
[5]Essays on Actions and Events (New York: Oxford,
1980).
[6]Other cases of inverse
akrasia are described in H. Frankfurt, The
Importance of What We Care About (Cambridge: Cambridge University Press:
1988), A. MacIntire, ‘Is Akratic Action Always Irrational?,’ in O. Flanagan and
A. Rorty (eds.), Identity, Character and
Morality (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press): 379-400, and R. Audi, ‘Weakness of
Will and Rational Action,’ Australasian
Journal of Philosophy 68 (1990): 271-281. The case of Neoptolemus as described
in the Nicomachean Ethics also counts
as a case of inverse akrasia, so long as we have a Davidsonian and not an
Aristotelean concept of akrasia in mind.
[7]‘The conscience of
Huckleberry Finn,’ Philosophy 49,
(1974): 123-134.
[8]For an alternative, sophisticated
treatment of Hucklberry Finn, see T. Hill, ‘Four Conceptions of Conscience,’ Nomos 60 (1998): 13-52. J. Driver also
takes for granted that Huckleberry Finn’s action is meant to be understood as
praiseworthy, but her account of this praiseworthiness is completely
independent of Huckleberry’s motives and reasons. See her ‘The Virtues and
Human Nature,’ in R. Crisp (ed.) How
Should One Live? Essays on the virtues (Oxford: Clarendon Press, 1996):
111-130.
[9]There is nothing very
unusual about perceiving fairly sophisticated truths without perceiving that
one is perceiving them—as when the confession of a cheating spouse is
surprisingly unsurprising. I argue for this conclusion in detail in ‘On Acting
Rationally Against One’s Best Judgment,’ Ethics
110 (2000): 488-513, and it is often presupposed by cognitive scientists.
[10]On Virtue Ethics (
[11]‘On Acting Rationally
Against One’s Best Judgment,’ Ethics
110 (2000): 488-513.
[12]By distinguishing, at
least at the phenomenal level, the motivational from the perceptual side of
responsiveness, I do not preclude the possibility that failing to care about
morality is always irrational (after all, failing to care about one’s health or
bank account may be irrational as well), nor even the view that moral factors
when noticed are always somewhat
motivating. All that I assume here is that two agents can be motivated by the
same moral reasons exactly—but one of them may be motivated by them much more
than the other.
[13]One can, if one is so
inclined, apply Michael Smith’s discussion of the distinction between concern
for morality de re and de dicto in The Moral Problem (Oxford: Blackwell Publishers, 1994) here.
[14]For a sense of the
diversity of prevailing views, see, e.g., F. Dretske, Explaining Behavior (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1988), R. Stalnaker,
Inquiry (Cambridge, MA: MIT Press,
1984), G. Strawson, Mental Reality
(Cambridge, MA: MIT Press, 1994).
[15]A fortiori, I shall not try to develop a fully-fledged
positive view of what it means to be concerned about something in the first
place. I do not, here, equate concern with caring as understood by
[16]By ‘essentially
conflicting attitudes’ I am referring to attitudes which conflict because of
their content, and not merely because some accidental factor which makes it
hard or impossible to act in accordance with both of them. For example, love of
sports and love of philosophy may conflict accidentally if it so happens that
one has to choose between a philosophy talk and a basketball game. The conflict
here is a contingent one—it has to do not with the nature of sports or
philosophy but rather with the fact that scheduling etc. do not permit one to
divide one’s time between the two. On the other hand, there is an essential
conflict between one’s love of philosophy and a craving to live the life of a
‘simple soul,’ between standard forms of Christianity and lust, etc.
[17]My discussion of the
philanthropists owes a lot to R. Hursthouse, ‘Ethics and the Emotions,’ in D.
Statman (ed.), Virtue Ethics
(Georgetown University Press, 1997): 99-118, and P. Foot, Virtues and Vices (Berkeley: University of California Press,1978)
[18]For a discussion of
related themes, see J. McDowell, ‘Virtue and Reason,’ The Monist 62 (1979): 331-50.
[19]The connection between
virtue and depth of concern is evident, though never quite explicit, in P.
Foot, Virtues and Vices (Berkeley:
University of California Press,1978).
[20]See J. Doris, Lack of Character:
Personality and Moral Behavior (
[21]T. Hill, ‘Four
Conceptions of Conscience,’ Nomos 60
(1998): 13-52.
[22]See B. Herman in The Practice of Moral Judgment
(Cambridge, MA: Harvard University Press, 1993).
[23]As a view of
blameworthiness and praiseworthiness which does not rely on the concept of
freedom my view is a potential basis for a compatibilist theory of moral
responsibility. I discuss moral responsibility and autonomy in the fourth and
fifth chapters of my forthcoming book Unprincipled
Virtue: An Inquiry into Moral Agency (