Kant introduces his categorical imperative in a way that also highlights the moral importance of keeping one’s word. Its initial phrasing is known as the “universal law” formulation. It reads, “Act only according to that maxim by which you can at the same time will that it should become a universal law.”3 Admittedly, it’s not initially clear how this pertains to truth-telling. Kant intends his categorical imperative to serve as a general principle from which more specific moral obligations can be deduced. Nevertheless, scholars agree that the moral force of the universal law formulation is most obvious in cases that involve making a lying promise.4 Let’s begin unpacking Kant’s categorical imperative by clarifying its terms.
By the term maxim, Kant meant something like an implicit, general rule to be followed. So, with respect to any action we are about to undertake, we must be cognizant of its corresponding implicit rule (and the intention from which it’s made). Articulating the implicit rule is merely a matter of generalizing or universalizing: whenever someone is in circumstances relevantly similar to mine, that person should act as I do (or am about to do). Once the maxim is carefully articulated, Kant intended to put it to a kind of two-part test. This is captured by his phrase “will that it become a universal law.” Kant’s usage of “will” here implies that you, as a rational or reasonable person, would be willing to accept your rule upon its being universalized. So, the first part of the test comes in the form of a question: could you reasonably or rationally accept that everyone follow the implicit rule that you are about to enact? Would you be willing that everyone do as you are about to do? Upon asking yourself this, the second part of the test is to answer it. The key to its answer again relies on the idea of reasonability or rationality. If there would be contradictory or self-defeating results were everyone to do as you are about to, then you cannot reasonably or rationally accept your implicit rule. You would not be willing that it become a universal law. In such cases, the answer to your question is “no”; a negative answer in the second part of Kant’s test is definitive evidence that the act you intend is impermissible (morally wrong). You, as a rational agent, are about to perform an act that you would not be willing others do in that situation. In this, you are being inconsistent or irrational, allowing an exception for yourself that you are not willing to grant others, even though they are exactly like you in every relevant way. This, concluded Kant, provides you sufficient reason not to perform that act.
How Kant’s universal law formulation forbids making lying promises (and dishonesty generally) is now clearer. Kant used the example of securing a loan that you had no intention of repaying. Remember the specifics of the situation matter very little. It could be a Wickersham looking to start his own banana farm or Vlad hoping to expand his “business.” The crucial feature is the maxim. Accordingly, if the proposed action is to be universalized, then we have: whenever a person (you, a Wickersham Cousin, Vlad) is in need of money, he or she should make a lying promise to secure the desired funds. It’s pretty clear that this maxim has contradictory or self-defeating results. Dishonesty only achieves its intended goal in a culture that presumes truth-telling. Were everyone to make lying promises whenever in need of money, then people would cease to lend money. So, if everyone were to act as you intend, you couldn’t secure any funds, which entails that no reasonable or rational person could accept its implicit maxim. You would not be willing that everyone obtain a loan in the way you intend. So, if you proceed, you are making an exception for yourself that you are not willing to allow others, even though they are in your exact circumstances.
Sometimes the contradictory or self-defeating nature of the maxim lies in its intention. Consider the prospect of shirking your civil obligations. Perhaps you don’t wish to pay your taxes. Perhaps a bit like Jo-Jo (the young twerp), you do not wish to engage in civic responsibility simply because you don’t feel like it. According to Kant, it’s not the prospect of the Whos being dunked in hot Beezle-Nut oil that makes Jo-Jo’s choice impermissible, it is simply that such a maxim cannot be universalized. Consider that if everyone were to act in your mindless “Jo-Jo yo-yo bouncing fashion,” then society would no longer function smoothly. After all, no one really likes serving jury duty, not to mention paying taxes. But, presumably, the whole idea behind your intention—shirking your civic responsibilities—is to benefit from everyone else’s conscientious efforts. They will keep society running smoothly, while you laze around as an anonymous freeloader. But if everyone were to act as you, then society would break down, thereby contravening your initial intention. You wouldn’t benefit at all but rather place yourself in great peril (Beezle-Nut oil or no). Thus, your maxim has contradictory or self-defeating consequences; no rational person could reasonably accept that everyone act on it. You intend to grant yourself an exception you would not be willing to allow others were they in your situation.
Clearly, Mayzie provides Horton a promise that she has no intention of keeping. She tells him that she will return shortly, but she fully intends to take a long vacation in Palm Beach. She was gone for fifty-one weeks, and only met up with Horton and her egg again via crazy, random happenstance. If everyone made lying promises to their neighbors because they were bored and tired of upholding their personal responsibilities (which includes raising children), no one would believe anyone and society would crumble. In this way, Mayzie’s proposed maxim suffers the ill effects of both the “lying promise to secure funds” and “social freeloader” examples. Because Mayzie knowingly enacts a maxim that cannot reasonably be universalized, she acts impermissibly. She makes an exception for herself that she could not willingly afford others. Were she so willing, it would be impossible for her to secure her selfish goal.
An Elephant Is Faithful . . . One-Hundred Percent [?]
Dr. Seuss thus clearly sides with Kant on the importance of promise keeping and honesty generally. Kant, in fact, believes that you should always be honest—that is, faithful to your word—regardless of any seemingly negative consequences. Moreover, Kant believes our moral obligations hold without exception, making him a moral absolutist. Because we have a moral duty to tell the truth (as the opposing maxim fails the universalization test), it follows that there are no circumstances in which we may permissibly break our word or practice dishonesty. This remains so even if our proposed dishonesty has no other goal than protecting innocent persons. In “On a Supposed Right to Lie from Altruistic Motives,” Kant writes, “To be truthful (honest) in all deliberation, therefore, is a sacred and absolute commanding decree of reason, limited by no expediency.”5 The idea seems to be that just as there are no exceptions to the principle that the sum of the interior angles of a triangle is 180 degrees, there are no exceptions to the principle that making lying promises is always wrong. Both are grounded in rational or logical considerations, and principles so grounded hold without exception.
But many scholars find moral absolutism to be implausible. Kant was not unaware of such concerns. To bolster his position, he considers a dilemma involving a murderer looking for his next victim. Assume that a known murderer approaches you and inquires about the location of his next intended victim, an innocent neighbor of yours. Only moments ago, you saw your neighbor frantically enter the front door of his home. What should you do? Assuming no viable third alternative, should you lie to the murderer to protect the life of your innocent neighbor or report your neighbor’s location truthfully, knowing that this will undoubtedly get the innocent man killed? Kant was clear: morally speaking, you must answer the murderer truthfully, thereby disclosing the neighbor’s location. Your duty to tell the truth is absolute.6
The debate emerging here is not whether it’s ever permissible to lie for selfish or personal gain. Should Horton break his word to Mayzie simply to avoid the ribbing of his jungle friends, he acts impermissibly. Rather, worries about the moral absoluteness of honesty are grounded in situations when moral duties conflict. We have a duty to tell the truth and a duty to protect the lives of innocent peopl
e (insofar as we can), and in this Kant agrees. However, what should we do in situations where we must choose one over the other? All systems committed to moral absolutism, Kant’s included, are conceptually precarious because they seem ill equipped to reconcile such moral dilemmas. After all, imagine the following alteration to the lying murderer case. Assume that you had promised the neighbor that you would not disclose his location to anyone, but especially the sociopath chasing him. When the murderer inquires about your neighbor’s location, what should you do? Keep your promise to your neighbor or answer the murderer’s question honestly? Alternatively, let’s say that your other next-door neighbor performs a kindness to you and, out of gratitude, you promise to repay it whenever he needs it. Let’s further say that he requests you to repay the kindness by assassinating his professional rival. Horton is laudable for keeping his promise to Mayzie. But should you keep your promise and assassinate the rival? Doesn’t it seem just as plausible (if not more so) to break your word so as to not end the life of your neighbor’s rival?
The force of these questions speaks against Kant’s blanket insistence on truth-telling. Fortunately, many scholars also believe that Kant’s absolutism is unnecessary; his larger project of grounding moral duties in what rational agents can consistently will arguably remains intact.7 So long as the person pondering the exception to the rule can consistently accept that everyone act as he is considering, then his act is permissible. Nevertheless, this remains a bit contentious. It might be argued that qualified maxims, those about being honest with the built-in exception to save the life of innocent persons, become self-defeating if universalized. Insofar as murderers may no longer believe those they question, the maxims lose their efficacy. Yet, intuitively the alleged self-defeating result isn’t as obvious as lying to a bank manager to get a loan (that you never intend to pay back). Would the relevant maxim, if universalized, negate the intended purpose of attempting to nonviolently protect the life of an innocent? Furthermore, note that the agent is not making an exception for herself, which seems to be a staple to deeming maxims impermissible.
Without definitively resolving this debate, note that the interpretation proposed here highlights (or safeguards) the heroic nature of acts that agents undergo in the face of extreme adversity. The most natural view to take about Horton is that he is a hero. He kept his word to Mayzie even though the three hunters were about to mortally wound him. He remained resolute when they instead decided to sell him to the circus (and off they all went with Horton being unhappy 100 percent). However, Kant seems committed to holding that Horton is morally required to keep his word in even these extremely dangerous, life-threatening circumstances. According to Kant, were Horton to leave the nest, he would be acting impermissibly. But is this plausible? Can agents be seriously required to keep their word in each and every situation, even if doing so means giving up their lives? A more plausible approach is to label such choices heroic. Acting heroically means going above and beyond what is required. In this way, perhaps Horton ought to be praised as a hero but not blamed were he to leave the nest when his life was threatened. No one can be blamed for not being a hero.
In portraying Horton as a hero, Seuss’s story invites us to rethink some of Kant’s ethical ideas. Perhaps the genius of Dr. Seuss is that he invites each of us to reexamine ourselves and our moral commitments. Seuss agrees with Kant that keeping our promises is extremely important. If you knowingly give your word then you ought to keep it, even if doing so causes you the inconvenience of indefinitely sitting on an egg in a small tree or dealing with the ribbing of friends. But we may demur from Kant’s insistence that we must be faithful to our word 100 percent. Those that do so keep their word, at least if that means giving up their life, are heroes. Yet, so many of us become unfaithful to our word too soon. We often give up when the going gets the slightest bit rough. This is a moral failing, and in this regard we should be more like Horton.
A Person Is a Person, No Matter How Small
The next step is getting clearer about how exceptions to general (Kantian) moral rules might be crafted. What constitutes the difference between praising morally heroic behavior and blaming someone for not doing enough? Answers to these questions begin to emerge upon examining Horton Hears a Who! and Kant’s “ends in themselves” formulation of the categorical imperative, especially when the latter is interpreted via the former. The idea of human dignity or personhood holds the key. In fact, Kant believed that this idea resides at the very core of all ethical behavior. Kant’s “ends in themselves” formulation reads: “Act so that you treat humanity, whether in your own person or in that of another, always as an end and never as a means only.”8 This version of the categorical imperative clearly conveys—in a way that the “universal law” formulation doesn’t—the idea that persons themselves possess a certain kind of unique worth or value. Kant labeled nonpersons “things.” Roughly, it’s always impermissible to treat a person as if she were only a thing.
Accordingly, the conceptual differences between a person and a thing are crucial. Things are objects that have purposes or goals put upon them. They are used as a means to achieve some project. Persons, however, are sources of value insofar as they (we) independently implement purposes or goals into (or onto) the world. Persons, but not things, possess the ability to universalize and contemplate implicit maxims, recognize the difference between right and wrong, and grasp the significance of that difference. Persons, but not things, can perform actions because they are right and refrain from actions because they are wrong (not that we always do). Persons, but not things, are appropriately praised or blamed given how they choose with respect to the moral knowledge they possess. Persons are therefore sources of moral behavior, and, in a way, of morality itself. Kant labels these morally significant features of personhood “being autonomous.” For Kant, the fact that persons are autonomous—rational agents, possessed of volition (free will) and foresight—is the crux of all moral value and ethically significant judgments.
This also begins to explain why Kant believes that persons possess unconditional and intrinsic moral worth. Persons possess a kind of inherent dignity that is beyond or above any price. This dignity may not permissibly be sacrificed or traded for any (other nonmoral) goal or project exactly because it is beyond or above any such goal or project. When a person’s dignity is so sacrificed, implicitly the person who fails to recognize the dignity of the other implicitly affirms, “You, fellow person, are not as important or deserving as me; I am more deserving or important than you and thus am at liberty to treat you as a mere tool (means) to achieve my personal projects.” Such affirmations implicitly condone treating persons like mere things. Failing to treat persons with the dignity they inherently possess—and the respect they thereby deserve—is to make the gravest of moral errors.9
Horton clearly saw the difference between persons and things. Horton surmised that the floating dust speck, even though as small as the head of a pin, somehow contained persons; it commanded his attention and demanded his respect. The speck was unusual; he had “never heard tell of a small speck of dust that is able to yell” (Horton). Nevertheless, Horton was perceptive enough—with his inordinately large and sensitive moral ears—to realize that the inhabitants of that speck were very small persons requiring his assistance. Horton learns that the speck denizens are called “Whos,” living in Who-ville. They have houses, churches, and grocery stores. The mayor of Who-ville, on behalf of all the Whos, expresses his gratitude to Horton for the elephant’s careful assistance. Furthermore, that the Whos are persons entails that Horton cannot put a price on their well-being—their dignity as persons is beyond all price. Regardless of how much trouble Sour Kangaroo and the Wickershams cause him, recognizing the Whos’ inherent moral worth—
respecting their dignity as persons—is more important. In fact, nothing could be more important than protecting persons in serious need, especially if providing aid presents no serious harm to you. Horton indeed affirms, “I
can’t let my very small persons get drowned! I’ve got to protect them. I’m bigger than they” (Horton).
For Kant, anyone who willingly fails to observe the respect due to a person or themselves acts impermissibly. Moreover, the moral duties owed to persons entails that we must not treat others as a mere means even if upholding those duties is inconvenient or bothersome. And sometimes this can be downright difficult. After all, it would have been much easier for Horton to ignore the speck’s faint yelp on that fifteenth of May. He could have gone back to his splashing in the cool of the pool. He wouldn’t have had to suffer Sour Kangaroo’s disparaging “humpfs” and verbal assaults. His reputation would not have suffered. The Wickersham Uncles and the Wickersham Cousins would have left him alone. But Dr. Seuss provides the reader with someone—Horton—who does the right thing despite all the troubles it entails. Horton goes so far as to spend all day searching three million flowers to find the misplaced Whos. Indeed Horton is willing to sacrifice his personal safety to the extent of being lassoed (with ten miles of rope) and caged by Sour Kangaroo and her cronies. Such is the extent of our obligations to our fellow autonomous persons (no matter how small).
Dr. Seuss and Philosophy Page 18