Kant at the Corners of the Quad
Except for the newest one, the buildings at our school are built around a grass quadrangle. It is a long-standing school rule that no one walk on the quad before 12:00 noon. Because we are near the ocean and therefore on many mornings of the year are under clouds or in mist, and because when the sprinklers operate they do so before dawn, the grass of the quad is damp in the morning. The rule protects the quad, and the carpets of the buildings, from becoming a muddy mess.
As a result of the rule, during the five-minute passing periods before noon the cement walkways around the quad are rather more crowded than they are in the afternoons. Because people are both hurrying then and feeling obstructed by the numbers of persons in front of them, some will cut the corners of the quad on their way to class. They will put one foot into the right angle made by the perpendicular walkways or perhaps risk two, three, or more steps to trace a longer hypotenuse across the grass.
The practice is common enough that some seem to be unaware that the letter of a law is being broken. Others are no doubt either hoping not to be caught by an adult rule enforcer or feeling that, given the crowd and the limited time, the spirit of the quad law permits them this mitigation so that they will not break the letter of the law against tardiness to class.
The result is that in the corners of the quad the grass is non-existent. It is worn away or deracinated or pressed into the hard, flat, lifeless mud by a hundred feet per day. No matter how often the gardeners dig up, replant, and cordon off the corners, so soon as the corners are green again and the cordons come down, down come the corner-cutting feet, and in a matter of days the grass is trampled into oblivion.
Partly because of what the gardeners go through to restore the grass there, partly because the quad rule is just and reasonable, and partly because the aesthetic order and harmony of the campus are marred by right triangles of brown mud where green grass should be, it is somewhat irksome to see people thus cutting the corners before noon.
But there is another reason that, if I happen to be on the walkway myself before noon and see someone cutting the corner, I’ll say something: The muddy corners provide a perfect visual aid for teaching Kant’s categorical imperative.
The philosopher Immanuel Kant believed that the structure of the human mind was such that every honest rational being who asked the following question about any particular situation would come to the same conclusion: Can you will the principle of your action in this matter to be a universal principle? If the answer is yes, you may conclude that the action would be right. If no, it would be wrong. In this way Kant sought to restore faith in universal principles of value to an intellectual world that seemed (with the help of philosopher David Hume) to be dismantling them.
At the corners of our quad, it is very easy to see the consequences of ignoring the categorical imperative in the matter of the quad rule. In response to the precocious eighth-grader or sophomore or senior who says “I’m just one person; my stepping on the grass doesn’t hurt anything,” all I have to do is to point to the triangular mud-flat he or she has just stepped on and say, “but could you want everybody to think like that? Look what happens when they do. See?” And they see. They can’t not see. If you can’t will that everyone should think like that, Kant maintains, then to think like that is wrong.
So there’s one tiny lesson in individual responsibility taught in the midst of a busy day filled with struggles to learn, to avoid unpopularity, to get to class on time, to survive the pressures of adult supervision. Maybe the eighth-grader will find that the adult corrector is un-cool, the sophomore that he’s a busybody, the senior that he’s an anal-retentive. But maybe they’ll also think twice before stepping on the quad before noon. Maybe they will even remember the lesson and, at some point when it counts more, make the choice to do the right thing.
Or maybe I’m dreaming. My little lessons in the categorical imperative don’t seem to make much difference in the greenness of the corners of the quad.
But a teacher must not measure his success only in visible outcomes. Could I will it to be a universal principle that, whatever the consequences for the corners themselves, teachers should not correct corner-cutting students? No.
As a result of the rule, during the five-minute passing periods before noon the cement walkways around the quad are rather more crowded than they are in the afternoons. Because people are both hurrying then and feeling obstructed by the numbers of persons in front of them, some will cut the corners of the quad on their way to class. They will put one foot into the right angle made by the perpendicular walkways or perhaps risk two, three, or more steps to trace a longer hypotenuse across the grass.
The practice is common enough that some seem to be unaware that the letter of a law is being broken. Others are no doubt either hoping not to be caught by an adult rule enforcer or feeling that, given the crowd and the limited time, the spirit of the quad law permits them this mitigation so that they will not break the letter of the law against tardiness to class.
The result is that in the corners of the quad the grass is non-existent. It is worn away or deracinated or pressed into the hard, flat, lifeless mud by a hundred feet per day. No matter how often the gardeners dig up, replant, and cordon off the corners, so soon as the corners are green again and the cordons come down, down come the corner-cutting feet, and in a matter of days the grass is trampled into oblivion.
Partly because of what the gardeners go through to restore the grass there, partly because the quad rule is just and reasonable, and partly because the aesthetic order and harmony of the campus are marred by right triangles of brown mud where green grass should be, it is somewhat irksome to see people thus cutting the corners before noon.
But there is another reason that, if I happen to be on the walkway myself before noon and see someone cutting the corner, I’ll say something: The muddy corners provide a perfect visual aid for teaching Kant’s categorical imperative.
The philosopher Immanuel Kant believed that the structure of the human mind was such that every honest rational being who asked the following question about any particular situation would come to the same conclusion: Can you will the principle of your action in this matter to be a universal principle? If the answer is yes, you may conclude that the action would be right. If no, it would be wrong. In this way Kant sought to restore faith in universal principles of value to an intellectual world that seemed (with the help of philosopher David Hume) to be dismantling them.
At the corners of our quad, it is very easy to see the consequences of ignoring the categorical imperative in the matter of the quad rule. In response to the precocious eighth-grader or sophomore or senior who says “I’m just one person; my stepping on the grass doesn’t hurt anything,” all I have to do is to point to the triangular mud-flat he or she has just stepped on and say, “but could you want everybody to think like that? Look what happens when they do. See?” And they see. They can’t not see. If you can’t will that everyone should think like that, Kant maintains, then to think like that is wrong.
So there’s one tiny lesson in individual responsibility taught in the midst of a busy day filled with struggles to learn, to avoid unpopularity, to get to class on time, to survive the pressures of adult supervision. Maybe the eighth-grader will find that the adult corrector is un-cool, the sophomore that he’s a busybody, the senior that he’s an anal-retentive. But maybe they’ll also think twice before stepping on the quad before noon. Maybe they will even remember the lesson and, at some point when it counts more, make the choice to do the right thing.
Or maybe I’m dreaming. My little lessons in the categorical imperative don’t seem to make much difference in the greenness of the corners of the quad.
But a teacher must not measure his success only in visible outcomes. Could I will it to be a universal principle that, whatever the consequences for the corners themselves, teachers should not correct corner-cutting students? No.
posted by G.Rap | 7:14 PM
12 Comments:
What if the maxim of my action is this: That everyone, when late to Dr. Rapp's class (one feels especially bad when late to Rapp), when the sidewalks are over-crowded, when one only takes one step on the grass, and when the grass isn't too wet, should cut the corner of the quad in order to get to class more quickly. I do not find it impossible to universalize that maxim. Is there a rule on how specific one's maxim can be? Can one add as many conditions as one wants?
At any rate, I agree. If you think about it, it doesn't actually get you to class any quicker. It is interesting to notice (or I guess remember in my case), that the one corner on campus that has a rounder corner instead of a square corner does not get trampled as much as the others. Granted it has much less foot-traffic, but it is still a rather aesthetically pleasing way to solve the problem.
-Andrew
I say we put all the seventh, ninth, and eleventh graders in electric dog collars and build an Invisible Fence.
I've found the THOU SHALT NOT BESMIRCH THE LAWN UNTIL 12:01 P.M. rule quite useful in civilized society. If I'm on the quadrangle at some tony joint and am yelled at by security for being on the lawn, I can always say, "Well, at Tan Pants High we were always allowed on the greens after the noon hour." After getting Rodney Kinged, I'm usually exculpated.
To all ye seniors, embrace theist existentialism before Mr. T comes out with collars for all y'all.
Magnificent Bastard is a bit frightening. Please keep him away from my children.
How about rounding off the corners? Or planting thornbushes there?
Relax, MB! This is only partially about obeying particualr school rules. It is about this: how small can issue be and still be decided by Kant's question? I think it is worth a blog post.
Dr. Rap,
Can you explain why science is intrinsically based on faith? Could you provide a very simple example to demonstarte your point as well?
Thanks,
Anon
Here are some of the beliefs (acts of faith) that science is based on:
1. That it is good to understand how the physical world works;
2. That the laws of physics are constant and unchanging;
3. That the laws of causality are constant and unchanging;
4. That the physical world as perceived by our senses and our instruments of measurement is real;
5. That our senses and instruments of measurement correspond to (send us true information about) that real physical world;
6. That if a equals b and b equals c then a equals c;
7. That something cannot both be and not be at the same time;
8. That a gram is a gram, a calorie a calorie, a meter a meter, and an hour an hour, etc. (in other words, that we must accept the givens of our measuring systems);
9. That theories may be disproven by replicable contrary evidence;
10. That experimental data ought not to be falsified for non-scientific reasons.
There are no doubt many more, but these 10 will illustrate the point.
Now here are two simple examples. The first is an example of how science is based on assumptions:
You can measure the width of your table with a meter stick. But you can't measure the length of the meter stick with itself. You have to believe that the the meter stick is a meter long or there can be no measuring at all. (To say that you can measure the meter stick by another meter stick is true, but you have to start somewhere--i.e. from an assumption.)
Now here's an example of how science is based on faith:
If the meteorologist did not believe in the constancy of the laws of physics, he could not measure the day's temperature. (Maybe mercury has behaved consistently every day for the last 500 years. But maybe today it will behave differently. Can we prove it won't? No. We have to believe it won't or reading a thermometer becomes meaningless.)
Thank you for the list Dr. Rap. I was trying, maybe a month ago, to explain the faith found in science to a friend and my list was a bit paltry (I had such things as "That 1+1=2" in there). The only aspect that keeps me with science (and my attraction to science is a strong one) is its consistency; I am no more aware of it being 'right' than I am of God's existence, and I think that this separation of religion and faith is lost within most people.
The other day I saw some underclassman - maybe an eighth grader - cut directly across the quad from the computer science center to lower cummins. It was nearing the end of the passing period, but there were still plenty of people leisurely making their way to class.
I was proud to see that he got a couple chastisements shouted at him from a group on the senior lawn, and I even added my two-pence as we passed. But I could see that he didn't care what we had to say and I was half hoping you'd lean out your window and let him hear it from some real authority.
However, as I thought about it later, this one kid breaking the rule really caused less damage than the hundreds of people cutting corners. When the act is that blatant, it earns people disapproval, but I guess corner-cutting deserves just as much attention. I don't think we were wrong in telling the underclassman off, but I also don't think any of the seniors are going to start enforcing the rule against corner-cutting. But I do know that several people, myself included, have taken it upon themselves to keep to the sidewalks as a result of your posting.
Dr. Rapp,
I know it has been over 4 months since you originally posted this blog, and I guess I must have already "missed the boat" of having peers review and offer their own opinions about my comments, but I have a question about the categorical imperative that has bothered me ever since I faced it over a year ago, and I was hoping you could help.
I was in the process of explaining the categorical imperative to someone for some transgression in my house at college, when a friend of mine questioned the categorical imperative as a method for determining right and wrong. I was taken aback, and I hope that you can assist me with a response.
The scenario my friend presented was as follows: you are sitting peacefully in your home, when all of a sudden you hear a frantic knocking at the door. A panicked man hurriedly exclaims that a crazy, knife wielding felon is chasing after him for unknown reasons, and he begs you to hide him in your home (yes, you know where this is going, but please humor me).
You instinctively feel that this man is telling the truth and is truly in danger, and so you hide the man in your home. Less than a minute later, you hear a second knock at the door, and encounter a panting man at the door, who explains between deep breaths that a crazy man has killed his wife, and that he believes that this crazy man is hiding in your home.
So.. it seems (and please correct me if I am mistaken) that Kant would say that the right thing to do, according to the categorical imperative, is to reveal to the second man the whereabouts of the first man, who is hiding in your basement. After all, would you be able to lie to this second man, and later say that your dishonesty should be taken to be a universal princple?
I guess the question is: what would Kant do in this situation?
OR
What do you do in a situation that you find is morally ambiguous, especially when that situation is a time-sensitive emergency?
Thank you for the knowledge shared!
Patrick
Dear Patrick,
Kant's Categorical Imperative cannot substitute for knowing the facts, so if your hypothetical assumes that you can't tell the difference between the two men, which is telling the truth and which is not, then Kant is not going to help you. The Categorical Imperative is a means of solving moral, not factual questions. It can tell you whether or not to steal someone's money but not whether or not that money is counterfeit.
But if you mean that you know (by instinct or otherwise) that the first man is telling the truth and the second man is lying, then of course the Categorical Imperative tells you not to give the good man up to the evil one. The question would not be "could I wish lying to be a universal principle," but rather, "could I wish it to be a universal principle that a good man should be protected from a murderous one by means of a lie when the truth would lead to his murder," and then, of course, the answer is yes.
In short, the Categorical Imperative works so long as you ask the question specifically enough to cover the case in point. Should I steal? No. Why? Because I cannot wish it to be a universal principle that people ought to steal. Should I steal this bread to feed my starving child if there is no other alternative available? Yes. Why? Because I cannot wish it to be a universal principle that people ought to let their children starve in order to avoid stealing a piece of bread.
I hope this helps.
P.S. Most situations in life are morally ambiguous, and many of those are pressing. That's why it is so important to train one's will to be good when there is time to think and things are relatively clear. The hope is that then you can trust it to choose well in a pinch.
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