Consider the following scenario: an acquaintance I personally do not particularly enjoy talking to is learning French and asks me for a favour, namely to chat with them an hour per week in French, my mother tongue. Would it be morally good to do them the favour, even if it would just be out of duty? Or another scenario: my mum wants me to visit her for Christmas, but I wish not to, just as much as she wants me to go. Should I go out of duty? According to Kant, good actions must be motivated by a sense of duty, as opposed to inclination. But shouldn't it be just the other way round, at least if the action is about doing another person a favour? It almost seems immoral to do somebody a favour only because of duty.

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Kant never says that good actions must be motivated by a sense of duty. What he does say is that actions have genuine moral worth to the extent that they are performed out of a sense duty. Many philosophers have certainly felt as you do--namely, that there is something backwards about this claim. I find it strangely compelling, and so let me try to motivate it a bit.

Kant actually provides a wonderful example in the Groundwork. There he asks us to imagine someone (let's call him Joe) who spends his life doing good merely because he feels like it. He has a natural desire to help other people, and he takes great pleasure in meeting others' needs. Kant acknowledges that Joe's actions are "right" and "amiable," but he denies that these actions have any true moral worth. Kant believes that moral esteem is esteem of a very special sort. It is a sort of awe that we reserve for a select few actions and characters. But is there anything especially impressive or awe-inspiring about Joe simply doing what he wants to do--about Joe doing what feels good? Of course, we are glad that Joe happens to be the sort of person who takes pleasure in helping others, but given that that's the sort of person he is, there is nothing remarkable about his benevolent actions.

Now suppose that Joe becomes depressed--that his mind is "overclouded by sorrows of his own which extinguish all sympathy with the fate of others" (Groundwork, 398). And suppose that--despite his depression and the fact that he takes no pleasure in helping others--Joe continues to do good deeds, merely because he knows that it is the right thing to do. He no longer has any natural inclination to be benevolent: all of his desires seem to be urging him to stay in bed or watch TV. Nonetheless, through sheer force of will, Joe "tears himself out of this deadly insensibility" and does good deeds "for the sake of duty alone" (399). Now that is impressive--even awe-inspiring. When Kant says that only actions done from duty have moral worth, he is simply suggesting that we reserve a special sort of praise or esteem for actions that are done in the face of opposing inclinations.

Note that the morally worthy version of Joe is not necessarily the version we'd want to spend time with. He actually sounds rather unpleasant. We'd much rather surround ourselves with people like the generous and good-spirited Joe who just enjoys helping others. Why, then, does Kant think that only the actions of the other, depressed Joe are morally worthy? Perhaps because it is only that Joe--only the Joe with that kind of dedication to his duty--that is guaranteed to do the right thing. Kant's worry may be that people who do good deeds because they feel like it will stop doing them when they stop feeling like it. If, on the other hand, you're doing something merely because you think it's the right thing to do, then it seems that you're likely to do it regardless of how you feel.

Let's now return to one of your examples. Suppose you return home to visit your mother at Christmas not because you wish to, but only because you think it's the right thing to do. It does seem that there is something unsavory about you in this example, but it does not follow that you're acting immorally, or that your action has no moral worth. What it lacks is various other kinds of worth! In this scenario, you're unloving, or ungrateful, or unpleasant. However, as far as Kant is concerned, that only makes your action that much more impressive, at least morally speaking. After all, there's nothing especially noteworthy about a loving and devoted child returning home for Christmas. In a way, though, there is something noteworthy about an unloving and ungrateful child coming home for the holidays. And it's just that special something that Kant calls moral worth.

For me, the key to understanding Kant's claims about moral worth was the realization that, for him, moral worth is actually something rather peculiar. The fact that someone is worthy of moral esteem does not in any way entail that they're worthy of other sorts of esteem. If you feel no inclination at all to help out your acquaintance by chatting in French for an hour every week, then you may not be a naturally generous or amiable person. You may be downright mean! If you chat with this acquaintance anyway--just because you know it's the right thing to do--then your action has moral worth. But this moral worth doesn't make you any more amiable or generous.

The question reminds me of Schiller's lines.

Scruples of Conscience

I like to serve my friends, but unfortunately I do it by inclination

And so often I am bothered by the thought that I am not virtuous.

Decision

There is no other way but this! You must seek to despise them

And do with repugnance what duty bids you.

These lines are often cited as an objection to Kant's account of moral worth; Frederick Beiser challenges the standard reading of these lines in a discussion of the relation between Kant and Schiller in Schiller as Philospher: A Re-Examination.

I want also to add a few remarks about Kant to Matthew's perceptive response. First, a point about the examples in the Groundwork. Kant introduces those examples in order to isolate the moral motive, in order to explicate the concept of a good will, which Kant introduces in the first sentence of the body of the Groundwork: "It is impossible to think of anything at all in the world, or indeed even beyond it, that could be considered good without limitation except a good will." In order to explicate the concept of a good will, Kant says, "we shall set before ourselves the concept of duty, which contains that of a good will though under certain subjective limitations and hindrances, which, however far from concealing it and making it unrecognizable, rather bring it out by contrast and make it shine forth all the more brightly." Kant's examples bring out "subjective limitations and hindrances," and by means of those examples, he is able to bring out the very special nature of the good will. It should be noted, however, that Kant's point isn't that moral worth only comes out when one acts in the face of opposing inclinations: to amend Matthew's example, even if Joe were naturally inclined to help other people, provided that he recognized that it was his duty to do so, and acted from this duty, his action would still have moral worth. (There's a great discussion of this issue, which I follow here, in Barbara Herman, "On the Value of Acting from the Motive of Duty," in her collection of essays, The Practice of Moral Judgment.) Finally, it should be noted that Kant would agree with Matthew that "we'd much rather surround ourselves with people like the generous and good-spirited Joe," and in certain writings, he even claims that agents have a duty to cultivate their feelings. At the conclusion of the Doctrine of Virtue in the Metaphysics of Morals, under the heading, "On the virtues of social intercourse (_virtutes homileticae_), Kant writes: "It is a duty to oneself as well as to others...to use one's moral perfections in social intercourse....to cultivate a disposition of reciprocity--agreeableness, tolerance, mutual love and respect...and so to associate the graces with virtue. To bring this about is itself a duty of virtue. These are, indeed, only externals or by-products (_parerga_), which give a beautiful illusion resembling virtue....By all of these, which are merely the manners one is obliged to show in social intercourse, one binds others too; and so they still promote a virtuous disposition by at least making virtue fashionable." Kant's position here, I think, actually has a lot going for it and deserves much more consideration than it has hitherto received.

I wonder whether there isn’t a bit more to your worry that there issomething immoral involved if you were to visit your mother despite thefact that you really didn’t want to or if you were to give free Frenchlessons to an acquaintance whose company you didn’t enjoy.

To explore this idea, I’d like to step back and focus on a presupposition behind your question– namely, that you dohave a moral duty to your unpleasant acquaintance to talk French to himfor an hour each week and that you do have a moral duty to visit yourmother despite your disinclination to do so. Do you really have theseduties? Surely you don’t have a general duty to speak French for anhour a week to just anyone who asks for the favor, and surely you don’thave a duty to visit for the holidays just anyone who wants you to. Sowhy should an acquaintance or your mother have any special claims onyour time, company, and conversation?

Let’s begin with yourmother. Like most mothers, I’ll assume, she’s done a lot for you. Sheprovided you with shelter, clothing, food, and, at least for severalyears, the belief that you are one of the most special and amazingpeople in the world. After all of the nights that she stayed up withyou when you were sick to your stomach and making ugly messes, afterall of the hours that she spent soothing your wounded ego and makingsense of a puzzling world, after all of the money that she spent onyour education and pleasures, after the agony she endured in order tobring you into the world, don’t you owe her at least a visit atChristmas? Is that too much to ask?

Jane English (“What do GrownChildren Owe their Parents?”) argues that, in fact, you don’t “owe” heranything. Since you didn’t ask for these favors, you owe her nothing inreturn. That’s not to say that, on English’s view, you need not visityour mother at Christmas. As a result of all of her devotion to you,she argues, it’s likely that over the years the two of you have built astrong and loving friendship. Part of what it means to be a friend toanother is to be especially concerned for her welfare. If you are afriend to your mother, English suggests, you should make this smallsacrifice for the sake of her happiness. If you are not, then you neednot.

“But that’s just the point,” you say. “The reason that Idon’t want to visit my mum is that we don’t share any of the sort ofinterests that friends share. She is completely baffled by my taste inmusic, my pierced tongue, and the fact that I am still unmarried. Ican’t bear to hear one more description of her friend’s daughter’slovely house in the suburbs. Wouldn’t my visiting my mother despite mydisinclination to do so send her the message that I actually find hercompany pleasant– that I actually am her friend? And wouldn’t it be immoralto deceive my mother in this way?” I think that this observation thatactions have unchosen social significance, an observation that might bethe source of your paradoxical worry about the immorality of “actingfrom duty,” also explains why you most likely do have a moralobligation to visit your mother (even if you are not her friend) and nosuch obligation to give French lessons to unpleasant acquaintances.

Onmy view, the source of the obligation of grown children to theirparents is the general duty that we have, as Peter Singer put it, toprevent something very bad from happening if doing so would not entailany significant moral sacrifice. In most societies, grown childrenvisit their parents on significant holidays, unless they have a very good excuse orunless their parents were very bad, even if neither the children northe parents particularly enjoy the company of the other and even ifthey are all painfully aware of this fact. In most societies, to visityour mother does not imply that you enjoy her company or think of heras a friend, and so, you can visit her without fear of this sort ofdeception.

“But such a practice is irrational,” you protest.“Why should I feel morally obligated to spend time with people who donot enjoy my company and whose company I do not enjoy?” This is one ofthe many complexities of our moral lives. Even if it is the case that asocial practice is irrational (and, as a matter of fact, I do not believe that thispractice is irrational),* so long as the practice is in place, arefusal to engage in it has all sorts of symbolic meaning over which noindividual has control. When you refuse to visit your mother without agood excuse, not only do you deny your mother the pleasure (or pain) ofyour company, but more importantly you involuntarily imply, in virtueof the prevailing social practice of visiting decent parents onholidays, that she was a failure as a parent. Since, by hypothesis, shewas a good and devoted parent, such a message (especially if repeatedregularly) is itself deceptive (no matter how fervently and sincerelyyou deny that your refusal to visit her has such significance). Moreimportantly, especially to a good and devoted parent, such a message isextremely painful (much more painful than your visit). Depending on thesignificance of the other projects to which she had devoted her life,reassurance from you that she was indeed a good parent might be one ofher primary sources of self-respect, a good which, as John Rawls noted,is a precondition for almost any other good that she might enjoy. Inthis context, it seems to me, you have a moral duty to visit her, atleast sometimes.

The case of the unpleasant acquaintance whowants your weekly French conversation strikes me as very different.Surely the self-esteem of a mere acquaintance will not suffer from apolite refusal to give free weekly French lessons. In fact, as youmight have worried, in certain contexts, a willingness to give suchlessons might incorrectly send a message that you desire to deepen yourrelationship, a deceptive message that will undoubtedly set the two ofyou up for future irritations and disappointments. Unless there arecompensating benefits, you ought not hurt another person or yourself inthis way.

* Some of the greatest goods that we get from family relationships and friendships are available to us only because it is part of the nature of these relationships that the members will not feel free to "opt out" when they have more pleasant options on various occasions.

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