Ideas Inspired by the Qur'an

The Ambiguity of Goodness

A good will is good not because of what it performs or effects, not by its aptness for the attainment of some proposed end, but simply by virtue of the volition; that is, it is good in itself, and considered by itself is to be esteemed much higher than all that can be brought about by it in favour of any inclination, nay even of the sum total of all inclinations. Even if it should happen that, owing to special disfavour of fortune, or the niggardly provision of a step-motherly nature, this will should wholly lack power to accomplish its purpose, if with its greatest efforts it should achieve nothing, and there should remain only the good will (not, to be sure, a mere wish, but the summoning of all means in our power), then, like a jewel, it would still shine by its own light, as a thing which has its whole value in itself. Its usefulness or fruitfulness can neither add nor take away anything from this value. [Immanuel Kant: Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals]

There are three ways in which we can understand goodness or ‘the good’: principle, character, and results. These three could be called the divine triad of moral judgement — divine because they correspond to the first three names of GOD in the Qur’an, namely AL-LAH, Ar-Rahman (The Gracious), and Ar-Rahim (The Compassionate). All three are good. One, referring to AL-LAH, is pure, transcendent, and universal Principle, while the other two reflect His Immanence, either as Ar-Rahman in terms of Character or Motivation or as Ar-Rahim in terms of Results or Effects.

In some cases, we judge the morality of an action by the principle it embodies. From the passage quoted above, we see that Kant regards this as the only “whole” or pure good, since it is uncontaminated by subjective or contingent factors such as the “inclinations” of the agent or the “fruitfulness” of his action. This version of ethical judgement, based in Kantian terms on practical reason, is often called deontological.

A second way of judging morality, based on the character of the actor, has as its famous advocates Plato and Aristotle, particularly the latter, and is known as virtue ethics. Good actions are produced by persons motivated by the classical cardinal virtues, namely prudence, justice, fortitude, and temperance, to which Christian philosophers added faith, hope, and charity.

Kant admitted their qualities but downgraded them in his system on account of their not being what he most prized, namely unconditionality and absoluteness. “Moderation in the affections and passions, self-control, and calm deliberation are not only good in many respects, but even seem to constitute part of the intrinsic worth of the person; but they are far from deserving to be called good without qualification, although they have been so unconditionally praised by the ancients. For without the principles of a good will, they may become extremely bad, and the coolness of a villain not only makes him far more dangerous, but also directly makes him more abominable in our eyes than he would have been without it.” A fair enough remark, one might think, but notice that Kant has conveniently excluded justice from his indictment, even though it is probably the best and most necessary of the four cardinal virtues.

Regarding the Christian virtue of charity, which he refers to as beneficence, Kant dismisses it by saying that it “has nevertheless no true moral worth, but is on a level with other inclinations, e.g., the inclination to honour, which, if it is happily directed to that which is in fact of public utility and accordant with duty and consequently honourable, deserves praise and encouragement, but not esteem. For the maxim lacks the moral import, namely, that such actions be done from duty, not from inclination.”

Then we have the benefit inherent in good outcomes, which J.S. Mill has made the basis of his utilitarianism, or what others call consequentialism. For a utilitarian, the greatest happiness of the greatest number is the desired result, regardless of how it is obtained. There are numerous flaws in this system, but few people, other than Kant and his followers, would deny that a good person naturally wills, on principle and also by inclination, to produce good outcomes, and only by good means.

Kant, however, cavils. “For all these effects — agreeableness of one’s condition and even the promotion of the happiness of others — could have been also brought about by other causes, so that for this there would have been no need of the will of a rational being; whereas it is in this alone that the supreme and unconditional good can be found. … This is a good which is already present in the person who acts accordingly, and we have not to wait for it to appear first in the result.”

There is a clarity, rigour, and consistency in this philosophy of duty that is truly remarkable, and even admirable. But it offers us a cold, heartless logic that is hardly amenable to what most would like morality to be, namely warm, beneficent, and beautiful, even at the cost of the ambivalence that so often haunts our debates on moral issues.

What guidance does the Qur’an provide on this fundamental clash of ideas? Do we think about these issues, or are they not worth our thought insofar as we think we already have the truth? Let us see how to deal with Kant’s deontology from an Islamic point of view next week.

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