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Oxford Studies in Normative Ethics Volume 13 1st Edition Timmons
Kant on Emotions: Critical Essays in the Contemporary Context (New Studies in the History and Historiography of Philosophy Book 8) 1st Edition Mariannina Failla
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For Betsy
Acknowledgments and Sources ix
Abbreviations for Kant’s Works xi
Introduction 1
PART I: Interpreting the Categorical Imperative
1. Necessitation and Justification in Kant’s Ethics 13
2. Decision Procedures, Moral Criteria, and the Problem of Relevant Descriptions in Kant’s Ethics
3. The Categorical Imperative and Universalizability 81
4. The Philosophical and Practical Significance of Kant’s Universality Formulations of the Categorical Imperative
PART II: Motive, Rightness, and Virtue
5. Motive and Rightness in Kant’s Ethical System
6. Kant’s Grounding Project in the Doctrine of Virtue
7. Perfect Duties to Oneself as an Animal Being 219
8. The Moral Significance of Gratitude in Kant’s Ethics 241
9. Love of Honor, Emulation, and the Psychology of the Devilish Vices 271
10. The Good, the Bad, and the Badass: On the Descriptive Adequacy of Kant’s Conception of Moral Evil 293 Index
Acknowledgments and Sources
OVER THE YEARS I have benefited from the input by many philosophers (often at conferences) about the ideas that are presented in this volume of essays. I would especially like to thank Julia Annas, Robert Audi, Sorin Baiasu, Marcia Baron, Adam Cureton, Lara Denis, Stephen Engstrom, Michael Gill, Joshua Glasgow, Michael Gorr, Paul Guyer, Tom Hill, Terry Horgan, Robert Johnson, Tom Nenon, Onora O’Neill, Thomas Pogge, Nelson Potter Jr., Andy Reath, Santiago de Jesus Sanchez Borboa, Dieter Schönecker, Oliver Sensen, John Tienson, Jens Timmermann, and Ken Westphal. I am particularly indebted to Houston Smit for many hours of conversation about Kant’s moral philosophy, which led to our collaborating on chapters 6, 8, and 9. Also, thanks to Dillon Hall for preparing the index.
I received encouragement in putting together this collection from Michael Gill, who suggested the idea, and from my editor, Peter Ohlin. Finally, Betsy Timmons and I would like to thank the Fujita family for kindly granting permission to use “Significance” by S. Neil Fujita (1921–2010) for the cover illustration.
The first nine essays appeared in the following publications and are reprinted with kind permission of the publishers. (1) “Necessitation and Justification in Kant’s Ethics,” Canadian Journal of Philosophy 22 (1992): 223– 61. Reprinted by permission of Taylor & Francis Group, www.tandfonline.com. (2) “Decision Procedures, Moral Criteria, and the Problem of Relevant Descriptions in Kant’s Ethics,” Jarbuch für Recht und Ethik (Annual Review of Law and Ethics) 5 (1997): 389–417. Reprinted by permission of Duncker & Humblot GmbH. (3) “The Categorical Imperative and Universalizability,” in C. Horn and D. Schönecker, eds., Kant’s Groundwork for the Metaphysics of Morals: New Interpretations, Berlin-New York: Gruyter (2006): 158–99. Reprinted by permission of Walter de Gruyter GmbH. (4) “The Philosophical and Practical Significance of Kant’s Universality Formulations of the Categorical Imperative,” Philosophia Practica Universalis: Festschrift for Joachim Hruschka, Jarbuch für Recht und Ethik
x Acknowledgments and Sources
13 (2005): 313–33. Reprinted by permission of Duncker & Humblot GmbH. (5) “Motive and Rightness in Kant’s Ethical System,” in M. Timmons, ed., Kant’s Metaphysics of Morals: Interpretative Essays, Oxford: Oxford University Press (2002): 255–88. Reprinted by permission of Oxford University Press. (6) “Kant’s Grounding Project in the Doctrine of Virtue” (with Houston Smit), in M. Timmons and S. Baiasu, eds., Kant on Practical Justification: New Interpretations, Oxford: Oxford University Press (2013): 229–68. Reprinted by permission of Oxford University Press. (7) “The Perfect Duty to Oneself as an Animal Being,” in A. Trampota, O. Sensen, and J. Timmermann, eds., Kant’s Tugendlehre, Berlin & New York: de Gruyter (2013): 221–43. Reprinted by permission of Walter de Gruyter GmbH. (8) “The Moral Significance of Gratitude in Kant’s Ethics” (with Houston Smit), Southern Journal of Philosophy 49 (2011): 296–320. Reprinted by permission of John Wiley and Son. (9) “Love of Honor, Emulation, and the Psychology of the Devilish Vices” (with Houston Smit), in L. Denis and O. Sensen, eds., Kant’s Lectures on Ethics: A Critical Guide, Cambridge: Cambridge University Press (2015): 256–76. Reprinted by permission of Cambridge University Press.
Abbreviations for Kant’s Works
References to Kant’s work include the volume number followed by the page number of the Akademie Edition: Immanuel Kants gesmmelte Schriften [Ak.], edited by the Königlich Preußischen Akademie der Wissenschaften (Berlin: Walter de Gruyter, 1900–). References to the Critique of Pure Reason are cited by page numbers in the A and B editions. The English translations are included in the Cambridge Edition of the Works of Immanuel Kant (New York: Cambridge University Press). The following abbreviations are used throughout.
A Anthropologie in pragmatischer Hinsicht (1798), Ak 7 Anthropology from a Pragmatic Standpoint, trans. R. B. Louden (2006)
G Grundlegung zur Metaphysik der Sitten (1785), Ak 4
Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals, trans. M. J. Gregor (1996)
JL Jäsche Logic (1800), AK 9 trans. J. M. Young (1992)
KpV Kritik der Praktischen Vernunft (1788), Ak 5
Critique of Practical Reason, trans. M.J. Gregor (1996)
KrV Kritik der reinen Vernunft (1781, A edition), Ak 3; (1787, B edition), AK 4
Critique of Pure Reason, trans. P. Guyer and A. Wood (1998)
KU Kritik der Urtheilskraft (1790, second ed. 1793), Ak 5
Critique of the Power of Judgment, trans. P. Guyer and E. Matthews (2000)
MS Metaphysik der Sitten (1797), Ak 6
Metaphysics of Morals, trans. M. J. Gregor (1996)
Päd Pädagogik (1803), Ak 9
Lectures on Pedagogy, trans. R. B. Louden (2006)
R Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der bloßen Vernunft (1793, second ed. 1794), Ak 6
xii Abbreviations for Kant’s Works
Religion within the Boundaries of Mere Reason, trans. G. di Giovanni (1996)
VA Vorlesungen über Anthropologie, AK 25
Lectures on Anthropology, trans. R. B. Clewis, R. B. Louden, C. F. Munzel and A. W. Wood (2012)
VE Vorlesungen über Ethik, Ak 27
Lectures on Ethics, trans. P. Heath (1997)
VM Vorlesungen über Metaphysik, Ak 28
Lectures on Metaphysics, trans. K. Ameriks and S. Naragon (1997)
Introduction
THIS COLLECTION REPRESENTS some of the work I’ve published over the years on aspects of Kant’s ethical theory, some in collaboration with my colleague Houston Smit. It also includes a new chapter on Kant’s conception of moral evil. My general approach to Kant’s writings is to combine charitable interpretation of the texts with critical analysis of fundamental theses and arguments we find in them. Critical analysis has often led me to explore how Kant’s views might be developed in ways other than he perhaps intended. So, for example, in chapter 3 on the formula of universal law and its associated universalizability tests, I raise the issue of how one might view this formula and its tests were one to argue, as I do, that the tests cannot provide an adequate decision procedure (of the sort apparently intended) for testing maxims to determine whether a proposed course of action is morally permissible. Chapter 4, then, addresses this question by considering what I take to be the true philosophical and practical significance of the formula and tests. Questions about the philosophical and practical significance of a particular view in Kant are also raised in many of the other chapters, perhaps most notably in the chapter on gratitude. Other chapters, chapters 5 and 6 in particular, are focused on Kant’s ethical system, particularly as it is articulated in the Doctrine of Virtue.
The variety of topics treated in the collection is largely due to having been invited to speak at conferences or to contribute to a volume (often both) on a particular topic in Kant’s ethics. However, the chapters naturally cluster around three fundamental themes in Kant’s ethics, which I’ve used to organize the collection: Interpreting the Categorical Imperative, Motive, Rightness, and Virtue, and the Psychology of Moral Evil. The following is a brief overview of the chapters, highlighting main ideas in my work.
I. Interpreting the Categorical Imperative. Part I contains four chapters, the first of which addresses semantic and epistemological issues in Kant’s theory. The three that follow focus mainly (though not exclusively) on the universal law formulation of the categorical imperative and address the following questions: Does Kant have a solution to the so-called problem of relevant descriptions? What role in the overall economy of Kant’s ethical theory are the universal law (FUL) and humanity (FH) formulations of the categorical imperative (CI) best suited to play? Suppose FUL cannot be made to play the role for which it is best suited: what remaining significance does it have for Kant’s ethical theory?
In the preface to the Groundwork of the Metaphysics of Morals, Kant remarks that “this present work is nothing more than the search for and establishment of the supreme principle of morality ” (G 4:392): the CI. In Part I, the lead chapter, “Necessitation and Justification in Kant’s Ethics,” addresses an issue that the question of the establishment (justification) of the supreme principle presupposes—namely, how to understand Kant’s claim that hypothetical imperatives are analytic and categorical imperatives are synthetic yet knowable a priori. The analytic/synthetic distinction applies comfortably to propositions having subject-predicate grammatical form. But, of course, imperatives do not have this grammatical form. Kant does claim that such imperatives can be properly expressed as ought-statements, but the question still remains how to understand the distinction applied to such statements. Those who try to make sense of the distinction applied to imperatives typically follow the path I travel—namely, to explain how, in Kant’s view, imperatives can somehow be analyzed by or at least correlated with propositions having subject/predicate form. Yet when writing this chapter I did not think that adequate attention had been given by these interpreters to the details of how the analysis should go. The needed analysis, I argue, involves understanding Kant’s notion of practical necessitation—which, he claims, is expressed in ought-statements. I therefore propose an analysis of practical necessitation propositions according to which they have subject/predicate form, the subject term being that of fully rational agent. However, I impose constraints on how to understand this notion, so that facts about what such an agent would do is relevant to what one ought to do, or refrain from doing. Accomplishing this allows me to explain how one can make sense of Kant’s claims about the analytic/synthetic distinction in the context of his moral philosophy. In the final main section of the chapter, I discuss how my interpretation of Kant’s notion of ought-statements helps illuminate his Groundwork attempt in Section III to justify his supreme moral principle, where I claim it is important to distinguish questions about the truth, scope, and authority of practical judgments.
In “Contradictions and the Categorical Imperative” (1984), not included in this volume, I offered what I call the “causal law” interpretation of the tests associated with the universal law formulation of the CI. In articulating and defending my interpretation, I critically discussed what I called the “inconsistency of intention” view defended by Onora O’Neill in Acting on Principle (1975), arguing on mainly textual grounds for the superiority of my interpretation over O’Neill’s. In this chapter, I did not attempt to address various questions about the significance of the FUL and its associated tests in Kant’s ethics. However, questions about its significance came to occupy some of my later work.
One question about the significance of the universal law formulation of the CI, as well as other formulations, is what role they were meant to play in Kant’s ethics. But another question is what roles are they best suited to play, regardless of how Kant is best interpreted on the matter. It is quite common in contemporary ethical theory, especially in relation to consequentialist theories, to distinguish two roles a moral principle like the CI or the principle of utility might play in the overall economy of an ethical theory. One role is that of a moral criterion—an explanatory role. In this role a moral principle purports to specify, at an appropriate level of generality, those features of actions in virtue of which they have whatever deontic status they have, and hence those features that explain (or provide the basis for an explanation of) an action’s deontic status. Another role is that of a decision procedure—the role of serving as the basis for reliably guiding moral thought and action in one’s efforts to comply with the demands of morality. This distinction is particularly important for defenders of certain forms of act consequentialism who attempt to avoid certain objections to their theory by maintaining that their act consequentialist principle of right conduct is not intended to serve as a decision procedure—rather it is only meant to express a criterion of right conduct.
The idea that a moral principle need not serve as both a moral criterion and a decision procedure is the guiding idea in chapter 2, “Decision Procedures, Moral Criteria, and the Problem of Relevant Descriptions in Kant’s Ethics,” where I propose what I call the “differential roles” interpretation of the CI. It is the humanity formula (FH), I argue, that should be understood as addressing the explanatory question about the nature of right action, while the universal law formula is best understood as only providing the basis of a decision procedure useful in deliberation for determining whether a prospective action is at least morally permissible. I argue, too, that because the formula of humanity serves as a criterion, it provides the basis for a theory of moral relevance. Kant has a solution to what I call the “general problem” of relevant descriptions that comes directly out of his formula of humanity, understood as a
moral criterion. However, my differential roles interpretation raises a number of questions, among them how the universal law and humanity formulae are related, and whether on this interpretation the universal law formula is really in some sense superfluous and could be dropped from Kant’s theory. In the final main part of the chapter I tackle these and other questions.
The third chapter, “The Categorical Imperative and Universalizability,” was written for a cooperative commentary on the Groundwork, and, as the title indicates, my assignment was to discuss those passages in Section II where Kant illustrates the use of the universal law of nature formula of the CI (FLN) a version of FUL for testing maxims in its role as a decision procedure. In the first part of the chapter, I spell out the main steps in Kant’s universalization tests in order to explain the main interpretative questions that scholars raise about them. I then proceed to articulate what I take to be the “core assumptions” of FLN the ones most central to it functioning as an adequate decision procedure, and distinguish these from further desiderata that would, in one way or another, strengthen FLN as a decision procedure. Getting clear about core assumptions versus non-core desiderata is important, since it is only if FLN cannot satisfy the former that it can be properly rejected as an adequate decision procedure. In the end, I argue that FLN is not an adequate decision procedure; the core assumptions are false. Of course, this negative verdict is not a disaster for Kant’s project, particularly in light of the claim defended in the previous chapter that the humanity formulation, and not FUL/FLN, represents the moral criterion of right action for Kant’s ethics. This negative verdict raises the question of the true significance of the universal law formulations of the CI which, in the original article, I went on to discuss. However, because this question is addressed more thoroughly in following chapter, I have abbreviated the original article to avoid repetition.
In the final chapter of Part I, “The Philosophical and Practical Significance of Kant’s Universality Formulations of the Categorical Imperative,” I propose that the true philosophical significance of the idea of universal law in the realm of practical reasoning is that a proper understanding of the notion reveals an interconnected set of formal, metaethical constraints that moral reasons, qua moral, must have that distinguishes them from non-moral reasons. This leads to what I call the “formal constraints” interpretation of the significance of the notion of universal law constraints involving the lawlike character of moral reasons, their supremacy, and respect as the only attitude that is fitting in response to such reasons. I suggest these constraints encapsulated in Kant’s universality formulations of the CI are to be understood as aspects of what Kant takes to be common rational moral thinking. Are these constraints collectively strong enough to provide grounds for concluding
that only humanity as an end in itself satisfies them? If so, then one could make an argument for the claim that the humanity formulation (given what is presupposed in common sense moral thought) is the sole and fundamental criterion of right action based on these constraints. Here I am cautious, only venturing to explain how this sort of argument fits with certain themes in Kant’s writings, leaving it open whether the argument can be made to work. With regard to the practical significance of Kant’s universal law formula, rather than serving as a self-sufficient decision procedure, I suggest that the true practical value of Kant’s universality tests is that they can serve to help foreground a conflict in one’s practical deliberations between considerations of self-interest and morality. That is, the tests serve a useful role in getting an agent to focus on the kind of impartial perspective characteristic of thinking ethically and help reveal a kind of duplicity in the reasoning and choice of a reasonably conscientious agent who proposes to perform a certain, morally dubious, action or series of actions. In this way, the practical significance of the universality tests is importantly psychological. I conclude the discussion of the practical significance of the formulae by explaining how certain wellknown objections to Kant’s universality tests empty formalism, disguised egoism, and limited scope objections do point to features of Kant’s Groundwork illustrations of FLN that ground these objections. However, I argue that conceding these points does not undermine what I see as the true practical significance of these tests: they only matter if one interprets the formula of universal law as a self-sufficient decision procedure.
II. Motive, Rightness, and Virtue. This part features four chapters that focus primarily on Part II of Kant’s 1797 Metaphysics of Morals, The Doctrine of Virtue. These chapters address the following questions. What is the relation in Kant’s ethical theory between one’s motives and the rightness of action? How might one develop the details of Kant’s attempted derivations of the system of ethical duties to oneself and others his grounding project? Given an answer to the previous question, how successful is Kant’s grounding project? In particular, how might one develop the details of Kant’s attempt to derive the perfect duties to oneself regarding suicide, masturbation, gluttony, and drunkenness? Regarding the duty of gratitude, a duty of love toward others in Kant’s system, how should one understand this multifaceted duty and associated virtue that Kant calls “sacred”? Kant distinguishes actions that conform to duty and thus are dutiful (or right) from an action’s moral worth. Moral worth, for Kant, depends on whether one’s sole and sufficient motive for action is respect for the moral law. But, as his well-known shopkeeper example illustrates, one may perform a dutiful action (giving correct change to an inexperienced customer) but do
it from the motive of self-interest, in which case one’s dutiful action lacks moral worth. This example at least suggests that in Kant’s view considerations of motive do not affect the rightness of an action and that the deontic status of an action is independent of motive. I call this the independence thesis (IT). Some contemporary Kant scholars have maintained that although in the Groundwork conforming to duty does not require that one be motivated by respect for the law, in his later Metaphysics of Morals Kant’s position is that fulfilling ethical duties does require acting from respect for the law that motive is part of the content of ethical duties, which is a claim that I refer to as the motive content thesis (MCT). In “Motive and Rightness in Kant’s Ethical System,” I argue that for both doctrinal and textual reasons Kant’s position in his later work should not be interpreted as committed to MCT. However, if it is true (as I maintain) that MCT does not figure in Kant’s ethical theory, this leaves open whether IT is true. It may be that motives other than respect for the law can play a role in determining the deontic status of certain types of action, in which case IT is also false. Indeed, this is what I argue, using illustrations from the Doctrine of Virtue and explaining how the deontic relevance of motives (e.g., malice) is grounded in Kant’s theory of moral relevance.
In the Doctrine of Virtue , Kant’s project is to set forth and defend a system of fundamental duties by deriving them from the CI. With the exception of the duty of beneficence, Kant’s derivations arguably proceed from the humanity formulation, which commands one to treat all persons (including oneself) always as an end in itself, never merely as a means. Interpreting FH as a moral criterion, the derivations purport to provide explanations of the deontic status of various types of action. In “Kant’s Grounding Project in the Doctrine of Virtue ,” Houston Smit and I examine Kant’s attempt to derive the various duties that compose his system in an effort to determine whether Kant’s appeal to the humanity formulation is doing real work in his derivations. One suspicion about these derivations is that the concepts featured in the humanity formulation are too indeterminate to provide a basis for genuine derivations of these duties. If this were so, then it would appear that the various duties collectively provide an interpretation of the humanity formulation, rather than follow from it. To respond to this worry, the strategy is to appeal to Kant’s complex conception of dignity in interpreting the humanity formulation. Doing so allows one to formulate a variety of subordinate principles (something Kant does not do) that represent partial specifications of the more general principle. These “specification principles” allow for genuine derivations because they help provide illuminating explanations of the duties in question, explanations
that compete with purely consequentialist explanations. The conclusion we reach is that, modulo Kant’s particular conception of dignity, his derivations are by and large successful.
“The Perfect Duty to Oneself as an Animal Being” was written for a cooperative commentary on the Doctrine of Virtue. The perfect duties to oneself as an animal being include negative duties regarding suicide and self-mutilation, misuse of one’s sexual powers, and gluttony and drunkenness. In this chapter, these duties receive more detailed attention than provided in chapter 6. In approaching the text I invoke a moral harm principle a particular specification of the humanity formula of the CI that I argue is operative in Kant’s thinking (or a fair reconstruction of it) in his arguments about the negative duties in question. I also invoke what I call the “authorization principle” that allows for cases in which one can be morally authorized to perform a type of action that is generally morally wrong, but only if there are humanity-based reasons of sufficient strength favoring the action. I then proceed to reconstruct Kant’s arguments, as set forth in the passages under scrutiny, for the various duties regarding suicide, self-mutilation, masturbation, and gluttony and drunkenness with the aim of assessing the quality of his argumentation. I explain that the arguments, as I reconstruct them, meet with mixed success from a Kantian perspective, depending on the plausibility of the causal claims upon which they depend.
The final chapter of this part, “The Moral Significance of Gratitude in Kant’s Ethics” (co-authored with Smit) examines a variety of questions about Kant’s conception gratitude as a duty and as a virtue questions about the grounds, nature, and content of this duty, as well as questions about its status, the acquisition of the virtue of gratitude and its role in Kant’s system, and finally about the justification of gratitude as a duty. The chapter addresses these questions in some detail in elaborating Kant’s complex conception of gratitude, both as something owed in particular circumstances and as a virtue. Included in the discussion is an interpretation of Kant’s conception of the psychology of ingratitude, which is extended in following chapter to the vices of envy and Schadenfreude.
III. The Psychology of Moral Evil. The final two chapters delve into some of the complexity of Kant’s views regarding the psychology of virtue and vice, including his conception of radical evil. Among the leading questions raised here are the following. What is the nature of the devilish vices that include envy, ingratitude, and Schadenfreude? Is there a unified psychological account in Kant’s writings of how they come about? These vices, of course, figure in Kant’s conception of moral evil, which he elaborates in Part I of Religion within
the Boundaries of Mere Reason. Regarding Kant’s conception of moral evil, one battery of questions concerns the descriptive adequacy of his conception, including: Can Kant’s theory of moral evil accommodate commonsense conceptions regarding the range of humanly possible forms of evil? And can it accommodate the varying magnitude of evil that humans are capable of?
“Love of Honor, Emulation, and the Psychology of the Devilish Vices” (another chapter co-authored with Smit), investigates the psychology of what Kant refers to in the lecture notes as the devilish vices of envy, ingratitude, and Schadenfreude, which, together with malice, are featured in the Metaphysics of Morals as “vices of hatred.” The first half of the chapter discusses select key elements that figure in Kant’s conception of virtue, as well as the “dynamics” of virtue acquisition and maintenance, which provide the needed psychological background to understand Kant’s account of the vices in question. The elements include Kant’s conception of true love of honor and the related notion of proper self-esteem, while the dynamics of virtue acquisition involve the drive to be respected, a proper sense of self-contentment, and the instincts of rivalry and emulation. After explaining what makes a vice (or, more precisely, a particular instance of a vice) devilish, the chapter proceeds to develop a unified account of the psychology of the devilish vices, looking for a common psychological pattern underlying them. Extending the account of the psychology of ingratitude from the previous chapter, all of these vices, so it is argued, are rooted in a self-other comparison that involves a false conception of proper self-esteem.
In Religion within the Mere Limits of Reason, Kant defends character rigorism according to which human beings by nature are either morally good or morally evil; they cannot be neither one, nor can they be a mixture of good and evil. However, according to some critics, Kant’s rigorism has the problem of the “excluded middle,” that is, his view excludes cases of moral indeterminacy and moral fragmentation that common sense recognizes. Moreover, Kant’s classification of all moral evil as subordination of morality to self-love seems to imply that all instances of evil are equally evil, leaving no room for varying degrees of evil. In short, critics claim that Kant’s conception of evil is lacking in both breadth and depth.
In the final chapter, “The Good, the Bad, and the Badass: On the Descriptive Adequacy of Kant’s Conception of Moral Evil,” published here for the first time, I take up these objections. I argue that there is an interpretation of Kant’s moral psychology that accommodates the so-called excluded middle cases and allows for variations in the magnitude of evils. The strategy for cases accommodating the middle is to distinguish considerations pertaining to Kant’s
transcendental psychology from those pertaining to his empirical psychology, and argue that Kant’s rigorism should be restricted to the transcendental level of analysis. This, I argue, allows Kant’s empirical moral psychology to accommodate a broad range of types of character flaw that human beings, as embodied individuals, are capable of. I argue further that by incorporating the vices of hatred into Kant’s conception of evil, his view has no problem recognizing that some evils are of greater magnitude than others. Indeed, I argue, contrary to some of Kant’s proclamations, that his view can accommodate the so-called badass, who does evil things for the sake of doing evil. The upshot is that Kant’s moral psychology of evil is more plausible than many critics suppose.
PART I
Interpreting the Categorical Imperative
1
Necessitation and Justification in Kant’s Ethics
IN THE GROUNDWORK of the Metaphysic of Morals, Kant claims that hypothetical imperatives are analytic and that categorical imperatives are synthetic. This claim plays a crucial role in Kant’s attempt to establish moral ‘oughts’ as categorically binding on all rational agents, for by classifying moral statements according to this distinction, Kant hopes to uncover the sort of justification required to establish such statements. However, Kant’s application of the analytic/synthetic distinction to imperatives is problematic. For one thing, this distinction was developed by Kant in connection with indicative, subject-predicate statements, which would seem to cast doubt on the idea that imperatives can be either analytic or synthetic.1 Moreover, Kant’s claim that hypothetical imperatives are analytic and categorical imperatives are synthetic seems to conflict with other claims in his moral works. For example, in the Groundwork, Kant claims that hypothetical imperatives are (compared to categorical imperatives) unproblematic since they can be established on the basis of experience (G 4:419–20). But this is incompatible with the idea that hypothetical imperatives are analytic, since presumably all analytic statements are a priori—established independently of experience.
Such problems, then, raise at least two questions about Kant’s application of the analytic/synthetic distinction to imperatives: (1) can imperatives be classified as either analytic or synthetic? and (assuming that they can), (2) is
1. Some commentators have denied that the analytic/synthetic distinction applies to imperatives at all. See, for example, L. W. Beck, A Commentary on Kant’s Critique of Practical Reason (Chicago: University of Chicago Press, 1960): 87, and R. P. Wolff, The Autonomy of Reason (New York: Harper & Row, 1973): 141.
Kant correct in claiming that hypothetical imperatives are analytic and that categorical imperatives are synthetic?
In this chapter I shall develop an interpretation of Kant’s application of the analytic/synthetic distinction to imperatives that yields an affirmative answer to both questions. In doing so, I shall not only clear up a number of puzzles and confusions concerning this matter in Kant’s moral epistemology, but my work will help illuminate Kant’s attempt to justify or establish moral ‘oughts’ as categorically binding on all rational agents.
I have divided my chapter into three sections. In Section 1.1, I develop my view of Kant’s analysis of imperatives. The main concern of this section will be an analysis of Kant’s notion of practical necessitation that he claims is expressed in ‘ought’ statements and that (I claim) is the key to understanding how the analytic/synthetic distinction applies to such statements (and hence imperatives). In Section 1.2, I explain how my interpretation of Kant helps make sense of his claim that hypothetical imperatives are analytic and categorical imperatives are synthetic. Here our attention will center on the notion of practical rationality. Finally, in Section 1.3, I show how the interpretation developed in the previous sections coheres nicely with other aspects of Kant’s moral philosophy. In particular, my view helps illuminate those notoriously difficult passages where Kant attempts to establish categorical imperatives.
1.1. Imperatives, ‘Oughts,’ and Necessitation
As I have already noted, the most obvious problem in making sense of Kant’s application of the analytic/synthetic distinction to imperatives is that imperatives are not of subject-predicate form, and yet the distinction is explained in terms of subject-predicate statements.
In all judgments in which the relation of a subject to a predicate is thought … this relation is possible in two different ways. Either the predicate B belongs to the subject A as something that is (covertly) contained in this concept A; or B lies entirely outside the concept A, though to be sure it stands in connection with it. (KrV A7/B10)
For Kant, imperatives are equivalent to, and hence can be expressed as, ‘ought’ statements, and so the problem of how imperatives can be either analytic or synthetic can be restated as the problem of how ‘ought’ statements can be either analytic or synthetic. But again, ‘ought’ statements are not (obviously) of subject-predicate form, and so the problem remains.
The most obvious strategy to pursue in solving this problem (and so far as I know the only strategy pursued by those who have written on this topic) is to see whether for Kant ‘ought’ statements (and hence imperatives) can be analyzed as descriptive statements having subject-predicate form. This strategy, at any rate, is the one I shall pursue. On my interpretation, Kant analyzes ‘ought’ statements— both moral and nonmoral—as broadly descriptive statements about completely or fully rational agents.2 Until recently, something like the interpretation I shall defend was more or less taken for granted by many commentators.3
However, this sort of interpretation has never been systematically defended, nor has it even been properly related to Kant’s attempt to justify practical propositions.4 Moreover, it has been subjected to recent criticism (see
2. Although (in my view) Kant analyzes ‘oughts’ as claims about what a completely rational agent would intend or do, such claims, because they represent idealizations are to some extent normative. Still, I think it is useful to characterize such claims as at least broadly descriptive, though I do not insist on some sort of sharp descriptive-normative distinction. Moreover, this does not jeopardize the strategy of analyzing ‘ought’ statements in the way I propose, because the analysis is not meant to reduce, in the sense of analyze away, moral and other normative statements. Rather the analysis is meant to illuminate the application of the analytic/synthetic distinction to ‘ought’ statements.
3. See, for example, H. J. Paton, The Categorical Imperative (Philadelphia: University of Pennsylvania Press, 1971): ch. 24; Bruce Aune, Kant’s Theory of Morals (Princeton, NJ: Princeton University Press, 1979): 35–7; and Thomas E. Hill Jr., “The Hypothetical Imperative,” Philosophical Review 82 (1973): 429–50. These authors seem to agree that for Kant, ‘oughts’ are equivalent to descriptive statements about completely rational agents but fail to explain the equivalence. Their failure is due to not having appreciated the importance of practical necessitation. The only writer I know of who has appreciated the role of this concept in Kant’s moral epistemology is Michael H. McCarthy. See his “Analytic Method and Analytic Propositions in Kant’s Groundwork,” Dialogue 15 (1976): 565–82; “Kant’s Application of the Analytic/Synthetic Distinction to Imperatives,” Dialogue 18 (1979): 373– 91; “Paton’s Suggestion that Kant’s Principle of Autonomy Might be Analytic,” Kant-Studien 70 (1979): 206–24; and “The Objection of Circularity in the Groundwork III,” Kant-Studien 76 (1985): 28–42. However, McCarthy mistakenly analyzes necessitation on the model of interpersonal coercion. For a critique of McCarthy’s view, see my “McCarthy on Practical Necessitation in Kant,” Kant-Studien 80 (1989): 199–208.
4. According to Paton, “Once [Kant] has established the principle that a rational agent as such, if he wills the end, must necessarily will the means, Kant finds no difficulty—perhaps he should have found more—in turning it into a hypothetical imperative: he takes it for granted that if anything is what a rational agent as such would necessarily do, it is also what a rational agent ought to do, should he be tempted otherwise. Exactly the same assumption is made in the case of the categorical imperative ” (247). Because Paton interprets Kant as taking it for granted that ‘oughts’ are to be understood in terms of what a (fully) rational agent would do, he more or less passes over this important doctrine without much discussion. What is needed, then, is a study of Kant’s understanding of ‘ought’ statements, which I undertake here.
below, this section), and a rival interpretation has been proposed.5 Hence the need for a thorough investigation into matters fundamental to Kant’s moral epistemology.
The key to understanding Kant’s analysis of ‘ought’ statements in terms of descriptive statements is his notion of necessitation. In the Groundwork, 6 having claimed that imperatives can be expressed as ‘ought’ statements and that such statements in turn express the relation of necessitation, Kant writes:
Now the question arises: how are all these imperatives possible? This question does not inquire how the performance of the action that the imperative commands can be thought, but only how the necessitation of the will which the imperative expresses in the problem, can be thought. (G 4:417, my emphasis)
In this passage Kant is claiming that in order to understand both hypothetical and categorical imperatives, we must focus on the sort of necessitation involved in ‘oughts’ or imperatives. Indeed, this notion must be understood if we are to be clear about the differences between hypothetical ‘oughts’ and categorical ‘oughts’ and, consequently, about their putative status as analytic and synthetic respectively, for, as Kant says, “Volition in accordance with [such ‘oughts’, M.T.] is … clearly distinguished by dissimilarity in the necessitation of the will’ (G 4:416). What is needed, then, is an analysis of necessitation that reflects this dissimilarity. So let us focus on this concept.
Consider first the following passage:
All imperatives are expressed by an ought and indicate by this the relation of an objective law of reason to a will that by its subjective constitution is not necessarily determined by it (a necessitation). (G 4:413)
This relation of necessitation, then, involves the following two relata: (1) an objective law of reason (or simply, an objective practical principle) and (2) a certain sort of will (an incompletely rational will). Let us consider these relata in order.
5. See the McCarthy articles cited above in n. 4.
6. Cf. MS 6:222–3 where Kant claims that moral obligation (i.e., moral ‘ought’ statements) contain necessitation. In various places, Kant claims that duty, which he defines as “that action to which someone is bound” (MS 6:222) implies necessitation. See, e.g., MS 6:379, 394, and 401–2.
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she is not shut up like an Arab woman.
Whilst the man journeys afar with the caravans, or on freebooting expeditions, she remains at home to direct affairs. But this is not all, for she studies old traditions, is highly enlightened, and far in advance of the men in knowledge of old customs and manners, and also of the art of reading and writing the Tuareg language. In short, it is she who preserves their traditions and is acquainted with their literature, and indeed sometimes ranks as the highest authority of the tribe.
Duveyrier relates that amongst the eastern Tuareg the women take part in the councils when the tribes assemble, just as did the Iberian women in ancient days.
In the battlefield it is often dread of the women’s scorn which drives the men to make the utmost efforts to return victorious.
“This trait reminds one of the Iberian maidens, who chose their husbands from amongst the bravest warriors.”
Descent on the mother’s side alone ennobles, and the children belong to the family of the wife.
For instance, the son of a nobly born woman and a slave is acknowledged as free born, whereas the son of a slave and a free man remains a slave. But, in favour of the latter, certain tribes have created a particular caste called “Iradjenat,” who, though yet slaves, are exempt from certain heavy labour.
It must be added that the women have entire control over their own property
Inheritance in the tribes goes from a man to his brother, and, in default, to the son of a sister, but never to the direct progeny.
In such communities misconduct on the part of women is not tolerated, it is simply punished with death. Captain Bissuel relates that a native of the province of Setif killed his sister by order of his father, they having learnt that she was leading a dissolute life. Both father and brother mourned for the poor culprit, but were convinced that they had only done their duty.
On the other hand, according to Duveyrier, the Tuareg lawfully claim le droit du seigneur from their female slaves, before these marry.
The same custom is mentioned by Herodotus as obtaining amongst the Adyrmachidæ in the neighbourhood of Egypt.
The western Tuareg regard this custom as despicable.
The Tuareg have to give their wives a dowry, which varies in amount. The western Tuareg, for instance, give at least six camels, a negress, and a complete costume.
These are the principal features of Tuareg customs. They have many points in common with those of the mystical Amazons and the Iberians of antiquity.
Even now among the Basques the man plays a subordinate part. The woman rules and controls the house. “The husband is her head servant,” who brings to the house only himself and his labour, together with a stipulation for progeny
T A .
The Arabs in Tunisia are, like those in Algeria, nearly all nomads. They reside chiefly in the southern and central portions of the Regency.
They are recognisable by their tall, slender figures, their lean, muscular build, and by their dignified nobility of carriage.
The Arab cast of countenance is narrow, the nose curved, the lips thin and graced by a delicate black beard, the black eyes are lively, but the expression crafty.
The Arab woman is endowed with a pretty, well-formed figure, but she is of small stature. She is, on the whole, attractive, but fades early, being old and ugly through hard work by the time she attains her twentieth year. Unlike the Berber woman, she is usually obliged to go abroad veiled.
As the Bey was too weak to collect his own taxes, he united the various groups of nomad Arabs to form his auxiliary troops. These tribes were thence designated “Mahzen,” were almost exempt from taxation, or only paid in kind, such as oil, dates, etc. In return they bound themselves to fight the robber bands (Jish) who frequently harassed the country. Were they victorious, all spoils were theirs. Their ostensible duty was to assist the Bey’s own soldiers to recover the taxes. This collection resolved itself into sheer plunder. The least of their perquisites was the right to “diffa” and “alfa,” which means hospitality for themselves and their horses; of this they took advantage to the greatest extent, often pillaging wherever they appeared.
For instance, the holy city of Kairwan was often compelled to raise forced contributions under this pretext.
Their morals, as a rule, are very lax. The abduction of married women and girls is common, and adultery a matter of course.
The upbringing that an Arab woman receives in a tent is not exactly calculated to ensure in any way a moral tone. A young girl is from the very outset of her innocent life apt to see and learn much that to us appears offensive.
Whereas the man has every possible right of control over his wife, she has only the “justice of God” (el hak Allah), meaning that he must fulfil his obligations towards her as her husband, failing which she can demand a divorce, not an infrequent occurrence.
After the enactment of the law emancipating slaves, the men in some tribes married their negresses, with a view to thus evading the law. But it befell that the former went into court and complained that they were defrauded of their rights as wives.
Although the Arabs, as aliens, have always been in a minority in the land of the Berbers, yet they were the masters until the arrival of the French. They had steadily spread themselves over all the open plains and lower tablelands, moving ever from east to west. Thus each tribe continually changed its territory, one tribe ever pressing another before it farther westward.
Long before Mohammed’s day this immigration had already begun, but it was not until after his time that it made any real headway, and the conquest of the country and its conversion to Mohammedanism took place.
Not until much later, in the middle of the eleventh century, was the great migration accomplished, in which both Mongols and Egyptians were included. Such great waves, however, always cause a counter wave. When the tribes reached the shores of the Atlantic on the most distant coasts of Morocco, the tide turned. Thus the tribe that claims to be the chief of all the tribes, namely, the Shorfa, or “Followers of the Prophet,” is precisely that which, having been to Morocco, returned eastwards.
Yet another receding wave brought back the “Arabs” who had conquered Spain, and who were afterwards driven forth again.
These Spanish “Arabs” were for the most part Berbers who had been carried westward by the tide, and who returned, after a long sojourn on the Iberian peninsula, blended with other races— Ligurians, Iberians, Celts, and Western Goths.
The greater proportion of these refugees, who are known in Barbary as “Andaluz,” established themselves in the towns, where they introduced a new strain into the already mixed race of Moors. These Spanish Moors are more especially represented in Tunis.
It is quite natural that, in a country so often invaded and peopled by foreigners who to this day have never really amalgamated, there should be an entire lack of patriotism such as is found in Europe. It is as Mussulmans that these races have united to make war against the Christian. Amongst themselves they are often at enmity.
M .
Though it is an undoubted fact that the various races of Berbers and Arabs have preserved much of their identity, it is also noticeable that, to a stranger arriving in the country for the first time, the inhabitants appear, as it were, to be fused into one race. This fusion
is the result of their creed, for Mohammedanism has been drawn like a veil over the whole country.
Mohammed, through the Koran, gave to even daily labour the stamp of religion, and in a marvellous way moulded all the various races, who thus became “the faithful,” into one mode of thought and life, which gradually shaped them all to one pattern, although hereditary inclinations and customs contended, and are still contending, against such constraint.
The features which appear most strongly marked in these various races who have become Mussulmans, are their individual absorption in their religion and their family organisation.
The stubborn influence of Islamism on the community is entirely expressed in the phrase “Mektub” (it is written). Fatalism has destroyed all initiative, all progress. How men may act is immaterial. “It is written.”
To the Mussulmans, authority is of divine origin. Their creed ordains that everyone must bow to authority. This has given rise to the most complete absolutism, alike from the Bey, whose title is “The chosen of God and the owner of the kingdom of Tunisia,” down to the lowest of officials.
But yet the yoke may prove too heavy—then the oppressed revolt, as has so often happened.
The influence of religion is manifest in the treatment of the insane, whose utterances are held as sacred. The number of real and pretended lunatics is consequently very great. Hospitality is not exactly gladly offered to such afflicted persons, but they are permitted to take whatever they please from a house, a liberty often very widely interpreted. Latterly a madman in Tunis declared several houses to be under a ban. All the inmates at once fled, and could not be persuaded to return. This individual was also inspired with the sublime idea of erecting a barricade in one of the most populous streets, by means of doors which he lifted from their hinges.
The Prophet organised the family on the lines best adapted to the nomad tribes, who were destined to be great conquerors. He
ordained the absorption of the vanquished into the family; while the males were killed or, if fortunate, made slaves, the women were allowed to enter the family.
This was the foundation of the rapid conquest of North Africa by Islam.
To ensure unity in the family, composed of so many and varied elements, the man is invested with the most absolute authority. He does not marry but he buys his wife, who becomes his property. He is unquestionably her lord and master, he can maltreat her, kill her if she is untrue to him, without risking injury to a hair of his own head. All that he owes her is the “hak Allah.”
Crimes against women are more rare now through fear of the French; but as there is no legal census, many murders may be committed which are never brought to light.
Religious influence first and foremost, also life in common under equal conditions of many generations of different extraction, have obliterated many of the characteristics of the natives of Tunisia. Many Berber tribes have been entirely transformed into Arabs, and, on the other hand, many Arab tribes have been Berberised. Indeed, there are tribes forming a subdivision, of which it is well known some are Berbers, some Arabs.
Of the religious brotherhoods, so numerous elsewhere under Islam, there are comparatively few in Tunisia. We find the “Tidyanya,” “Medaniya,” and the “Aissaua,” and, besides these, many scattered “Shorfa.”
In the towns there is more fanaticism than in the country. In this respect “those who can read and write are the worst.”
Yet many customs and reminiscences may be found of a former age before Mohammedanism was forced on the Tunisians.
For instance, the people hang bits of rag all over sacred trees; many fear the “evil eye,” or honour five as a peculiarly lucky number. For this reason they set the mark of their own five fingers on their houses to protect the latter. Indeed, it is not uncommon for a man who has more than five children, if questioned as to their number, to
reply that he has five, rather than be obliged to name an unlucky number.
If rain is long delayed, they take refuge in exorcism, and will on occasion even dip their kaid in a fountain so that his beard may be wetted—that surely brings rain.
T M .
Nowhere has all origin of race been so entirely effaced as in the towns. There have sprung up the Moors—quite a new race of town dwellers, which may be said to have absorbed all others.
Whereas the population of the interior of the country to a great extent escaped intermixture with the new elements, up to the time of the arrival of the Arabs, it has been quite otherwise in the towns, where foreign traders settled and intermingled with the native inhabitants.
Amongst the Moors in the towns are found, as has been said, the so-called “Andaluz,” who were driven out of Spain. Several of these distinguished families have carefully preserved the records of their genealogy, and some of them still possess the keys of their houses in Seville and Granada. They have certainly intermarried with other families of different origin, but still cling to their traditions, and retain and exercise to a certain extent the handicrafts and occupations of their forefathers in Spain. The gardeners of “Teburka,” for instance, are descendants of the gardeners of the Guadalquivir, and the forefathers of the potters near Nebel were potters at Malaga.
The blood of slaves of all nationalities has also been introduced into the people known as Moors.
The complexion of the Moor is fair, or, more rarely, olive; it resembles that of the Southern Italian or Spaniard. The shape of the head is oval the nose long, and they have thick eyebrows and very black beards. Of medium height, they are well built, and their carriage is easy and graceful. They are considered more honourable than either Jews or Christians, and were noted formerly for their kind treatment of their slaves. Though clever workmen and well educated,
their moral tone is not high. In old days the town of Tunis was the great market frequented by the people of the Sudan; nothing was considered worth having that had not been made by a Tunisian.
The Turkish element, as represented by the Bey and his surroundings, has long since ceased to have any influence on the Moorish race in Tunisia. No real Turks are now to be found in the country. In the towns, however, are a few descendants of Turkish soldiers and Tunisian women; they are called “Kurughis,” and are lazy, vain, and ignorant, and consequently not much respected.
The Moors, or the town dwellers, on the whole, are, however, not so vigorous and energetic as the nomads and the mountaineers; their manners are more effeminate, and they are lazier.
Crimes against the person, such as assault or murder, are rare in the towns, but drunkenness on the sly is common, and immorality is prevalent.
T J .
The ancient conquerors of the country, the Carthaginians and Romans, who covered it with towns, forts, and monuments, have left no impress of themselves on the appearance of the present inhabitants, nor do there survive amongst the tribes any traditions concerning them.
No more remains to recall the Vandals and Goths, yet the latest researches prove the existence in early days of other Semitic peoples besides the Arab.
The earliest importation to the country of Semitic blood was doubtless the Phœnician. To this is due the fact that many of the types portrayed on Chaldaic and Assyrian ruins are now found scattered throughout Tunisia.
At the same time as the Phœnicians may be mentioned the Jews, the earliest of whom probably came to Barbary at the same time as the former, but their number was largely added to later, after the conquest of Jerusalem by Titus. Moreover, it is known that many
Berber tribes were converted to Judaism and remained Jews, even after the Arab conquest. The classic type of European Jew is therefore rarely met with in Tunisia.
After the Mohammedans the Jews are, numerically, most strongly represented in Barbary. They form somewhat important communities, not only in the town of Tunis, but also in all other towns, even in the island of Jerba. Possibly with theirs has mingled the blood of the ancient Carthaginians.
There are also a great number of Jews whose ancestors were ejected from Spain and Portugal; these are called “Grana,” from their former most important trading city in Spain.
These “Grana” were under the protection of the foreign consuls, and therefore have had nothing to complain of; but the old Jews were in a disastrous condition in former days, and suffered much, so much that some isolated families abjured Judaism and became Mohammedans; such they are still, but they always associate with their former co-religionists. Other Jews—those of Jerba, for instance —have modified their religious forms, pray to Mohammedan saints, and hold their Marabouts in honour.
A peculiar head-dress distinguishes those Jews who are under no protection, from those who are protected by the consuls. It is an irony of fate that many Jews have placed themselves under Spanish protection, because they knew that Spain was their home in old days. Now they are protected by the country that formerly drove them forth. Somewhat similar is the case of the Algerian Jews in Tunis who seek French protection.
All the Jews of Tunis retain the ancient Spanish ritual. They are peaceful and well behaved, and not so grasping as others of their faith, but they are clever at taking advantage of a good opportunity when there is a prospect of making money, or when their trade may be extended. Commerce is therefore in great measure in their hands.
In the whole Regency of Tunisia there are over fifty thousand Jews, and their numbers increase rapidly. In the town of Tunis there
is a “ghetto,” the quarter formerly devoted to them, and where they were compelled to dwell. It has long since become too small, and the Jews have now spread over all the other quarters, and in the bazaars have wrested from the Moors many of their shops.
This Jewish community is an interesting study, and one is astonished to find how in many respects they so little resemble their co-religionists in other countries.
COSTUMES
T
D C
B )
O the whole of Tunisia the countrywomen, whether Arab or Berber, wear a similar costume, which must be almost identical with that worn by the Grecian women in olden days.
The dress of the women of ancient Greece consisted of what was known as the “peplos”[8] (πέπλος), a white wrapper gathered in by a belt about the waist (ζώνη), and supported on the shoulders by pins (περόναι and ἐνεται). As head-dress, or for ornament, they wore a kind of forehead band (χρήδεμνον) or veil, and, in addition to these, earrings, necklets, bracelets, etc. etc.
The “peplos” was a large piece of stuff without seam, which was folded round the body from one side.
The dress of a Tunisian woman of to-day is the same. It consists of a “m’lhalfa,” which resembles the “peplos,” being a long narrow piece of stuff, wound round the body in such a manner that it entirely covers the back and shoulders. One end is brought over the breast, and hangs down in front; the other end covers the lower limbs, and forms a skirt. The piece is so long that it hangs in folds, which partly conceal the sides. Whilst the Greek “peplos” was held together by “fibulæ” on the shoulders, the clasps that confine the “m’lhalfa” are placed rather forward—over the breast. The Grecian woman’s neck was bare, her chest covered. But it is the contrary with the Tunisian woman. In other words, the “m’lhalfa” is merely a “peplos” which has been drawn forward. Many Tunisian women draw the “m’lhalfa” over the breast, and arrange one end to form a full drapery; others, as in the Matmata villages, omit this, but wear over their bosom a thin
square of stuff called “katfia.” This is secured by the clasps already mentioned.
In a few places, such as the Khrumir mountains, the “m’lhalfa” is composed of two pieces of stuff worn one in front and one behind, held together by the breast clasp. Over the neck and shoulders is laid a rather large towel. The “m’lhalfa” is always bound in at the waist by a long woollen belt, generally white or of some bright colour.
The clothes for daily wear are, as a rule, of a dark blue woollen material, but for festivals or weddings they wear red, yellow, or particoloured garments of silk, cotton, or wool.
In most regions a kerchief is worn on the head (tadchira); round this is wound a turban (assaba), composed of a long piece of stuff ornamented with coins or trinkets. Over this again is thrown a large, often embroidered, cloth, in which the face is enveloped (begnuk).
Generally speaking, the Tunisian women wear no underclothing, at all events not in daily life in the country. On festive occasions, especially in the towns of the oases, they assume a white shirt (suïera). It has very short or no sleeves. A bride, as a rule, wears one. The bridal shirt (gomedj) is generally embroidered about the opening at the neck in silk or cotton, in stripes of black, yellow, blue, and red.
In daily life they do not wear shoes, but go barefoot. At the feasts the women put on yellow shoes without heels (balgha).
The ornaments worn by the poor are mostly of brass, copper, or horn; by those in better circumstances, of silver; or sometimes by the rich, of gold.
Round the neck are worn strings of glass beads, and in the ears large slight earrings (“khoras,” from cross); on the wrists, broad open bracelets (addide). Finally, they wear large heavy anklets called “kralkral,” that are generally made not to meet.
To fasten the “m’lhalfa” on the shoulders large brooches are commonly employed. These are in the form of an open circle, through which passes a pin (khlel).
On the breast they wear a silver chain (ghomra), from which depend coins or flat plates of metal. These chains are fastened to the breast-pins. All these ornaments are made by the Jews of the towns or oases, and are really artistic productions.
The women do not usually wear straw hats, though some may amongst the Berbers of the island of Jerba. These hats are precisely similar to those depicted on some of the Tanagra figures found in Greece.
In Jerba are worn crescent-shaped breast ornaments, said to come from Tripoli; also ornaments in filagree work from Zarsis.
The women often carry a little looking-glass tied to their breastpins, and also the requisites for applying henna and kohol.
When they fetch water in their great pitchers they carry these slung on their backs by means of a wide band round the forehead, or in the end of their turban, loosened for the purpose.
Their hair is never plaited, but is covered by the cloth or turban. A woman is rarely seen in stockings. In a few places where the roads are bad they wear wooden shoes. The Khrumirs are proficient in making these.
Much of the material employed in the women’s dress is woven or made by themselves in the region in which it is worn, but some is brought from Tripoli, the Sudan, or from Europe. As a rule, however, the countrywomen wear only their own handiwork.
In the Matmata mountains and the neighbouring oases I was able to collect and buy a complete costume, the whole of which had been made in that region, and chiefly of native materials.
It must be mentioned that the Berber women have everywhere more freedom than their Arab sisters, and are therefore often unveiled. Yet many of the tribes have gradually adopted Arab customs, and in this particular follow their example—at all events in the vicinity of a town, for in the country the women all go unveiled, only hiding their faces on occasion.
We will now examine the dress of the men, both Arabs and Berbers.
In contradistinction to the Kabail of Algeria, the Arabs always cover their heads. In Tunis, where the races are so mixed, nearly all the men go covered. They wear white cotton caps under the red “shashia,” allowing a narrow edge of white to appear beneath the latter.
The Arabs always wear a haik or burnous; the Berbers, generally.
The burnous, as is known, consists of a cape united at the breast.
The “haik” is a piece of thinner stuff, which is worn as a drapery, usually under the burnous, but also alone.
In the southern mountains of Tunisia I found that many of the mountaineers wore, instead of burnous or haik, a piece of stuff without hood or seam. In this they draped themselves so that the head was covered. It was usually of brown or grey wool. The burnous is as a rule white, as is also the haik. Many of the poorer folk, especially amongst the Berbers, wear nothing else in daily life; but they assume a shirt, waistcoat, and coat, as also a gala burnous (sjebba) on festive occasions. This last is shorter than the real burnous, and is made with short wide sleeves, of bright coloured stuff, often embroidered in silk.
The people on the coast near Susa and to the south have a still shorter brown-hooded garment in place of a haik or burnous, and they wear trousers. This costume is convenient for fishermen.
A large broad-brimmed straw hat is worn by the denizens of the plains. Shoes or sandals of morocco leather or hide are worn by many.
Red morocco leather boots, worn inside a shoe, are used by riders, also spurs.
The purse is a long, narrow, knitted or woven bag.
The Berber often wears a shirt, and, in such cases, only a haik over it, and no burnous.
The usual costume of the Arab is that worn in Algeria—the burnous and the haik, the latter bound on with a camel’s-hair cord; shoes (or boots). Of the Berber, shirt, haik, burnous, bare legs, and uncovered head.
Such variations of these costumes as may exist in Tunisia have been brought about by an altered mode of life and the admixture of races.
Dr. Bertholon declares that most of the costumes are of very ancient origin. That of the Jews, for instance, he dates back to the days of the Carthaginians; the burnous, he says, resembles the hooded Roman cloak.
The Moorish woman’s dress is very pretty, but extremely coquettish. It is overladen with ornaments.
“In the morning she wears a very scanty costume. If one has the luck to catch a glimpse of her at an early hour as she moves hither and thither in the harem, she is not easily forgotten. She is clad in a simple shirt, with short sleeves, which leave her plump arms exposed. Under this she wears trousers, so short that they scarcely reach the knees; a little shawl, of which the ends are knotted in front at the waist, replaces a skirt, and enfolds her pretty form. Her bosoms are supported by a narrow bodice, and about her hair is bound a silk kerchief, but her locks fall down over her neck” (Des Godins de Souhesnes).
When she leaves the house she wears a “gandura,” a kind of cloak of transparent material, fastened on the shoulders by gold or silver pins. Besides this she has put on wrinkled white linen trousers reaching to her ankles; over her head she throws a white kerchief; and, lastly, she conceals her face with a long embroidered veil.
The Moorish woman blackens her eyebrows, enhances the beauty of her eyes with antimony (khol), and stains with orange-red henna the nails of her fingers and toes and the palms of her hands.
The dress of the Moor much resembles that of the Jew. He wears a tasselled cap (shashia), surrounded by a turban, and a silken vest or coat, embroidered in gold or silver
The trousers are very wide, and fall in heavy folds; the lower part of the leg is uncovered, and on his bare feet he wears broad shoes of red or yellow morocco leather (babush).
The costume of the Jews, as worn by them before they were free, to distinguish them from the Arabs, is very picturesque, and, fortunately, still universal.
The men, who are generally handsome, wear a tasselled shashia, often surrounded by a turban. Their wide, pleated Turkish trousers reach a little below the knee, and are secured at the waist by a belt. They wear also coat and waistcoat, stockings, and shoes.
Many have now adopted European attire, but the characteristic Jewish type is easily distinguished.
The Jewish women are not veiled. They wear shirts, narrow embroidered silk trousers, cotton stockings, shoes, and on their heads a pointed cap.
These women, when young, are very pretty, but also very immoral. They are generally spoilt by being too stout, young girls being fed up to make them attractive for their wedding.
There is no native industry peculiar to Tunisia, but there are a few which may be considered worth notice.
The holy town of Kairwan is famed for its beautiful carpets. In Gefsa and Jerba also curious and beautiful carpets are woven.
Clay ware is a speciality of Nebel, where, to this day, pottery is made that recalls that found in the Phœnician and Roman tombs near Carthage. Pottery is also made at Jerba in the form of jars, vases, etc., which are sent to different parts of the country—northern Tunisia obtaining its pottery from Nebel; southern, from Jerba.
Amongst the tribes, pottery is also made by the women and negresses, but generally without the aid of the potter’s wheel. The Khrumir in particular are noted for their peculiar ornamented pottery.
In the towns, moreover, and especially in Tunis, there are numbers of shoemakers, leather workers, saddlers, harness and
pouch makers, etc. etc. There are also excellent dyers and makers of perfumes.
In the oases are made fans, and baskets of palm leaves and of alfa straw; baskets, hats, and great crates for corn, which take the place in these regions of the clay jars of the Kabail.
Tripoli lies quite close to Tunis, and there manufactures attain a high level; a great quantity therefore of stuffs—carpets and worked leather articles—are imported thence. The Jews are the goldsmiths, and, even in the interior and in the southern oases, possess the art of making pretty bracelets and ornaments.
The inhabitants of Zarsis are renowned for their peculiar filigree work.
POSTSCRIPT
T information adjoined regarding the number of souls included in each of the Berber tribes, and of their domestic animals, came to hand only after the first portion of my book had gone to press. I therefore add it here. This information has been collected with great pains throughout the Government of El Arad by the kindly help of M. Destailleur, Contrôleur Civil to that Government. It is positively reliable, the calculations which I was able to make in person during my stay in several of the villages, with the same view, corresponding exactly to those in the table. Only—as an outsider—I must aver that the number of horses may not be quite correct, but for some places appears computed too low. As for instance in Hadeij, where, it is said, none are to be found, which was certainly not the case. Possibly the explanation may be that the sheikhs feared that the inquiry made by the Government arose from a desire to know how many mounted men this tribe could place in the field in time of war.
Names of Tribes and Villages.
Beni-Zider, South of the Shott.
Matmata Mountains.
Names of Tribes and Villages.
Inhabitants. Asses. Oxen. Horses. Camels. Sheep and Goats. Mules
