Kant’s Critique of Practical Reason and Other Works on the Theory of Ethics (1889) - Metaphysics of Morals; Critique of Practical Reason (1785), Theory of Religion

Immanuel Kant

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KANT’S CRITIQUE OF PRACTICAL REASON

AND OTHER WORKS ON THE THEORY OFETHICS

TRANSLATED BY THOMAS KINGSMILL ABBOTT, B.D., FELLOW AND TUTOR OF TRINITY COLLEGE, DUBLIN.

Fourth Edition, Revised.

WITH MEMOIR AND PORTRAIT.

LONDON:

LONGMANS, GREEN,CO., PATERNOSTER-ROW

1889.

“For heaven’s sake, buy two books: KANT’S ‘FundamentalPrinciples of the Metaphysic of Morals,’ and KANT’S ‘Critical Examination of the Practical Reason.’ KANT is nota light of the world, but a whole solar system at once,”

JEAN PAUL RICHTER.

First Edition of this Translation, 1871.

Second Edition (enlarged), 1879.

Third Edition (further enlarged), 1881.

Fourth Edition, 1889.

DUBLIN: PRINTED AT THE UNIVERSITY PRESS, BY PONSONBY AND WELDRICK.

TRANSLATOR’S PREFACE TO THIRDEDITION.

THIS volume contains the whole of Kant’sworks on the General Theory of Ethies. It consists of four parts:—

- I. A complete translation of the Grundlegung zur Metaphysik der Sitten. This work was firstpublished in 1785.

- II. A complete translation of the Kritik der Praktischen Vernunft (first published in1788).

- III. A translation of the GeneralIntroduction to the Metaphysical Elements of MoralPhilosophy ( Metaphysische Anfangsgrunde derSittenlehre ), and of the Preface and Introduction to the Metaphysical Elements of Ethics ( Metaph.Anfangsgründe der Tugendlehre ).

- IV. The first portion of Die Religion innerhalb der Grenzen der blossen Vernunft, [1] otherwise named Philosophische Religionslehre. This portion was first publishedby Kant himself separately (in 1792), and it appearsto me to be indispensable to a complete view of Kant’s Ethics. The remainder ofthe work (first edition, 1793) does not come within the sphere of Ethicsproper.

I have added, in an appendix, a translation of Kant’s essay— Ueber ein vermeintes Recht aus Menschenliebe zu lügen (1797): Werke, ed. Rosenkr., vol. vii., which is interesting asthrowing further light on Kant’s application of his principles.

The first of these treatises and half of the second were translated by Mr.Semple (Edinburgh, 1836; reprinted 1869) in connexion with the greater part ofthe Metaphysik der Sitten (which is concerned with thediscussion of particular virtues and vices). Mr. Semple has also translated (ina distinct volume) the Religion u. s. w.

The edition which I have used is that of Kant’s whole works, by Rosenkranzand Schubert, vol. viii. of which contains the Grundlegung and the Kritik, and vol. x. the Religion. For convenience of reference to the original, I havegiven at the top of each page the corresponding pages of Rosenkranz’ edition.It is not very accurately printed; and, where the errors are obvious, I havesilently corrected them; others I havenoticed in foot-notes. Many of these errors seem tohave been handed down through all editions from the first. Hartenstein’sedition is more carefully revised, and I have referred to it and to Kirchmann’sin cases of doubt. Kant’s grammatical errors, partly provincialisms, partly dueto his age, are usually corrected by Hartenstein, but silently, which is asomewhat questionable proceeding in an editor. Amongst these errors are:uncertainty in the use of the indicative and conjunctive; “an almostthoroughgoing misuse of prepositions” (Hartenstein), and irregularities in thegender of substantives. His use of “vor” for “für” has been generally correctedby editors: where “vor” remains, the reader must remember that its retention isa matter of judgment.

I have to express my obligation to Professor Selss for his kindness inrevising the proofs, and for many valuable suggestions.

The Memoir prefixed will, it is hoped, prove interesting.

In the present (fourth) edition some corrections have been made.

The Portrait prefixed is from a photograph of an oil-painting in thepossession of Gräfe and Unzer, booksellers, of Königsberg. It is inferior, as awork of art, to the portrait engraved in the former edition;but as it represents Kant in the vigour of his age,and, unlike the former, has never appeared in any book, readers will probablybe pleased with the substitution. I possess also a copy of a rare full-lengthsilhouette, photographic copies of which can be supplied.

My notes are in square brackets.

TABLE OF CONTENTS.

- MEMOIR, . . . . . . . . . . PAGE xiii

- I. FUNDAMENTAL PRINCIPLES OF THEMETAPHYSIC OF MORALS.

- AUTHOR’S PREFACE, . . . . . . . . . 1

- FIRST SECTION.

- TRANSITION FROM THE COMMON RATIONAL KNOWLEDGE OF MORALITYTO THE PHILOSOPHICAL, . . . . . . . . 9

- SECOND SECTION.

- TRANSITION FROM POPULAR MORAL PHILOSOPHY TO THE METAPHYSICOF MORALS, . . . . . . . . . . 23

- Autonomy of the Will the Supreme Principle of Morality, . 59

- Heteronomy of the Will the Source of all Spurious Principles of Morality,. . . . . . . . . ib.

- Classification of all Principles of Morality which can be founded on theConception of Heteronomy, . . . 60

- THIRD SECTION.

- TRANSITION FROM THE METAPHYSIC OF MORALS TO THE CRITIQUEOF PURE PRACTICAL REASON, . . . . . . . . 65

- The Concept of Freedom is the Key that explains the Autonomy of the Will,. . . . . . . . ib.

- Freedom must be presupposed as a Property of the Will of all Rationalbeings, . . . . . . . . 66

- Of the Interest attaching to the Ideas of Morality, . . 67

- How is a Categorical Imperative possible? . . . . 73

- Of the Extreme Limits of all Pructical Philosophy, . . 75

- Concluding Remark, . . . . . . . . 83

- II. CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF PRACTICALREASON.

- PREFACE, . . . . . . . . . . . 87

- INTRODUCTION, . . . . . . . . . . 101

- Of the Idea of a Critical Examination of Practical Reason, . ib.

- PART FIRST. ELEMENTS OF PURE PRACTICALREASON.

- BOOK I. THE ANALYTIC OF PURE PRACTICALREASON.

- CHAPTER I.

- OF THE PRINCIPLES OF PURE PRACTICAL REASON, . . . . 105

- I. Of the Deduction of the Principles ofPure Practical Reason, . . . . . . . . . 131

- II. Of the Right of Pure Reason in itsPractical Use to an Extension which is not possible to it in its SpeculativeUse, . . . . . . . . . . 140

- CHAPTER II.

- OF THE CONCEPT OF AN OBJECT OF PURE PRACTICAL REASON, . . 148

- Of the typic of the Pure Practical Judgment, . . . 159

- CHAPTER III.

- OF THE MOTIVES OF PURE PRACTICAL REASON, . . . . 164

- Critical Examination of the Analytic of Pure Practical Reason, 182

- BOOK II. DIALECTIC OF PURE PRACTICALREASON.

- CHAPTER I.

- OF A DIALECTIC OF PURE PRACTICAL REASON GENERALLY, .. 202

- CHAPTER II.

- OF THE DIALECTIC OF PURE REASON IN DEFINING THE CONCEPTIONOF THE SUMMUM BONUM, . . . . . . . . 206

- I. Antinomy of Practical Reason, . . . . . 209

- II. Critical Solution of the Antinomy, . .. . . 210

- III. Of the Primacy of Pure PracticalReason in its Union with the Speculative Reason, . . . . . . 216

- IV. The Immertality of the Soul aPostulate of Pure Practical Reason, . . . . . . . . . 218

- V. The Existence of God a Postulate ofPure Practical Reason, . . . . . . . . . 220

- VI. Of the Postulates of Pure PracticalReason generally, . 229

- VII. How is it possible to conceive anExtension of Pure Reason in a Practical point of view, without its Knowledge asSpeculative being enlarged at the same time? 231

- VIII. Of Belief from a Requirement of PureReason, . . 240

- IX. Of the Wise Adaptation of Man’sCognitive Faculties to his Practical Destination, . . . . . 244

- PART SECOND.

- METHODOLOGY OF PURE PRACTICAL REASON, . . . . . 249

- CONCLUSION, . . . . . . . . . . . 260

- III. INTRODUCTION TO THE METAPHYSIC OFMORALS: AND PREFACE TO THE METAPHYSICAL ELEMENTS OF ETHICS.

- INTRODUCTION TO THE METAPHYSIC OF MORALS, . . . . 265

- I. Of the Relation of the Faculties of theHuman Mind to the Moral Laws, . . . . . . . . ib.

- II. Of the Conception and the Necessity ofa Metaphysic of Ethics, . . . . . . . . . 270

- III. Of the Subdivision of a Metaphysic ofMorals, . . . 274

- IV. Preliminary Notions belonging to theMetaphysic of Morals, 277

- PREFACE TO THE METAPHYSICAL ELEMENTS OF ETHICS, . . . 285

- INTRODUCTION TO THE METAPHYSICAL ELEMENTS OF ETHICS, . . 289

- NOTE ON CONSCIENCE, . . . . . . . . . 321

- IV. FIRST PART OF THE PHILOSOPHICAL THEORYOF RELIGION.

- OF THE RADICAL EVIL IN HUMAN NATURE, . . . . . 325

- I. Of the Original Capacity for Good inHuman Nature, . 332

- II. Of the Propensity to Evil in HumanNature, . . . 335

- III. Man is by Nature Bad, . . . . . . . 339

- IV. Of the Origin of the Evil in HumanNature, . . . 347

- [V.] [*] On the Restoration of the Original Capacity for Good to its FullPower, . . . . . . . . 352

- APPENDIX, . . . . . . . . . . . 361

- I. On a supposed Right to Tell Lies fromBenevolent Motives, ib.

- II. On the Saying, “Necessity has no Law,”. . . . 365

- INDEX, . . . . . . . . . . . . 367

MEMOIR OF KANT.

IMMANUEL KANT was born in Königsberg on the22nd of April, 1724, thirteen years after Hume, and fourteen after Reid. Hisfamily was of Scottish origin, his grandfather having been one of the manyScotchmen who emigrated from Scotland at the end of the seventeenth century,some settling in Prussia, and some in Sweden; and he is said to have beenhimself the first to change the spelling of the name from Cant, which he did inorder to avoid the mispronunciation Zant. His father was a saddler in modest,if not humble, circumstances. Both parents were persons of simple and sincerepiety. Kant himself, although he did not sympathize with their religious views,bears the strongest testimony to the practical effect of their religion ontheir life. “Although,” said he, speaking warmly, “the religious ideas of thattime, and the notions of what was called virtue and piety were far from beingdistinct and satisfactory, yet such persons had the root of the matter in them.Let men decry pietism as they may, the people who were in earnest with it werehonourably distinguished. They possessed the highest that man can possess—thatcalm, that serenity, that inward peace which is not disturbed by any passion.No trouble, no persecution dismayed them; no contest had the power to stirthem up to anger or hostility: in a word, even themere observer was involuntarily compelled to respect them. I still remember,”added he, “how a quarrel once broke out between the harnessmakers and thesaddlers about their respective privileges. My father suffered considerably;nevertheless, even in conversation amongst his own family he spoke about thisquarrel with such forbearance and love towards his opponents, and with suchfirm trust in Providence, that although I was then only a boy, I shall neverforget it.” Of his mother, especially, he ever retained a tender and gratefulmemory, saying, “I shall never forget my mother, for she planted and fosteredthe first germ of good in me: she opened my heart to the impressions of nature,she awoke and enlarged my thoughts, and her teaching has always had an enduringand wholesome influence on my life.” She died when he was only thirteen, andeven in his later years he could scarcely restrain his emotion, when he relatedto his intimate friends how she had sacrificed her own life through herdevotion to a friend. [1] Kant strongly resembled his mother in features and in his singularlycontracted chest.

At ten years of age Kant was sent to the Collegium Fridericianum, where hecontinued for seven years. Here he applied himself chiefly to classicalstudies, and learned to write Latin with ease and fluency. Of Greek he does notseem to have ever read much.

Amongst his schoolfellows was David Ruhnken, and these two, with a third,named Kunde, read their favourite authors together and laid their plans for thefuture, all three proposing to devote themselves to classical literature.Ruhnken actually attained high distinction in this field. At the age of sixteenKant passed to the University, where he applied himself chiefly to mathematicsand philosophy, the instruction in his favourite subject, the ancient classics,being inadequate. He had entered himself as a theological student, and, as wasthen the practice with such students in Prussia, he occasionally preached inthe neighbouring churches. Indeed, he had completed his theological course whenhe finally gave up that line of study. No doubt his tastes had been longturning in a different direction; but the immediate cause of his decision seemsto have been the failure of his application for a subordinate post in a school,such posts being usually the first step to ecclesiastical appointments.

During the latter part of his residence at the University he had beenobliged to eke out his scanty means by giving instruction in classics,mathematics, and natural philosophy to some of his fellow-students, for whomthe lectures of the professors were too difficult; but the little that he couldearn in this way was insufficient for his support, when by his father’s death(1746) he was thrown altogether on his own resources.He therefore sought and obtained employment as aresident tutor in families of distinction. He was thus engaged for nine years,and, according to his own candid confession in later years, there was hardlyever a tutor with a better theory or a worse practice. However that may be, hecertainly gained the affection of his pupils, and the respect of their parents.At the beginning of this period he published his first work—an Essay on theestimation of vis viva; and towards the end of it hissecond—a brief discussion of the question whether the length of the day hasundergone any change, a question which had been proposed by the Berlin Academyas the subject for a prize essay. Kant argues that the tides must have theeffect of retarding the earth’s rotation, and he enters into a roughcalculation of the amount of this retardation, his first step to a conjecturalapproximation being an estimate of the effect of the impulse of the water onthe whole east coast of the American continent. His suggestion was sound [1] and sagacious; but he overrated vastly the amount of the effect. Heinferred that the day had lengthened by about 1½ in twothousand years. According to Delaunay, the actual amount of retardation is1 in 200,000 years. This result is based on historical facts (therecord of eclipses). Kant’s was a purely physical calculation, and for this hedid notpossess sufficient data. On account of thisinevitable lack of precision, he did not offer his essay in competition for theprize.

The same essay contained another very remarkable suggestion in explanationof the fact, that the moon always presents the same face to the earth. In fact,if the moon were originally in a fluid state the tides produced in it by theearth (which would be very great) would similarly retard its rotation until thefluid surface attained a position of equilibrium relatively to the earth, i. e. until the moon rotated round its axis in the sametime that it revolved round the earth. This speculation has been recentlybrought forward as novel.

The conjecture as to the moon’s original fluidity was no isolated one inKant’s mind; on the contrary, he speaks of it as part of a general theory ofthe heavens, which he was about to publish. In the following year (1755),accordingly, he published (anonymously) an important work of about 200 pages,entitled, A General Theory of the Heavens; or, Essay on theMechanical Origin of the Structure of the Universe, on the Principles ofNewton. This work is an elaborate exposition of the Nebular Theory,commonly called by the name of Laplace, although Laplace’s Système du Monde was not published till forty years later(1796). The only considerable differences are, first, that Laplace supposes thecondensation of the diffused matter to be the result of cooling; and, secondly,that he postulates an original movement of rotation; whereas Kant thought hecould account for both condensation and rotation from the two elementary forcesof attraction and repulsion. It is not easy to say whether Laplacewas aware of Kant’s priority. He asserts, indeed,that he was not aware of any theory except Buffon’s (a rather extravagant one);but then Laplace never did acknowledge that he borrowed anything from anybodyelse. Even when he used the mathematical discoveries of contemporary Frenchmen,he introduces them as if they were his own; how much more if he adopted asuggestion of an anonymous German philosopher. If he really did calculate onthe ignorance of his reader, the event has justified his expectation; for eventhose writers who mention Kant’s priority speak as if Kant had merely thrownout a hint, while Laplace had developed a theory; whereas, in fact, Kant wrotea treatise on the subject, and Laplace only a few pages. [1]

Kant begins by defending his attempt against the possible objections ofthose who might regard it as an endeavour to dispense with the necessity for aDivine Author. Such persons, he says, appear to suppose that nature, left toits own laws, would produce only disorder, and that the adaptations we admireindicate the interference of a compelling hand, as if nature were a rebellioussubject that could be reduced to order only by compulsion, or else were anindependent principle, whose properties are uncaused, and which God strives toreduce into the plan of His purposes. But, answers he, if the general laws ofmatter are themselves a result of supreme wisdom, must they not be fitted tocarry out its wise design? In fact,we have here a powerful weapon in aid of Theism.When we trace certain beneficial effects to the regular working of the laws ofnature, we see that these effects are not produced by chance, but that theselaws can work in no other way. But if the nature of things were independent andnecessary, what an astounding accident, or rather what an impossibility, wouldit not be that they should fit together just as a wise and good choice wouldhave made them fit! As this applies to such reasoning in general, so it appliesalso to the present undertaking. We shall find that matter had certain lawsimposed on it, by virtue of which it necessarily produced the finestcombinations. That there is a God is proved even by this, that Nature, even inchaos, could only proceed with regularity and order.

He proceeds to work out in detail the problem of the formation of theplanets out of the originally diffused matter, taking into consideration theeccentricities, inclinations, c., of the planets, the rings of Saturn, thesatellites, the comets. It is noticeable that he does not, like Laplace, regardthe rings of Saturn as an illustration of his theory. On account of their largeinclination to the ecliptic (28°), he thought it necessary to assign to them adifferent origin. His hypothesis was, that they were produced by emanationsfrom the planet itself, and he showed further (as Laplace afterwards did) thatthe ring must have a movement of rotation, and that in consequence of thedifferent velocities belonging to different distances from the planet, itsstability required that it should consist of several distinct rings. Thisconjecture, or rather deduction,has been verified. He also conjectured, as a resultof his hypothesis regarding the formation of the ring, that the great velocityof rotation of particles of the inner ring would be the same as that of theplanet’s equator. From this consideration, combined with the assumption thatthe ring conforms to Kepler’s third law, he deduced the time of the planet’srotation. He drew particular attention to this as the first prediction of thekind. His deduction, however, has not been verified. Saturn’s time of rotationis nearly double what it ought to be on Kant’s theory. [1] Another conjecture of his, subsequently verified, was, that there areplanets beyond Saturn. Later, he conjectured also the existence of a planetbetween Mars and Jupiter. [2]

Kant then extends his view to the sidereal system. He states that the firstto suggest to him that the fixed stars constituted a system was Wright, ofDurham. [3] Kant develops this conception. If gravitation is auniversal property of matter, we cannot suppose thesun’s attractive force limited to our system; but if it extends to the nearestfixed star, and if the fixed stars, like suns, exercise a similar force aroundthem, then they would, sooner or later, fall together if not prevented (likethe planets) by a centrifugal force. Hence we may conclude that all the starsof the firmament have their own orbital motion. If we conceive our planetarysystem multiplied a thousand-fold, and the several bodies in it to beself-luminous, the appearance, as seen from the earth, would resemble that ofthe Milky Way. The form of the heaven of the fixed stars then is in great aneffect of the same systematic arrangement as our system in little; our sun withthe other stars are, in short, the planets of a vaster system, which is, infact, the Milky Way. [1] There may be many such systems, and some of these may appear to us asnebulæ, and these being seen obliquely would present an elliptic form. TheMilky Way seen from a sufficient distance would appear like one of theseelliptic nebulæ. But these systems, again, may be mutually related, andconstitute together a still more immeasurable system. This opens to us a viewinto the infinite field of creation, and gives us a conception of the work ofGod suitable to the infinity of the great Creator. If the magnitude of aplanetary system in which the earth is as a grain of sand fills ourunderstanding with wonder, with what amazement are we seized when we considerthe vast multitude of worlds and systems which constitutethe Milky Way; and how is this amazement increasedagain when we learn that all these immeasurable star systems are in their turnonly a unit in a number whose limit we know not, and which is perhaps asinconceivably great as the former, while it is itself the unit of a newcombination. [1] There is here a veritable abyss of immensity in which all human powerof conception is lost. The wisdom, the goodness, the power, that are revealedare infinite, and in the same degree fruitful and active; the plan of itsrevelation must, therefore, be equally infinite. He ventures upon theconjecture (giving his reasons) that nature may in course of time be againreduced to chaos, and again emerge like a phœnix from its ashes. When wecontemplate nature in these successive changes, carrying out the plan by whichGod reveals Himself in wonders that fill space and eternity, the mind isoverwhelmed with astonishment; but not satisfied with this vast yet perishableobject, the soul desires to know more nearly that Being whose intelligence andwhose greatness are the source of that light which spreads as from a centreover all nature. With what awe must not the soul regard even its own nature,when it reflects that it shall outlive all these changes. “O happy,” heexclaims, “when amid the tumult of the elements and the ruin of nature it isplaced on a height from whence it can, as it were, see beneath its feet thedesolation of all perishable thingsof the world. Reason could not even dare to wishfor such happiness, but Revelation teaches us to hope for it with confidence.When the fetters that have bound us to the vanity of the creature have fallenoff, the immortal spirit will find itself in the enjoyment of true happiness incommunion with the Infinite Being. The contemplation of the harmony ofuniversal nature with the will of God must fill with ever-increasingsatisfaction the rational creature who finds himself united to this source ofall perfection. [1] Viewed from this centre, nature will show on all sides nothing butstability and fitness; its changes cannot interfere with the happiness of acreature who has reached this height. In sweet foretaste of this condition thesoul can exercise its mouth in those songs of praise with which all eternityshall ring:—

- “When nature fails, and day and night

- Divide Thy works no more,

- My ever-grateful heart, O Lord,

- Thy mercy shall adore.

- Through all eternity to Thee

- A joyful song I’ll raise;

- For, oh! eternity’s too short

- To utter all Thy praise.” [2]

- ADDISON.

Discussing the question, whether the planets are inhabited, he states hisopinion that it would be absurd to deny this as to all or even most of them.But in the wealth of nature, in which worlds and systems are to the wholecreation only sundust, there may well bewaste and uninhabited places as there areuninhabited waste on our own earth. Perhaps, indeed, he adds, some of theplanets are not yet brought into a state fit for habitation; it may takethousands of years to bring the matter of a great planet into a steadycondition. Jupiter appears to be in this transition state. One planet may cometo its perfection thousands of years later than another. [1] We may be sure that most of the planets are inhabited, and those thatare not will be so in due time. He imagines that the further the planets arefrom the sun the more the inhabitants excel in liveliness and distinctness ofthought. Indulging in fancy, he asks, Does sin exist in those worlds? andsuggests that perhaps the beings in the inferior planets may be too low to beresponsible; those in the superior planets too wise and too elevated to fallinto sin, with the exception, perhaps, of Mars. Perhaps, he adds, some of thesebodies may be preparing for our future habitation: who knows whether thesatellites which revolve round Jupiter are destined one day to illumine us? “Noone, however, will base his hopes of the future on such uncertain fancies. Whencorruption has claimed its part in human nature, then shall the immortal spiritswiftly soar above all that is finite, and continue its existence in a newrelation to the whole of nature arising from its nearer relation to the SupremeBeing. When we gaze on the starry heavens with our mind filled with suchthoughts as have here been expressed, while all nature is at rest and oursenses also in repose, the hidden faculties ofthe immortal soul speak in a language unutterable,and give us conceptions which can be felt but not described. If there are onthis planet thinking beings so base as to bind themselves to the service ofcorruption, in spite of all that draws them away from it, how unhappy is thisglobe to produce such miserable creatures! but how happy, on the other hand,that under conditions worthy of all acceptation a way is opened to them toattain to a happiness and a dignity infinitely beyond all the advantages whichthe most favourable arrangements of nature can reach in all the bodies of theuniverse!”

The reader who is interested in Kant himself will readily pardon this longnotice of a work to which he attached some importance. At its first publicationit was dedicated to the king, Frederick the Great, and the theory developed init is frequently referred to by Kant in his subsequent writings, [1] for he never ceased to take an interest in these subjects. So late as1785 he wrote an essay on the volcanoes in the moon, with reference to anobservation of Herschel. In this Paper he suggests a mode of accounting for thegreat heat of the sun, and (originally) of the planets. His suggestion is basedon the discovery of Crawford, that heat is developed by condensation. On thehypothesis then that the sun and planets were formed by the condensation ofmatter originally diffused through the wholespace, this heat would be a direct consequence ofthe condensation. Still later, in 1794, writing on the influence of the moon onthe weather, he throws out the suggestion that the moon’s centre of gravity may(for reasons which he gives) lie beyond its centre of figure: [1] a consequence of which would be that any air and water which might beupon its surface would be collected at the side remote from us.

In another instance, both Kant and Laplace might have had reason to say,“Pereant qui ante nos nostra dixerunt.” In 1756 Kant wrote a short Paper on thetheory of the winds, in which, for the first time, as he believed, he gave thetrue account of the trade winds and monsoons. Halley had shown that the effectof the sun in heating the atmosphere at the equator would be to cause anindraught towards the equator from north and south. This indraught, accordingto him, naturally followed the daily course of the sun, and hence the easting. [2] Kant showed that this theory was untenable. In fact, the wind wouldtend rather to meet the sun, the region to the west being the cooler. Nor coulda wind from such a cause extend with nearly equal force all round the earth.Kant showed further, that owing to the difference in the velocity of rotationbetween the parts near the equator and those near the poles, all winds thatmove from the poles towards the equator tend to become more and more easterly,and those that move from the equator towards the poles become more and morewesterly. [1] Hence, in the northern hemisphere every north wind tends to become anorth-east, and every south wind a south-west wind. In the southern hemisphere,on the contrary, south winds tend to become south-east, and north windsnorth-west. He follows out in some detail the general principles of thiscirculation of the atmosphere. We can thus explain, for instance, the monsoonsof the Indian Ocean, c., which blow from April to September from thesouth-west; for when the sun is north of the equator the wind blows from theequator towards these parts, and therefore takes a south-westerly direction.Again, the current from the poles towards the equator is balanced by a countercurrent, the heated air in the upper strata at the equator overflowing as itwere towards the poles. When this descends, or overcomes the weaker motion ofthe lower strata, it becomes in the northern hemisphere a westerly wind, suchas prevail between the 28th and 40th degrees of latitude. Kant subsequentlyintroduced this theory into his course of lectures on Physical Geography, whichwas very numerously attended. Laplace propounded the same theory forty yearslater.

In 1763, Kant published his Essay On the only possibleDemonstrative Proof of the Existence of God. The proof developed in thisEssay is founded on the principle that every possibility of existencepresupposes an actually existing thing on which it depends. This hecharacterizes as a more thoroughly à priori argument thanany other that has been proposed, since it does not assume any actual fact ofexistence. I need not explain how he develops step by step the attributes ofUnity, Intelligence, c. At a later period he himself abandoned this lineof argument. However, the greater part of the Essay is occupied with remarks ondesign in the constitution of nature, and with an exposition of the theorydeveloped in the above-mentioned treatise on the structure of the heavens. Wemay, he observes, argue from design, either as exhibited in a contingentarrangement, for example, in the body of an animal or in a plant; or we mayargue from the necessary results of the constitution of matter, the laws ofmotion, c. The latter method has the great advantage of presenting theFirst Cause not merely as an architect, but as a creator. From this point ofview he instances first the simplicity and harmony resulting from thegeometrical conditions of space, e. g. that if we seek allthe paths which a falling body would traverse either to or from the same pointin the same time, they are found to be chords of the same circle. Again, hetakes the manifold and harmonious benefits resulting by necessary laws from themere fact of the existence of an atmosphere. There may be many reasons for itsexistence: if we suppose its primary purpose to be that it should serve forrespiration, we find that its existence leads to otherimportant beneficial results. It makes cloudspossible which intercept excessive heat, prevents too rapid cooling and drying,and keeps the land supplied with the necessary moisture from the greatreservoir of the sea. By causing twilight it prevents the strain on the eyeswhich would be caused by the sudden change from day to night. Its existenceprevents rain from dropping with too great force, and its pressure makessucking possible. If it occurs to anyone to say—Oh, these are all the necessaryresults of the nature of matter, c., he answers: Yes; it is just this thatshows that they proceed from a wise Creator. He treats of the laws of motionfrom the same point of view, and then takes occasion to show how the laws ofthe planetary motions result from the simplest laws of matter, attraction, andrepulsion.

In conclusion, he remarks that while it is of the greatest consequence to beconvinced of the existence of God, it is by no means necessary to have ademonstration of it, and those who cannot grasp the demonstrative proof areadvised to hold fast by the more easily apprehended proof from design. Hardly,indeed, he observes, would anyone stake his whole happiness on the correctnessof a metaphysical proof, especially if it were opposed to the convictions ofsense. The argument from design is more striking and vivid, as well as easy tothe common understanding, and more natural than any other. It also gives anidea of the wisdom and providence, c., of God, which comes home and hasthe greatest effect in producing awe and humility; and it is in fine morepractical than any other, even in the view of a philosopher. It does not,indeed, give a definite abstract idea ofDivinity, nor does it claim mathematical certainty;but so many proofs, each of great force, take possession of the soul, and thespeculation may calmly follow since conviction has preceded—a conviction farabove the force of any subtile objections.

In the same year in which Kant published his Theory of theHeavens, he issued his first metaphysical treatise, Principiorum Primorum Cognitionis Metaphysicœ NovaDilucidatio, and publicly defended it as an exercise prior to hisobtaining permission to deliver lectures in the University as a“Privat-docent.” He forthwith commenced lecturing on mathematics and physics;to these subjects he afterwards added lectures on philosophy, natural theology,physical geography, anthropology, and fortification. He had already so great areputation, that at his first lecture the room (in his own house) was filledliterally to overflowing, the students crowding even on the stairs. Hislectures are thus described by the celebrated Herder, who attended them in theyears 1762-1764; “I have had the good fortune to know a philosopher who was myteacher; he had the happy sprightliness of a youth, and this I believe heretains even in old age. His open, thoughtful brow was the seat of unruffledcalmness and joy; discourse full of thought flowed from his lips; jest and witand humour were at his command, and his lecture was the most entertainingconversation. With the same genius with which he criticised Leibnitz, Wolf,Crusius, Hume, and expounded the laws of Newton and Kepler, he would also takeup the writings of Rousseau, or any recent discovery in nature, give hisestimate of them, and come back again to the knowledge of nature andto the moral worth of man. Natural history, naturalphilosophy, the history of nations and human nature, mathematics, andexperience—these were the sources from which he enlivened his lecture and hisconversation. Nothing worth knowing was indifferent to him; no party, no sect,no desire of fame or profit had the smallest charm for him compared with theadvancement and elucidation of the truth. He encouraged and urged toindependent thought, and was far from wishing to dominate. This man, whom Iname with the greatest gratitude and reverence, is Immanuel Kant; his imagestands pleasantly before me.” His lectures attracted many hearers of matureage, and visitors to Königsberg even prolonged their stay for the purpose ofattending them. At the same time he continued to act as tutor to young menspecially entrusted to his care, who lived with him.

He had to wait fifteen years in the position of “Privat-docent” beforeobtaining a professorship. He had, indeed, been offered a professorship by theGovernment before this, but it was almost the only chair which he felt he couldnot worthily fill—the Chair of Poetry. This involved not only the censorship ofnew poems, but the composition of poems for academic celebrations, and Kantdeclined the office. In the following year he was appointed sub-librarian atthe modest salary of 62 thalers. This was his first official appointment ( œt. 42). Four years later he was nominated to theprofessorship of Logic and Metaphysics [1] , with an income (from all sources) of400 thalers. This was ultimately increased to 620.This was of course exclusive of fees from students. He inaugurated hisprofessorship by defending his essay, De mundi sensibilis atqueintelligibilis forma et principiis. In this he distinguishes the sensibleapprehension of phenomena from the Concept of the Understanding, just as in theCritique of Pure Reason. He shows, precisely as in the latter work, that spaceand time are forms of the intuitions of sense.

As professor, he continued to lecture in the same wide circle of subjects asbefore. The lectures on physical geography and anthropology were especiallypopular. He was fond of studying nature, but especially human nature in all itsphases, and took great pleasure in reading books of travel, although he nevertravelled. Having an excellent memory and a lively power of imagination, hecould distinctly picture to himself, even in minute detail, the several objectsdescribed. On one occasion he described Westminster Bridge, its form,dimensions, c., with such detail and distinctness, that an Englishman whowas present thought he was an architect, and had spent some years in London. Atanother time he spoke of Italy as if he had known it from long personalacquaintance. So popular were his lectures, that we find Von Zedlitz, thePrussian Minister, writing from Berlin to say that he is reading with pleasurean imperfect manuscript report of the lectures on Physical Geography, andrequesting Kant to favour him with acorrect copy. These lectures were published in1802. The lectures on Anthropology had appeared in 1798. Both works are writtenin an extremely interesting and popular style, and those on Anthropology arefull of entertaining remarks and illustrative anecdotes, not without humour.Thus speaking of the emotions that nature employs for the promotion of health,which are chiefly laughing and weeping, he remarks that anger also conduces tohealth, if one can indulge in a good scolding without fear of opposition; andin fact many a housewife gets no hearty exercise, except in scolding herchildren and servants, and provided these take it patiently, a pleasant feelingof fatigue spreads itself through the organism. This sort of exercise, however,he adds, is not without danger, as the objects of the scolding may possiblyresist. Even when lecturing on Metaphysics, Kant is said to have been lucid andinteresting. When the difficulty of his writings was complained of, he used tosay that he wrote for thinkers by profession, and with these technicalexpressions had the advantage of brevity. Besides, said he, it flatters thevanity of the reader to find perplexities and obscurities here and there, whichhe can solve by his own acuteness. But in his lectures he endeavoured to beclear and intelligible. He sought, as he expressed it, to teach “notphilosophy, but to philosophize.” In one of his letters he states that he wasunceasingly observant of phenomena and their laws, even in common life, sothat, from first to last, his hearers should not have to listen to a dryexposition, but be interested by being led to compare his remarks with theirown observations.

It was his custom to keep his eyes fixed on someparticular student sitting near him, perhaps inorder to judge from the hearer’s countenance whether he was making himselfunderstood. So Arago, in his popular lectures, used to select for the samepurpose the most stupid-looking person in the audience, continuing hisexplanations until the person “fixed” showed signs of intelligence. With Kant,however, the consequences were disastrous if the student happened to have anypeculiarity or defect, either in person or dress. One day the student thusselected happened to have lost a button from his coat. Kant’s glance recurredto the vacant spot, and during the whole lecture his thoughts were distracted,and even confused, in a manner inexplicable to those who were not in thesecret.

He did not like to see his hearers taking notes; but would say, “Put up yourpencils, gentlemen,” and would not begin until they had done so. The reason ofthis was that he thought such attempts at reporting interfered with theirattention to the matter of the lecture, by fixing it on the words. Some of hishearers took full notes, nevertheless.

In 1772 he formed the design of writing a Critical Examination of PureReason, Theoretical and Practical, the former part of which he hoped tocomplete in three months. The months grew to years. Six years later he writesthat he expects it to appear “this summer,” and that it would not be a largevolume. It did not see the light, however, until 1781, nine years after he hadannounced that it would be ready in three months. When this master-work wasproduced, Kant was fifty-seven years of age. He states himself that it was Humethat rousedhim from his dogmatic slumber, and compelled him toseek a solid barrier against scepticism. [1]

It is stated on Kant’s own authority that he did not commit to writing asingle sentence in this work, on which he had not first asked the judgment ofhis friend Green. A man to whom Kant showed such deference deserves a briefnotice. He was an English merchant, and during the American War of Independencehappened to be present when Kant, who sympathized with the Americans, denouncedthe conduct of England in strong terms. Green sprang up in a rage, declaredthat Kant’s words were a personal insult to him as an Englishman, and demandedsatisfaction. Kant replied so calmly and persuasively that Green shook handswith him, and they became fast friends, and continued so until the death ofGreen in 1784, a loss which Kant deeply felt.

Of the Critique of Pure Reason I need not here speak. Suffice it to say,that as Locke’s attempt to keep the mind from “going beyond its tether” wasfollowed at no long interval by the Idealism of Berkeley, and the annihilatingScepticism of Hume, so Kant’s analogous attempt led in a still shorter space tothe most complete idealism and transcendentalism. Indeed his reviewers notunnaturally mistook him for an idealist, and Hamann called him the PrussianHume.The work excited a lively controversy in thephilosophical world, but most of the publications to which it gave rise havebeen long forgotten. Kant’s fame, however, rose to the highest, and Königsbergbecame a shrine to which students and tourists made pilgrimages.

The Critique of Pure Reason was to be followed by the Metaphysical Elementsof Natural Philosophy and of Moral Philosophy. The former appeared in 1786,under the title Metaphysische Anfangsgründe derNaturwissenschaft. [1] The views respecting motion with which this treatise commences had,however, already been published as a programme of lectures in 1758. Motion isonly relative to the surrounding space. While I sit with a ball on the tablebefore me in the cabin of a ship moored in a river, I say that the ball is atrest; I look out and see that the ship has been unmoored, and is driftingwestward; the ball then is moving. But I reflect that the earth is rotatingwith greater velocity eastward; the ball then is moving eastward. Nay; for theearth in its orbit is moving westward with still higher speed. The orbit itselfis moving, I cannot tell how rapidly, nor do I know in what direction. In anycase then it is the same thing whether I regard a point as moving in its space,or regard the space as moving and the point as at rest. Hence the law of thecomposition of motions results directly; for if A be a point having a motion ofone foot per second westward, and two feet per second southward, I can regardit as having only the southward motion, while the space in which it is, ismoving one foot per second eastward. At the end, therefore,of one second, the point will be found two feetto the south; and as its space in moving east has left it one foot behind, itwill also be one foot west, relatively to its surrounding space. This is thesame as if it had moved in the diagonal of the parallelogram. Kant claimed asan advantage of this proof, that it represented the resultant motion, not as aneffect of the two motions, but as actually including them. It is incomparablysimpler and more philosophical than the proof given by D’Alembert, and othercontemporary mathematicians. When we treat of collision of bodies, this mode ofviewing the matter becomes absolutely indispensable. If the body A isapproaching the body B (equal to it) with a velocity of two degrees, we regardA as moving with a speed of one degree, while B and its space move one degreein the opposite direction. The motions being equal and opposite, the result oftheir contact is mutual rest; but, as the space is moving, this rest isequivalent to a motion of the two bodies in contact, relative to thesurrounding space, and in amount one degree. If the bodies are unequal and haveunequal velocities, we have only to divide the velocities in the inverseproportion of the masses, and assign to the space the motion which we take fromone to add to the other, and the result will again be mutual rest, which isequivalent to a motion of the bodies in contact, with a velocity equal andopposite to what we have assigned to the space. We can in this way banishaltogether the notion of vis inertiœ.

Matter could not exist unless there were both a repulsive force and anattractive force. If attraction only existed, matter would be condensed into apoint;if repulsion only, it would be dispersedinfinitely. The relative incompressibility of matter is nothing but therepulsive force emanating from points, which increases as the distancediminishes (perhaps inversely as the cube), and would therefore require aninfinite pressure to overcome it altogether. Physical contact is the immediateaction and reaction of incompressibility. The action of matter on matterwithout contact is what is called actio in distans, andthe attraction of gravitation is of this kind. Both attraction and repulsionbeing elementary forces, are inexplicable, but the force of attraction is not awhit more incomprehensible than the original repulsive force. Incompressibilityappears more comprehensible, solely because it is immediately presented to thesenses, whereas attraction is only inferred. It seems at first sight acontradiction to say that a body can act where it is not; but in fact we mightrather say, that everything in space acts where it is not; for to act where itis, it should occupy the very same space as the thing acted on. To say thatthere can be no action without physical contact is as much as to say thatmatter can act only by the force of incompressibility: in other words, thatrepulsive forces are either the only forces of matter or the conditions of allits action, which is a groundless assertion. The ground of the mistake is aconfusion between mathematical contact and physical contact. That bodiesattract one another without contact, means that they approach one anotheraccording to a certain law, without any force of repulsion being required as acondition; and this is just as conceivable as that they should separate fromone another without an attractive force beingsupposed as a condition. [1]

Kant, however, thought it conceivable that in the case of chemical solutionthere might be complete interpenetration or “intussusception.” On this view ofmatter we may, he remarks, regard matter as infinitely divisible.

The Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals had appeared the year before the last-mentioned work, and was followed in 1788by the Critical Examination of Practical Reason. Boththese are translated in the present volume. The few remarks I have to offer onthem will be found at the end of the Memoir. In 1790 was published the Critical Examination of the Faculty of Judgment.

The essay on the corruption of human nature, which forms the third part ofthis volume, appeared in 1792 in a Berlin magazine. Four years before this anedict had been issued, limiting the freedom of the Press, and appointingspecial censors, whosebusiness was to examine as to the orthodoxy, not onlyof books, but of professors, lecturers, and theological candidates. Themagazine in question was printed in Jena; but in order to avoid any appearanceof underhand dealing, Kant expressly desired that his essay should be submittedto the Berlin licensing authority, who gave his imprimatur, on the ground thatonly deep thinkers read Kant’s works. The second part of the work on the Theoryof Religion was referred to the theological censor, who refused his imprimatur.Kant accordingly submitted his essay to the censorship of the theologicalfaculty of Königsberg, and this unanimously sanctioned the publication, whichreached a second edition in the following year. The Berlin censors werenaturally annoyed at this way of escaping their decision, and the severeremarks in the preface did not tend to conciliate them. A few months afterwardsKant received an order from the King (Frederick William II.), forbidding him toteach or write anything further in this manner. Kant did not mention the ordereven to his intimate friends. A slip of paper, found after his death, containedthis reflection: “To deny one’s inner conviction is mean, but in such a case asthis silence is the duty of a subject; and, although a man must say only whatis true, it is not always a duty to say all the truth publicly.” He therefore,in his reply to the King, declared that to avoid all suspicion, he, “as hisMajesty’s most loyal subject,” solemnly engaged to refrain from writing orlecturing on religion, natural or revealed. The words, “as your Majesty’s mostloyal subject,” were inserted with the intention of limiting his engagement tothe life ofthe King, and on the death of Frederick William in1797, Kant regarded himself as free, and published his Contestof the Faculties ( i. e. of the AcademicalFaculties).

In 1797 Kant ceased to lecture publicly. In the same year he published his Metaphysical Elements of Morals, which treats of theseveral virtues and vices in detail, [1] and Metaphysical Elements of Law. After thepublication of these, he seems to have been regarded as a counsellor to beconsulted in all difficulties, and an authority in all questions of conscience.The pains he took to give real assistance in such cases, both by his ownreflection, and by inquiring from his colleagues, are attested by his writtenand often corrected memoranda. As an example may be mentioned the questionwhether inoculation was morally allowable or not. This question was addressedto him at the same time by a Professor of Medicine in Halle, and by a youngnobleman who was going to be married, and whose bride wished to be inoculated.Kant’s reply is not known, although some memoranda for it exist.

After this time he began to feel the burden of age, and his powers, mentaland bodily, gradually failed. He was quite aware of his condition, andresigned. “Gentlemen,” said he one day, “I do not fear to die. I assure you, asin the presence of God, that if on this very night, suddenly the summons todeath were to reach me, I should bear it with calmness, should raise my handsto heaven, and say, ‘Blessed be God!’ Were it indeed possible that such awhisper as thiscould reach my ear—‘Fourscore years thou hastlived, in which time thou hast inflicted much evil upon thy fellow-men,’ thecase would be otherwise.” This was spoken, says Wasianski, in a tone of earnestsincerity. Two days after his seventy-ninth birthday he wrote in his memoranda:“According to the Bible our life lasts seventy years, and if very long,fourscore years, and though it was pleasant, it has been labour and sorrow.” [1] Up to this time he was able to read the smallest print withoutspectacles, although he had lost the sight of one eye nearly twenty yearsbefore. But soon after he had written this memorandum his sight also failed,and he died in February, 1804, in his eightieth year. His body was so dried upthat the physicians said they had hardly ever seen so wasted a body. Indeed hehad himself said jestingly some years before, that he thought he had reachedthe minimum of muscular substance. [2]

Kant was of weak frame, and still weaker muscular power; he was barely fivefeet in height. [3] His chest was flat, almost concave, the right shoulder slightlycrooked, his complexion fresh, his forehead high, square, and broad, while hispiercing blue eyes made so lively an impression that it was long remembered bysome of his pupils. Even after he had lost the sight of one eye, the defect wasnot visible to a stranger. In consequence of his contracted chest he sufferedfrom a feeling of oppression, which early in life caused a tendency tohypochondria, to such anextent as even to make him feel weary of life.This, however, he overcame by force of thought. When engaged on the Kritik, in 1771, he speaks of his health being seriouslyimpaired, and some years later he says that it is unceasingly broken; yet bydint of careful attention and great regularity he was able, without medicalaid, to maintain such good health on the whole, that at a later period he usedto say to himself on going to bed, “Is it possible to conceive any human beingenjoying better health than I do?” His maxim for preserving health was, sustine et abstine. His practice illustrated this. The twoindulgences of which he was found were tobacco and coffee. But of the former helimited himself to a single pipe in the morning, whilst he altogether abstainedfrom the latter until far advanced in life, thinking it injurious to health. Atthe age of seventy he wrote an essay, On the Power of the Mindto Master the Feeling of Illness by Force of Resolution. [1] The essay was originally addressed to Hufeland, the celebrated authorof the treatise on the Art of Prolonging Life, and theprinciples contained in it are exemplified from Kant’s own experience. Heattached great importance to the habit of breathing through the nostrilsinstead of through the mouth, and asserted that he had by this means overcome atendency to cough and cold in the head. There is more truth in this than isperhaps generally thought. [2] Kant, however, is said to haveregarded it as of so much importance that he didnot like to have a companion in his daily walk, lest he should have to open hismouth. The true reason of this preference (in later life only) for solitarywalks was, beyond doubt, that which is mentioned in this essay, that it isundesirable to exercise the limbs and the brain (or the brain and the stomach)at the same time.

His punctilious attention to health is amusingly illustrated by the artificehe used for suspending his stockings. Thinking that garters injuriously impededthe circulation, he had a couple of bands attached to each stocking, andpassing through a hole in the pocket of his breeches. Inside the pocket theywere connected with a spring enclosed in a box, and this spring regulated thetension. That he might not be without some exercise in his study, he habituallyleft his handkerchief at the other side of the room, so that now and then heshould have to get up and walk to it. On the same principle his hours of sleep,c., were adhered to with the utmost regularity. He went to bed punctuallyat ten, and rose punctually at five. His servant had orders not to let himsleep longer on any account; and on being asked once by Kant, in presence ofguests, testified that for thirty years his master had never once indulgedbeyond the appointed hour. On rising he took a cup (indefinite cups) of tea,but no solid food. The early hours were devoted to preparation for hislectures, which in his earlier years occupied four or five hours, butsubsequently only two. At seven o’clock precisely, or eight, as the case mightbe, he entered his lecture-room. Lectures ended, at nine or ten, he returned tohis study, and applied himself to preparing his books for the press.He worked thus without interruption until oneo’clock, the hour for dinner. This was his only meal, and he liked to havepleasant company, and to prolong the meal ( ducere cœnam )with lively, sometimes brilliant conversation, for three or four hours. Kanthad no Boswell, and nothing is preserved of these conversations, in which he issaid to have often thrown out profound and suggestive remarks withextraordinary richness. [1] Until his sixty-third year, not having a house of his own, he dined ata public restaurant, which, however, he occasionally found it necessary tochange, in consequence of persons coming for the purpose of discussingphilosophical questions with him. He considered that meal-time ought to be atime of perfect mental relaxation, and was not disposed to turn the dinnertable into a lecture pulpit. His afternoons were, however, often spent at thehouses of his friends, where he enjoyed meeting foreign merchants, seacaptains, and travelled scholars, from whom he might learn much about foreignnations and countries. His instructive and entertaining conversation, flavouredwith mild satiric humour, made him a welcome guest, and even with the childrenhe was a favourite. After he became famous he declined invitations if hethought he was to be made a lion of.

When he had a house of his own, he had every day a few friends to dine withhim. He liked to have a mixed company—merchants, professional men, andespecially a few younger men. After dinner followed regularly his daily walkfor an hour or more, along what was from him named “The Philosopher’s Walk,”until he was driven from it by the number of beggars whom his habit ofalmsgiving had attracted there. [1] Even the severest weather did not interfere with this daily walk, inwhich in his earlier years he usually had companions; after sixty years of agehe walked alone, for the reason already mentioned.

He had on one occasion a narrow escape from assassination. A lunatic, whohad made up his mind to kill some one, waylaid Kant for the purpose, andfollowed him for three miles, but on reflection, thinking it a pity to kill anold professor who must have so many sins on his head, the unfortunate madmankilled a child instead.

The evening was devoted to lighter reading and meditation. He would readover and over again such books as Don Quixote, Hudibras, Swift’s Tale of a Tub, Juvenal, and Horace. In his later years hewas especially fond of reading books on physical science, and books of travel.Purely speculative works he cared little for, but liked to read Locke,Hutcheson, Pope, Hume, Montaigne, Rousseau.

How unwilling Kant was to depart from his regular routine appears from acharacteristic anecdote. One day as he was returning from his walk, a noblemanwho was driving came up with him, and politelyinvited him to take a drive with him as the evening was fine. Kant yielded tothe first impulse of politeness, and consented. The Count, after driving oversome of his property near the city, proposed to visit a friend some miles fromthe town, and Kant of course could not refuse. At last Kant was set down at hisown door near ten o’clock, full of vexation at this violation of his regularhabits. He thereupon made it a fixed rule never to get into a carriage that hehad not hired himself, so that he could manage it as he pleased. When once hehad made such a resolution, he was satisfied that he could not be taken bysurprise, and nothing would make him depart from it.

So his life passed, says one of his biographers, like the most regular ofregular verbs.

Punctual, however, as he was, his punctuality did not come up to thestandard of his friend Green. One evening Kant had promised that he wouldaccompany Green in a drive the next morning at eight. At a quarter before eightGreen was walking up and down his room, watch in hand; at fifty minutes pastseven he put on his coat, at fifty-five he took his stick, and at the firststroke of eight entered his carriage and drove off; and although he met Kant,who was a couple of minutes late, he would not stop for him, because this wasagainst the agreement and against his rule. This gentleman, for whom Kant had agreat esteem, served as the model for the description of the English characterin the Anthropologie. Kant’s savings were invested withthis Mr. Green, and allowed to accumulate at 6 per cent. interest.

Kant is said to have been on two occasions on thepoint of marrying, or at least of making aproposal, but he took so long to calculate his incomings and outgoings withexactness, in order to see whether he could afford it, that the lady in thefirst case was married, and in the second had left Königsberg before he hadmade up his mind. When he was seventy years of age, an officious friendactually printed a dialogue on marriage, with a view to persuade thephilosopher to marry. Kant reimbursed him for the expense of printing, but atthat age, not unnaturally, thought the advice rather too late. How sensible hewas to the charms of female society appears from the Essay Onthe Sublime and Beautiful, p. 426 ff, where he discusses the differencebetween the sublime and beautiful in the natural relations of the sexes.

Kant’s personal character is described, by those who knew him best, as trulychildlike. He was kind-hearted and actively benevolent; of rare candour inestimating the abilities of other men, with high respect for every thing thatwas noble or deserving; always disposed to recognise the good rather than thebad in men’s characters. He was always ready with counsel and assistance forthe young. His modesty towards scholars of great fame almost degenerated intoshyness.

As may be supposed from the regularity of his habits, he never allowedhimself to run into debt. When a student at the University, with very narrowmeans, his only coat had once become so shabby, that some friends subscribed asum of money, which was offered to him in the most delicate manner possible forthe purchase of a new one. Kant, however, preferred to retain his shabby coatrather than incur debtor lose his independence. [1] In his old age he boasted that he had never owed any man a penny, sothat when a knock came to his door he was never afraid to say, “Come in.” Whenhis means had increased (chiefly through the profits on his writings), heassisted such of his relatives as were in want in the most liberal manner. Onthe death of his brother, he assigned to the widow a pension of 200 thalers.Many poor persons also received a weekly allowance from him, and Wasianski, whoin later years managed Kant’s affairs for him, states that his charitableexpenses amounted to about 400 thalers annually.

His kindness was shown in his last will, in which he left an annual sum to aservant who had treated him shamefully, but who had served him (not indeedfaithfully) for thirty years. Kant had dismissed him two years before, with apension, on condition of his never setting foot inside the house again. Aftersome other small legacies, the residue was left to the children of his brotherand sisters. The whole amount was under four thousand pounds.

The principal questions on the Theory of Morals may, with sufficientaccuracy for the present purpose, be said to be these: First, the purelyspeculative question, What is the essential nature of moral rightness?Secondly, the practical questions, What is to man the criterion of his duty?and what is the foundation of obligation? The additional question, By whatfaculty do we discern right and wrong? is properly a psychological one.

If we had only to do with a being in whom Reason was irresistibly dominant,we should not need to raise any further questions; but having to treat of abeing with affections and appetites distinct from Reason, and not of themselvesdependent on it, we must answer the further question: How is Reason to maintainits authority in spite of these resisting forces? i.e. What is the Motive? Lastly, since we have to deal with a corrupt creature, anew question arises: How is such a creature to be reformed?

Now how does Kant deal with these questions? His categorical imperative—Actas if the maxim of thy action were to become by thy will a universal law ofNature—gives perhaps not the essence of virtue, but a property of it, which mayindeed serve as a subjective criterion. That this criterion is formal only, andtherefore empty, is hardly of itself a valid objection. The test of validreasoning, the syllogism, is equally empty. The categorical imperative is,however, rather negative than positive, and it is far from being sufficientlyclear as a test of the morality of actions. This appears even in the exampleswhich Kant himself gives. For example, treating of Compassion, he supposes thatif a man refuses aid to the distressed, it is out of selfishness, and thenshows that if selfishness was the ruling principle, it would contradict itself.But why assume a motive for refusing help? What we want is a motive for givinghelp. There is nothing contradictory in willing that none should help others.So in the case of gratitude, there is no contradiction in willing that thosewho receive benefits should entertain no peculiar feeling toward theirbenefactor. It is true we should lookfor it ourselves, but this implies that such afeeling is natural to man, and that we approve it. Again, put the case ofself-sacrifice of a man giving his life to save his friend; it would seem aseasy on Kant’s principle to prove this a vice as a virtue.

Kant has in fact treated human nature too abstractly. In eliminating the“matter” he has eliminated that on which frequently the whole question turns.Indeed, in some of the instances he himself chooses, he elicits a contradictiononly by bringing in a teleological consideration; e. g. asto suicide, he brings in the end for which self-love was given. The will todestroy one’s own life is not contradictory of the will to sustain it, unlessthe circumstances be supposed the same.

These remarks, however, only show that the formula is not a mechanical ruleof conduct; they do not disprove its scientific value. In fact preciselysimilar objections have been alleged against the logical analysis ofspeculative reasoning, that it leaves untouched what in practice is the mostdifficult part of the problem. If all poisonous substances could be broughtunder a single chemical formula, the generalization would be of value boththeoretically and practically, although its application to particular casesmight be difficult and uncertain. Kant never attempted “to deduce a completecode of duty from a purely formal principle;” [1] he expressly states thatthis is only a negative principle, and that thematter of practical maxims is to be derived from a different source ( cf. the present work, p. 299). Nor is it to be supposed thatKant was not fully aware of the difficulty of applying his formula to thecomplex circumstances of actual life. In his Metaphysic ofMorals he states a great number of questions of casuistry, which he leavesundecided, as puzzles or exercises to the reader. And indeed similardifficulties might be raised, from a speculative point of view, respecting therule, “Whatsoever ye would that men should do unto you, even so do unto them”—arule of which we may nevertheless say that in practice it probably never misledanyone, for everyone sees that the essence of it is the elimination ofself-partiality and inward dishonesty. The scientific basis of it is stated byClarke in language nearly equivalent to Kant’s. The reason of it, says theformer, is the same as that which forces us in speculation to affirm that ifone line or number be equal to another, that other is equal to it. “Whateverrelation or proportion one man in any case bears to another, the same thatother, when put in like circumstances, bears to him. Whatever I judgereasonable or unreasonable for another to do for me, that, bythe same judgment, I declare reasonable or unreasonable that I in the likecase should do for him.” [1] Kant’s rule is a generalization of this, so as to include duties toourselves as well as to others. As such it has a real scientific value.Practically, its valueconsists, like that of the golden rule, in theelimination of inward dishonesty.

Mr. Mill’s criticism on Kant’s formula is, that when we speak of a maximbeing “fit” to be a universal law, it is obvious that some test of fitness isrequired, and that Kant, in fact, tests the maxims by their consequences; as ifthe whole gist of Kant’s argument were not that the only test of this fitnessis logical possibility; or as if this were not the one thing expressed in hisformula. As to testing maxims by consequences, he does so in the same sense inwhich Euclid in indirect demonstrations tests a hypothesis by its consequences,and in no other, i. e. by the logical consequences, notthe practical. Take the case of a promise. In Kant’s view, the argument againstthe law permitting unfaithfulness is not that it would be attended withconsequences injurious to society, but that it would annihilate all promises(the present included), and therefore annihilate itself. Of inconvenience tosociety not a word is said or implied. Hence Kant’s objection rests wholly onthe absolute universality of the supposed law, whereas the Utilitarianobjection from practical consequences would be applicable in a proportionatedegree to a law not supposed universal. Hence, also, Kant’s test would holdeven if the present promise were never to be followed by another; nay, it wouldbe of equal force even though it should be proved that it would be better forsociety that there should be no verbal promises.

It has been said [1] that in applying Kant’s formulawe must qualify it by introducing the considerationof the probability that our example or rule will be generally followed; and theinstance of celibacy has been suggested, which, it is said, would benecessarily condemned as a crime if tested by Kant’s rule, pure and simple; forif all men practised celibacy there would be an end of the race, and, on the“greatest happiness” principle, to effect this would be the worst of crimes.Now, if a qualification were required, or admissible, Kant’s formula would bedeprived of all scientific significance, and its application made dependent onprivate and uncertain opinion. As to the example of celibacy, Kant has himselfindicated how he would dispose of it by the way in which he treats suicide. Hedoes not show its unlawfulness by alleging that if everyone committed suicidethe human race would come to an end, but by exposing the inconsistency in theprinciple of action which would lead to suicide. In every case it is the mentalprinciple which is to be tested, not the mere external action. Bearing this inmind, we shall find no difficulty in the case of celibacy. It may proceed frommotives which there would be no absurdity in supposing universal, because thecircumstances which give them this particular direction could only beexceptional. But, suppose celibacy recommended on grounds which are in theirown nature universal, e.g. as a condition of moralperfection, then Kant’s formula would properlyapply, for moral perfection is an end to be aimed atby all. One might just as well say that Kant’s rule would make all killingcriminal, whereas Kant would obviously require us to take into account themotive, self-defence, or other. On the other hand, apply Mr. Sidgwick’squalification, and what would result? Why, that we might innocently kill,provided the action were not likely to be generally imitated! If occasionalcelibacy is justified only because there exists a natural passion which is sureto be usually powerful enough to prevent the example being followed, then wemay equally justify occasional violence or murder on the ground that fear orbenevolence will naturally prevent the action from being extensivelyimitated.

Kant’s view of the source of obligation in the Autonomy of the will appearsto require qualification if we would avoid a contradiction. A law must be abovethe nature to which it is a law, and which is subject to it. A being which gaveitself the moral law, and whose freedom, therefore, is Autonomy, would not beconscious of obligation or duty, since the moral law would coincide with itswill. Kant draws the apparently self-contradictory conclusion that we, thoughwilling the law, yet resist it. Even if this be granted, it would follow, notthat we should feel obliged, but that either no action at all would follow, orthe more powerful side would prevail. That we condemn ourselves when we haveviolated the law is an important fact, on which Kant very strongly insists, butwhich his theory fails to explain. Is it not a far simpler and truerexplanation to say that this self-condemnation, this humiliation in thepresence of an unbending judge, is a proof that we have not given ourselves thelaw;that we are subjects of a higher power? [1] There is, indeed, a sense in which Autonomy may be truly vindicated toman. The moral law is not a mere precept imposed upon us from without, nor isit forced upon us by our sensitive nature; it is a law prescribed to us, or,more correctly speaking, revealed to us, by our own Reason. But Reason is notour own in the sense in which our appetites or sensations are our own; it isnot under our own control; it bears the stamp of universality and authority.Thus it declares itself impersonal: in other words, what Reason reveals weregard as valid for all beings possessed of intelligence, equal or superior toour own. Hence, many ethical writers, both ancient and modern, have insisted asstrongly as Kant that the moral law is common to man with all rationalcreatures. [2] And when Kant speaks of Autonomy, this is all that his argumentrequires. Accordingly, he sometimes speaks of rational creatures as thesubjects of Reason, which is the supreme legislator.

As regards the sanctions of the moral law, which practically to imperfectcreatures furnish the motive, these consist, according to Kant, in thehappiness and misery which are the natural consequences of virtueand vice, and he thinks that when they are regardedas natural consequences, the dread of the misery will have more effect than ifit were thought to be an arbitrary punishment. “The view into an illimitablefuture of happiness or misery is sufficient to serve as a motive to thevirtuous to continue steadfast in well-doing, and to arouse in the vicious thecondemning voice of conscience to check his evil course.” [1] In this Kant agrees with Cumberland. Kant’s argument for immortality isin substance that it is necessary for a continued indefinite approximation tothe ideal of the moral law. But since, as he maintains, we have ourselves toblame for not having attained this ideal, what right have we to expect such anopportunity? Having missed the true moment in his argument, which led to theexistence of a Supreme Lawgiver, he arrived at this fundamental truth by aroundabout way, through the conception of the summumbonum. But this introduces a quite heterogeneous notion, viz., that ofhappiness. Happiness belongs to a man as a sensible creature, and all that hehas a right to say is, that if Practical Reason had happiness to confer, itwould confer it on virtue. How much more direct and convincing is the argumentsuggested by Butler’s brief words: “Consciousness of a rule or guide of action,in creatures who are capable of considering it as given them by their Maker,not only raises immediately a sense of duty, but also a sense of security infollowing it, and of danger in deviating from it. A direction of the Author ofNature, given to creatures capable of looking upon it as such, is plainly acommand fromhim; and a command from him necessarily includesin it at least an implicit promise in case of obedience, or threatening in caseof disobedience;” and since “his method of government is to reward and punishactions, his having annexed to some actions an inseparable sense of gooddesert, and to others of ill, this surely amounts to declaring upon whom hispunishments shall be inflicted, and his rewards bestowed.”

Kant sees no mode of reconciling morality with the law of Causality, exceptby his distinction of noumena and phenomena. When the law of Causality isrightly understood there is no inconsistency. For the cause which it demands isan efficient cause, and the idea of an efficient cause involves the idea ofmind. [1] It is involved in the idea of matter, that it cannot originate (thisKant himself adopts as a first principle in his Metaphysics of NaturalPhilosophy); whereas it is the very idea of mind with will that it doesoriginate.When we seek the cause of motion we are satisfiedwhen we trace it to a will. True, we may then ask for the motive; but thenature of motive and that of efficient cause are heterogeneous.

Kant’s view of Freedom, however, does not involve anything of caprice orindeterminateness. Freedom, according to him, is not independence on law whichwe can consciously follow, but independence on the physical relation ofcausality, the not being determined by physical or sensible causes. On thisview the contradiction, which to Hobbes and others seemed to exist between theconception of freedom and that of the divine foreknowledge, would have littleweight. A short consideration suffices to show that there is a fallacy involvedin Hobbes’ argument. Suppose a being perfectly wise and good, and at the sametime free, then we should only require perfect knowledge of the circumstancesof a particular case in order to predict his conduct, and that infallibly. Ifhe were not free we could not do so. And the more nearly a being approachessuch perfection, the more certainly could we predict his actions. If hisgoodness were perfect, but his knowledge imperfect, and if we knew how far hisknowledge extended, we could still predict. It would be absurd to say that thiswould be a contradiction.

It is worthy of notice that Cudworth’s conception of liberty correspondsclosely with that of Kant. “The true liberty of a man, as it speaks pureperfection, is when by the right use of the faculty of free will, together withthe assistance of Divine grace, he is habitually fixed in moral good;” “butwhen by the abuse of that faculty of free will men come to behabitually fixed in evil and sinful inclinations,then are they, as Boëthius well expresses it, propriæ libertaticaptivi —made captive and brought into bondage by their own free will.” Itmay have been suggested to both of them by St. Paul, who represents sin asslavery, righteousness as freedom.

Kant is by no means happy in his treatment of the corruption of humannature. In order to escape the difficulty of reconciling responsibility withthe innate corruption on which he so strongly dwells, he has recourse (as inthe case of freedom) to the distinction between man noumenon and manphenomenon. The innate evil of human nature rests on an inversion of thenatural order, the legislative will being subordinated to the sensibility. Buthow can this be reconciled with the self-given, and therefore self-willed lawwhich makes good a duty? It is inconceivable that the pure supersensibleessence could invest the sensational nature (the objects of which have for itno reality) with a preponderance over itself. A further contradiction appearsto be involved in the relation of evil to freedom; for he states that freedomis as inseparably connected with the law of Practical Reason as the physicalcause with the law of nature, so that freedom without the law of PracticalReason is a causality without law, which would be absurd; and yet, on the otherhand, he regards freedom as an ability from which proceeds contradiction to themoral law.

A still more insuperable difficulty meets him when he attempts to answer thequestion, Is reformation possible? He replies: Yes; for it is a duty. Youought, therefore you can. How the return from evilto good is possible cannot indeed be comprehended,but the original fall from good to evil is equally incomprehensible, and yet isa fact. Now, freedom which belongs to the supersensible sphere (the sphere ofnoumena) cannot be determined by anything in the phenomenal world;consequently, if freedom has, apart from time, given the man a determination,then no event in time can produce a change. Nay, it would be a contradiction tosuppose the removal of an act in the noumenal (supersensible) world by asucceeding act. Contrary or contradictory attributes cannot be attributed tothe same subject except under the condition of time. If, therefore, theintelligent being is timeless, we cannot possibly attribute to it twodecisions, of which one annuls the other. He is not even consistent, for heargues that it is not possible to destroy this radicalcorruption by human power, but only to overcome it. Whydoes he not conclude here, I ought to destroy it, therefore I can? Lastly, evenif this “I can” were granted, it would be only a theoretical, not a practicalpossibility. If the man endowed with the faculties in their true subordination,with reason supreme, has yet not had strength or purity of will to remain so,what practical possibility is there that having this subordination perverted hecan restore it? There is obviously an external aid necessary here. Not thatanything wholly external could effect the change, which can only be produced bysomething operating on man’s own moral nature; but there must be a moralleverage, an external fulcrum, a πονˆ στωˆ. Such aid, such leverage are provided by theChristian religion. It has introduced a new motive, perfectly original andunique, the overpowering force of which has beenproved in many crucial instances; and no more complete theoretical proof of theabsolute necessity of some such revelation could be given than is supplied bythe attempts of the profoundest philosopher of modern times to dispense withit.

Kant’s own position with respect to Christianity is that of a Rationalist.He accepts the whole moral and spiritual teaching of the New Testament, becausehe finds it in accordance with reason, and this being so, he judges that it isa matter of no practical consequence whether its introduction was supernaturalor not. He did not deny that Divine aid was required to make reformationpossible, but he thought that no intellectual belief or knowledge of ours couldbe a condition of this aid, and, therefore, that all historical questions were adiaphora. But this is to take for granted, that if Godgives such aid at all, it must be in a particular way. Butler’s argument fromanalogy is conclusive against such assumptions. And, indeed, it is certain thatthe moral and the positive in Christianity cannot be thus kept apart. It is tothe facts that the doctrines owe their life and motive power. It is these thatsupply the leverage, without which the most perfect moral teaching will falldead on the ears at least of the masses of mankind.

Besides, as Butler shows, revealed facts may be the foundation of moralduties to those to whom the revelation has come.

It is remarkable that, although Kant was fond of reading English authors,and was influenced in his moral discussions by English moralists, Butler (whohad written half a century before the publication ofthe Kritik ) was whollyunknown to him. What is more remarkable is, that Butler has remained equallyunknown to German writers up to the present day. Whilst German historians ofmoral philosophy are careful to note the merits of even Wollaston and Ferguson,they pass over Butler’s name in silence. The reason of this silence, doubtless,is to be found in the title of his work. But although foreign philosopherscould not be expected to look for a treatise on moral philosophy in a bookcalled Fifteen Sermons, how is it that attention was notcalled to him by the notices in Mackintosh (who is largely cited, e. g. by I. H. Fichte), which showed the high estimationin which the work was held in England? It is certainly a curious and suggestivefact that writers, professedly and learnedly treating of English moralphilosophers, should be wholly ignorant of the writer who holds by far thehighest rank among them, whose work is the classical work, the text-book of theUniversities, and with a wider circulation, probably, than the works of all theother moralists put together.

The most striking peculiarity of Kant’s moral theory is its connexion withhis metaphysical system. It is in the moral law that he finds the means ofestablishing the existence, and to some extent the nature, of the supersensiblereality. He has been charged with inconsistency in this. What he pulls down inthe Critique of the Speculative Reason, he restores illogically, it is said, inthat of the Practical Reason. The fact appears to be, that readers of theformer work are apt to fall into two mistakes. First, they suppose that theyhave before them a complete system instead of a portion only; and secondly,they mistakethe attitude of suspense with regard to thesupersensible reality for a dogmatic negation of all knowledge thereof. Whenthey come to the Practical works, they find the impression thus formedrespecting Kant’s attitude towards the supersensible contradicted. But theinconsistency is not between the two parts of Kant’s system, but between hissystem as a whole and the impression derived from a partial view of it. That helimits his affirmation of the supersensible to its practical aspect is quite inaccordance with the spirit of his philosophy. Nor is this limitation so veryunlike that of the common-sense philosopher, Locke, who, in speaking of thelimits of our faculties, says that men have reason to be well satisfied, sinceGod hath given them “whatever is necessary for the conveniences of life, andthe information of virtue;” adding, “How short soever their knowledge may comeof an universal or perfect comprehension of whatsoever is, it yet secures theirgreat concernments, that they have light enough to lead them to the knowledgeof their Maker, and the sight of their own duties.” ( Essay, bk. 1. ch. i. § 5.)

Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics ofMorals

PREFACE.

ANCIENT GREEK PHILOSOPHY was divided into three sciences:Physics, Ethics, and Logic. This division is perfectly suitable to the natureof the thing, and the only improvement that can be made in it is to add theprinciple on which it is based, so that we may both satisfy ourselves of itscompleteness, and also be able to determine correctly the necessarysubdivisions.

All rational knowledge is either material or formal: the former considers some object, the latter isconcerned only with the form of the understanding and of the reason itself, andwith the universal laws of thought in general without distinction of itsobjects. Formal philosophy is called Logic. Material philosophy, however, whichhas to do with determinate objects and the laws to which they are subject, isagain two-fold; for these laws are either laws of nature or of freedom. The science of the former is Physics, thatof the latter, Ethics; they are also called naturalphilosophy and moral philosophy respectively.

Logic cannot have any empirical part; that is, a part in which the universaland necessary laws of thought should rest on grounds taken from experience;otherwise it would not be logic, i.e. a canon for theunderstanding or the reason, valid for all thought, and capable ofdemonstration. Natural andmoral philosophy, on the contrary, can each have theirempirical part, since the former has to determine the laws of nature as anobject of experience; the latter the laws of the human will, so far as it isaffected by nature: the former, however, being laws according to whicheverything does happen; the latter, laws according to which everything ought tohappen. [1] Ethics, however, must also consider the conditions under which whatought to happen frequently does not.

We may call all philosophy empirical, so far as it isbased on grounds of experience: on the other hand, that which delivers itsdoctrines from à priori principles alone we may call pure philosophy. When the latter is merely formal it is logic; if it is restricted to definite objects of theunderstanding it is metaphysic.

In this way there arises the idea of a two-fold metaphysic—a metaphysic of nature and a metaphysic ofmorals. Physics will thus have an empirical and also a rational part. Itis the same with Ethics; but here the empirical part might have the specialname of practical anthropology, the name morality being appropriated to the rational part.

All trades, arts, and handiworks have gained by division of labour, namely,when, instead of one man doing everything, each confines himself to a certainkind of work distinct from others in the treatment it requires, so as to beable to perform it with greater facility and in the greatest perfection. Wherethe different kinds of work are not so distinguished and divided, whereeveryone is a jack-of-all-trades, there manufactures remain still in thegreatest barbarism. It might deserve to be consideredwhether pure philosophy in all its parts does notrequire a man specially devoted to it, and whether it would not be better forthe whole business of science if those who, to please the tastes of the public,are wont to blend the rational and empirical elements together, mixed in allsorts of proportions unknown to themselves, and who call themselves independentthinkers, giving the name of minute philosophers to those who apply themselvesto the rational part only—if these, I say, were warned not to carry on twoemployments together which differ widely in the treatment they demand, for eachof which perhaps a special talent is required, and the combination of which inone person only produces bunglers. But I only ask here whether the nature ofscience does not require that we should always carefully separate the empiricalfrom the rational part, and prefix to Physics proper (or empirical physics) ametaphysic of nature, and to practical anthropology a metaphysic of morals,which must be carefully cleared of everything empirical, so that we may knowhow much can be accomplished by pure reason in both cases, and from whatsources it draws this its à priori teaching, and thatwhether the latter inquiry is conducted by all moralists (whose name islegion), or only by some who feel a calling thereto.

As my concern here is with moral philosophy, I limit the question suggestedto this: Whether it is not of the utmost necessity to construct a pure moralphilosophy, perfectly cleared of everything which is only empirical, and whichbelongs to anthropology? for that such a philosophy must be possible is evidentfrom the common idea of duty and of the moral laws. Everyone must admit that ifa law is to have moral force, i. e. to be the basis of anobligation, it must carry with it absolute necessity; that, for example, theprecept, ‘Thou shalt not lie,’is not valid for men alone, as if other rationalbeings had no need to observe it; and so with all the other moral laws properlyso called; that, therefore, the basis of obligation must not be sought in thenature of man, or in the circumstances in the world in which he is placed, but à priori simply in the conceptions ofpure reason; and although any other preceptwhich is founded on principles of mere experience may be in certain respectsuniversal, yet in as far as it rests even in the least degree on an empiricalbasis, perhaps only as to a motive, such a precept, while it may be a practicalrule, can never be called a moral law.

Thus not only are moral laws with their principles essentially distinguishedfrom every other kind of practical knowledge in which there is anythingempirical, but all moral philosophy rests wholly on its pure part. When appliedto man, it does not borrow the least thing from the knowledge of man himself(anthropology), but gives laws à priori to him as arational being. No doubt these laws require a judgment sharpened by experience,in order on the one hand to distinguish in what cases they are applicable, andon the other to procure for them access to the will of the man, and effectualinfluence on conduct; since man is acted on by so many inclinations that,though capable of the idea of a practical pure reason, he is not so easily ableto make it effective in concreto in his life.

A metaphysic of morals is therefore indispensably necessary, not merely forspeculative reasons, in order to investigate the sources of the practicalprinciples which are to be found à priori in our reason,but also because morals themselves are liable to all sorts of corruption, aslong as we are without that clue and supreme canon by which to estimate themcorrectly. For in order that an action should be morally good, it is not enoughthat it conform to the moral law,but it must also be done for the sake of the law, otherwise that conformity is only very contingent and uncertain; since aprinciple which is not moral, although it may now and then produce actionsconformable to the law, will also often produce actions which contradict it. Now it is only in a pure philosophy that wecan look for the moral law in its purity and genuineness (and, in a practicalmatter, this is of the utmost consequence): we must, therefore, begin with purephilosophy (metaphysic), and without it there cannot be any moral philosophy atall. That which mingles these pure principles with the empirical does notdeserve the name of philosophy (for what distinguishes philosophy from commonrational knowledge is, that it treats in separate sciences what the latter onlycomprehends confusedly); much less does it deserve that of moral philosophy,since by this confusion it even spoils the purity of morals themselves, andcounteracts its own end.

Let it not be thought, however, that what is here demanded is already extantin the propædeutic prefixed by the celebrated Wolf [1] to his moral philosophy, namely, his so-called generalpractical philosophy, and that, therefore, we have not to strike into anentirely new field. Just because it was to be a general practical philosophy,it has not taken into consideration a will of any particular kind—say one whichshould be determined solely from à priori principleswithout any empirical motives, and which we might call a pure will, butvolition in general, with all the actions and conditions which belong to it inthisgeneral signification. By this it is distinguishedfrom a metaphysic of morals, just as general logic, which treats of the actsand canons of thought in general, is distinguished fromtranscendental philosophy, which treats of the particular acts and canons of pure thought, i.e. that whosecognitions are altogether à priori. For the metaphysic ofmorals has to examine the idea and the principles of a possible pure will, and not the acts and conditions of human volitiongenerally, which for the most part are drawn from psychology. It is true that moral laws and duty arespoken of in the general practical philosophy (contrary indeed to all fitness).But this is no objection, for in this respect also the authors of that scienceremain true to their idea of it; they do not distinguish the motives which areprescribed as such by reason alone altogether à priori, and which are properly moral, from the empirical motives which theunderstanding raises to general conceptions merely by comparison ofexperiences; but without noticing the difference of their sources, and lookingon them all as homogeneous, they consider only their greater or less amount. Itis in this way they frame their notion of obligation, which, though anything but moral, is all that can be asked for in a philosophywhich passes no judgment at all on the origin of allpossible practical concepts, whether they are à priori, oronly à posteriori.

Intending to publish hereafter a metaphysic of morals, I issue in the firstinstance these fundamental principles. Indeed there is properly no otherfoundation for it than the critical examination of a purepractical reason; just as that of metaphysics is the critical examinationof the pure speculative reason, already published. But in the first place theformer is not so absolutely necessary as the latter, because in moral concernshuman reason can easily be brought to a high degree of correctnessand completeness, even in the commonest understanding,while on the contrary in its theoretic but pure use it is wholly dialectical;and in the second place if the critique of a pure practical reason is to becomplete, it must be possible at the same time to show its identity with thespeculative reason in a common principle, for it can ultimately be only one andthe same reason which has to be distinguished merely in its application. Icould not, however, bring it to such completeness here, without introducingconsiderations of a wholly different kind, which would be perplexing to thereader. On this account I have adopted the title of Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals, instead of that of a Critical Examination of the pure practicalReason.

But in the third place, since a metaphysic of morals, in spite of thediscouraging title, is yet capable of being presented in a popular form, andone adapted to the common understanding, I find it useful to separate from itthis preliminary treatise on its fundamental principles, in order that I maynot hereafter have need to introduce these necessarily subtle discussions intoa book of a more simple character.

The present treatise is, however, nothing more than the investigation andestablishment of the supreme principle of morality, andthis alone constitutes a study complete in itself, and one which ought to bekept apart from every other moral investigation. No doubt my conclusions onthis weighty question, which has hitherto been very unsatisfactorily examined,would receive much light from the application of the same principle to thewhole system, and would be greatly confirmed by the adequacy which it exhibitsthroughout; but I must forego this advantage, which indeed would be after allmore gratifying than useful, since the easy applicability of a principle andits apparentadequacy give no very certain proof of its soundness,but rather inspire a certain partiality, which prevents us from examining andestimating it strictly in itself, and without regard to consequences.

I have adopted in this work the method which I think most suitable,proceeding analytically from common knowledge to the determination of itsultimate principle, and again descending synthetically from the examination ofthis principle and its sources to the common knowledge in which we find itemployed. The division will, therefore, be as follows:—

- 1. Firstsection. —Transition from the common rational knowledge of morality to thephilosophical.

- 2. Secondsection. —Transition from popular moral philosophy to the metaphysic ofmorals.

- 3. Thirdsection. —Final step from the metaphysic of morals to the critique of thepure practical reason.

FIRST SECTION.: transition from the common rationalknowledge of morality to the philosophical.

NOTHING can possibly be conceived in theworld, or even out of it, which can be called good without qualification,except a Good Will. Intelligence, wit, judgment, and the other talents of the mind, however they may be named, or courage,resolution, perseverance, as qualities of temperament, are undoubtedly good anddesirable in many respects; but these gifts of nature may also become extremelybad and mischievous if the will which is to make use of them, and which,therefore, constitutes what is called character, is notgood. It is the same with the gifts of fortune. Power,riches, honour, even health, and the general well-being and contentment withone’s condition which is called happiness, inspire pride,and often presumption, if there is not a good will to correct the influence ofthese on the mind, and with this also to rectify the whole principle of acting,and adapt it to its end. The sight of a being who is not adorned with a singlefeature of a pure and good will, enjoying unbroken prosperity, can never givepleasure to an impartial rational spectator. Thus a good will appears to constitutethe indispensable condition even of being worthy of happiness.

There are even some qualities which are of service to this good will itself,and may facilitate its action, yet which have no intrinsic unconditional value,but always presuppose a good will, and this qualifies the esteem that we justlyhave for them, and does not permit us to regard them as absolutely good.Moderation in the affections and passions, self-control and calm deliberationare not only good in many respects, but even seem to constitute part of theintrinsic worth of the person; but they are far from deserving to be calledgood without qualification,although they have been so unconditionally praised bythe ancients. For without the principles of a good will, they may becomeextremely bad, and the coolness of a villain not only makes him far moredangerous, but also directly makes him more abominable in our eyes than hewould have been without it.

A good will is good not because of what it performs or effects, not by itsaptness for the attainment of some proposed end, but simply by virtue of thevolition, that is, it is good in itself, and considered by itself is to beesteemed much higher than all that can be brought about by it in favour of anyinclination, nay, even of the sum total of all inclinations. Even if it shouldhappen that, owing to special disfavour of fortune, or the niggardly provisionof a step-motherly nature, this will should wholly lack power to accomplish itspurpose, if with its greatest efforts it should yet achieve nothing, and thereshould remain only the good will (not, to be sure, a mere wish, but thesummoning of all means in our power), then, like a jewel, it would still shineby its own light, as a thing which has its whole value in itself. Its usefulness or fruitlessness canneither add to nor take away anything from this value. It would be, as it were,only the setting to enable us to handle it the more conveniently in commoncommerce, or to attract to it the attention of those who are not yetconnoisseurs, but not to recommend it to true connoisseurs, or to determine itsvalue.

There is, however, something so strange in this idea of the absolute valueof the mere will, in which no account is taken of its utility, thatnotwithstanding the thorough assent of even common reason to the idea, yet asuspicion must arise that it may perhaps really be the product of merehigh-flown fancy, and that we may have misunderstood the purpose of nature inassigning reason as the governor of our will. Therefore we will examine thisidea from this point of view.

In the physical constitution of an organized being, that is, a being adaptedsuitably to the purposes of life, we assume it as a fundamental principle thatno organ for any purpose will be found but what is also the fittest and bestadapted for thatpurpose. Now in a being which has reason and a will,if the proper object of nature were its conservation, its welfare, in a word, its happiness, then nature would have hit upon a very bad arrangement in selecting the reasonof the creature to carry out this purpose. For all the actions which thecreature has to perform with a view to this purpose, and the whole rule of itsconduct, would be far more surely prescribed to it by instinct, and that endwould have been attained thereby much more certainly than it ever can be byreason. Should reason have been communicated to this favoured creature over andabove, it must only have served it to contemplate the happy constitution of itsnature, to admire it, to congratulate itselfthereon, and to feel thankful for it to the beneficent cause, but not that itshould subject its desires to that weak and delusive guidance, and meddlebunglingly with the purpose of nature. In a word, nature would have taken carethat reason should not break forth into practicalexercise, nor have the presumption, with its weak insight, to think outfor itself the plan of happiness, and of the means of attaining it. Naturewould not only have taken on herself the choice of the ends, but also of themeans, and with wise foresight would have entrusted both to instinct.

And, in fact, we find that the more a cultivated reason applies itself withdeliberate purpose to the enjoyment of life and happiness, so much the moredoes the man fail of true satisfaction. And from this circumstance there arisesin many, if they are candid enough to confess it, a certain degree of misology, that is, hatred of reason, especially in thecase of those who are most experienced in the use of it, because aftercalculating all the advantages they derive, I do not say from the invention ofall the arts of common luxury, but even from the sciences (which seem to themto be after all only a luxury of the understanding), they find that they have,in fact, only brought more trouble on their shoulders, rather than gained inhappiness; and they end by envying, rather than despising, the more commonstamp of men who keep closer to the guidance of mere instinct, and do not allowtheir reason much influence on their conduct. And this we must admit, that thejudgment of those who would verymuch lower the lofty eulogies of the advantages whichreason gives us in regard to the happiness and satisfaction of life, or whowould even reduce them below zero, is by no means morose or ungrateful to thegoodness with which the world is governed, but that there lies at the root ofthese judgments the ideathat our existence has a different and farnobler end, for which, and not for happiness, reason is properly intended, andwhich must, therefore, be regarded as the supreme condition to which theprivate ends of man must, for the most part, be postponed.

For as reason is not competent to guide the will with certainty in regard toits objects and the satisfaction of all our wants (which it to some extent evenmultiplies), this being an end to which an implanted instinct would have ledwith much greater certainty; and since, nevertheless, reason is imparted to usas a practical faculty, i.e. as one which is to haveinfluence on the will, therefore, admitting that naturegenerally in the distribution of her capacities has adapted the means to theend, its true destination must be to produce a will, notmerely good as a means to something else, but good in itself, for which reason was absolutely necessary.This will then, though not indeed the sole and complete good, must be thesupreme good and the condition of every other, even of the desire of happiness.Under these circumstances, there is nothing inconsistent with the wisdom ofnature in the fact that the cultivation of the reason, which is requisite forthe first and unconditional purpose, does in many ways interfere, at least inthis life, with the attainment of the second, which is always conditional,namely, happiness. Nay, it may even reduce it to nothing, without naturethereby failing of her purpose. For reason recognises the establishment of agood will as its highest practical destination, and in attaining this purposeis capable only of a satisfaction of its own proper kind, namely, that from theattainment of an end, which end again is determined by reason only,notwithstanding that this may involve many a disappointment to the ends ofinclination.

We have then to develop the notion of a will which deserves to be highlyesteemed for itself, and is good without a view toanything further, a notion which exists already inthe sound natural understanding, requiring rather to be cleared up than to betaught, and which in estimating the value of our actions always takes the firstplace, and constitutes the condition of all the rest. In order to do this wewill take the notion of duty, which includes that of a good will, althoughimplying certain subjective restrictions and hindrances. These, however, farfrom concealing it, or rendering it unrecognisable, rather bring it out bycontrast, and make it shine forth so much the brighter.

I omit here all actions which are already recognised as inconsistent withduty, although they may be useful for this or that purpose, for with these thequestion whether they are done from duty cannot arise atall, since they even conflict with it. I also set aside those actions whichreally conform to duty, but to which men have no direct inclination, performing them because they are impelledthereto by some other inclination. For in this case we can readily distinguishwhether the action which agrees with duty is done fromduty, or from a selfish view. It is much harder to make this distinctionwhen the action accords with duty, and the subject has besides a direct inclination to it. For example, it is always amatter of duty that a dealer should not overcharge an inexperienced purchaser,and wherever there is much commerce the prudent tradesman does not overcharge,but keeps a fixed price for everyone, so that a child buys of him as well asany other. Men are thus honestly served; but this is notenough to make us believe that the tradesman has so acted from duty and fromprinciples of honesty: his own advantage required it; it is out of the questionin this case to suppose that he might besides have a direct inclination infavour of the buyers, so that, as it were, from love he should give noadvantage to one over another. Accordingly the action was done neither fromduty nor from direct inclination, but merely with a selfish view.

On the other hand, it is a duty to maintain one’s life; and, in addition,every one has also a direct inclination to do so. But on this account the oftenanxious care which most men take forit has no intrinsic worth, and their maxim has nomoral import. They preserve their life as duty requires, no doubt, but not because duty requires. On the otherhand, if adversity and hopeless sorrow have completely taken away the relishfor life; if the unfortunate one, strong in mind, indignant at his fate ratherthan desponding or dejected, wishes for death, and yet preserves his lifewithout loving it—not from inclination or fear, but from duty—then his maximhas a moral worth.

To be beneficent when we can is a duty; and besides this, there are manyminds so sympathetically constituted that, without any other motive of vanityor self-interest, they find a pleasure in spreading joy around them, and cantake delight in the satisfaction of others so far as it is their own work. ButI maintain that in such a case an action of this kind, however proper, howeveramiable it may be, has nevertheless no true moral worth, but is on a level withother inclinations, e. g. the inclination to honour,which, if it is happily directed to that which is in fact of public utility andaccordant with duty, and consequently honourable, deserves praise andencouragement, but not esteem. For the maxim lacks the moral import, namely,that such actions be done from duty, not from inclination.Put the case that the mind of that philanthropist were clouded by sorrow of hisown, extinguishing all sympathy with the lotof others, and that while he still has the power to benefit others in distress,he is not touched by their trouble because he is absorbed with his own; and nowsuppose that he tears himself out of this dead insensibility, and performs theaction without any inclination to it, but simply from duty, then first has hisaction its genuine moral worth. Further still; if nature has put littlesympathy in the heart of this or that man; if he, supposed to be an uprightman, is by temperament cold and indifferent to the sufferings of others,perhaps because in respect of his own he is provided with the special gift ofpatience and fortitude, and supposes, or even requires, that others should havethe same—and such a man would certainly not be the meanest product ofnature—but if nature had not specially framed him for a philanthropist, wouldhe not still find in himself a sourcefrom whence to give himself a far higher worth thanthat of a good-natured temperament could be? Unquestionably. It is just in thisthat the moral worth of the character is brought out which is incomparably thehighest of all, namely, that he is beneficent, not from inclination, but fromduty.

To secure one’s own happiness is a duty, at least indirectly; for discontentwith one’s condition, under a pressure of many anxieties and amidst unsatisfiedwants, might easily become a great temptation to transgressionof duty. But here again, without looking to duty, all men have already thestrongest and most intimate inclination to happiness, because it is just inthis idea that all inclinations are combined in one total. But the precept ofhappiness is often of such a sort that it greatly interferes with someinclinations, and yet a man cannot form any definite and certain conception ofthe sum of satisfaction of all of them which is called happiness. It is not then to be wondered at that asingle inclination, definite both as to what it promises and as to the timewithin which it can be gratified, is often able to overcome such a fluctuatingidea, and that a gouty patient, for instance, can choose to enjoy what helikes, and to suffer what he may, since, according to his calculation, on thisoccasion at least, he has [only] not sacrificed the enjoyment of the presentmoment to a possibly mistaken expectation of a happiness which is supposed tobe found in health. But even in this case, if the general desire for happinessdid not influence his will, and supposing that in his particular case healthwas not a necessary element in this calculation, there yet remains in this, asin all other cases, this law, namely, that he should promote his happiness notfrom inclination but from duty, and by this would his conduct first acquiretrue moral worth.

It is in this manner, undoubtedly, that we are to understand those passagesof Scripture also in which we are commanded to love our neighbour, even ourenemy. For love, as an affection, cannot be commanded, but beneficence forduty’s sake may; even though we are not impelled to it by any inclination—nay,are even repelled by a natural and unconquerable aversion. This is practical love, and not pathological —a love which is seated inthe will, and not in the propensions of sense—inprinciples of action and not of tender sympathy; and it is this love alonewhich can be commanded.

The second [1] proposition is: That an action done from duty derives its moral worth, not from the purpose which is to be attained by it, butfrom the maxim by which it is determined, and therefore does not depend on therealization of the object of the action, but merely on the principle of volition by which the action has taken place,without regard to any object of desire. It is clear from what precedes that thepurposes which we may have in view in our actions, or their effects regarded asends and springs of the will, cannot give to actions any unconditional or moralworth. In what, then, can their worth lie, if it is not to consist in the willand in reference to its expected effect? It cannot lie anywhere but in the principle of the will without regard to the ends which canbe attained by the action. For the will stands between its àpriori principle, which is formal, and its àposteriori spring, which is material, as between two roads, and as it mustbe determined by something, it follows that it must be determined by the formalprinciple of volition when an action is done from duty, in which case everymaterial principle has been withdrawn from it.

The third proposition, which is a consequence of the two preceding, I wouldexpress thus: Duty is the necessity of acting from respect forthe law. I may have inclination for an object as theeffect of my proposed action, but I cannot have respect for it, just for this reason, that it is an effect and not an energy of will.Similarly, I cannot have respect for inclination, whether my own or another’s;I can at most, if my own, approve it; if another’s, sometimes even love it; i. e. look on it as favourable to my own interest. It isonly what is connected with my will as a principle, by no means as aneffect—what does not subserve my inclination, but overpowers it, or at least incase of choice excludes it from its calculation—in other words, simply the lawof itself, which can be an object of respect, andhence a command. Now an action done from duty must wholly exclude the influenceof inclination, and with it every object of the will, so that nothing remainswhich can determine the will except objectively the law, and subjectively pure respect for this practical law, and consequentlythe maxim [1] that I should follow this law even to the thwarting of all myinclinations.

Thus the moral worth of an action does not lie in the effect expected fromit, nor in any principle of action which requires to borrow its motive fromthis expected effect. For all these effects—agreeableness of one’s condition,and even the promotion of the happiness of others—could have been also broughtabout by other causes, so that for this there would have been no need of thewill of a rational being; whereas it is in this alone that the supreme andunconditional good can be found. The pre-eminent good which we call moral cantherefore consist in nothing else than the conception oflaw in itself, which certainly is only possible in arational being, in so far as this conception, and not the expected effect,determines the will. This is a good which is already present in the person whoacts accordingly, and we have not to wait for it to appear first in the result [2] .

But what sort of law can that be, the conception of which must determine thewill, even without paying any regard to the effect expected from it, in orderthat this will may be calledgood absolutely and without qualification? As I havedeprived the will of every impulse which could arise to it from obedience toany law, there remains nothing but the universal conformity of its actions tolaw in general, which alone is to serve the will as a principle, i. e. I am never to act otherwise than so that I could also will that my maxim should become a universallaw. Here now, it is the simple conformity to law in general, withoutassuming any particular law applicable to certain actions, that serves the willas its principle, and must so serve it, if duty is not to be a vain delusionand a chimerical notion. The common reason of men in its practical judgmentsperfectly coincides with this, and always has in view the principle heresuggested. Let the question be, for example: May I when in distress make apromise with the intention not to keep it? I readily distinguish here betweenthe two significations which the question may have: Whether it is prudent, or whether it is right, to make a falsepromise. The former may undoubtedly often be the case. I see clearly indeedthat it is not enough to extricate myself from a present difficulty by means ofthis subterfuge, but it must be well considered whether there may not hereafterspring from this lie much greater inconvenience than that from which I now freemyself, and as, with all my supposed cunning, theconsequences cannot be so easily foreseen but that creditonce lost may be much more injurious to me than anymischief which I seek to avoid at present, it should be considered whether itwould not be more prudent to act herein according to auniversal maxim, and to make it a habit to promise nothing except with theintention of keeping it. But it is soon clear to me that such a maxim willstill only be based on the fear of consequences. Now it is a wholly differentthing to be truthful from duty, and to be so from apprehension of injuriousconsequences. In the first case, the very notion of the action already impliesa law for me; in the second case, I must first look about elsewhere to see whatresults may be combined with it which would affect myself. For to deviate fromthe principle of duty is beyond all doubt wicked; but to be unfaithful to mymaxim of prudence may often be very advantageous to me, although to abide by itis certainly safer. The shortest way, however, and an unerring one, to discoverthe answer to this question whether a lying promise is consistent with duty, isto ask myself, Should I be content that my maxim (to extricate myself fromdifficulty by a false promise) should hold good as a universal law, for myselfas well as for others? and should I be able to say to myself, “Every one maymake a deceitful promise when he finds himself in a difficulty from which hecannot otherwise extricate himself”?Then I presently become aware that while Ican will the lie, I can by no means will that lying should be a universal law.For with such a law there would be no promises at all, since it would be invain to allege my intention in regard to my future actions to those who wouldnot believe this allegation, or if they over-hastily did so would pay me backin my own coin. Hence my maxim, as soon as it should be made a universal law,would necessarily destory itself.

I do not, therefore, need any far-reaching penetration to discern what Ihave to do in order that my will may be morally good. Inexperienced in thecourse of the world, incapable of being prepared for all its contingencies, Ionly ask myself: Canst thou also will that thy maxim should be a universal law?If not, then it must be rejected, and that not because of a disadvantageaccruing from it to myself or even to others, butbecause it cannot enter as a principle into apossible universal legislation, and reason extorts from me immediate respectfor such legislation. I do not indeed as yet discern onwhat this respect is based (this the philosopher may inquire), but at least Iunderstand this, that it is an estimation of the worth which far outweighs allworth of what is recommended by inclination, and that the necessity of actingfrom pure respect for the practical law is whatconstitutes duty, to which every other motive must give place, because it isthe condition of a will being good in itself, and theworth of such a will is above everything.

Thus, then, without quitting the moral knowledge of common human reason, wehave arrived at its principle. And although, no doubt, common men do notconceive it in such an abstract and universal form, yet they always have itreally before their eyes, and use it as the standard of their decision. Here itwould be easy to show how, with this compass in hand, men are well able to distinguish, inevery case that occurs, what is good, what bad, conformably to duty orinconsistent with it, if, without in the least teaching them anything new, weonly, like Socrates, direct their attention to the principle they themselvesemploy; and that therefore we do not need science and philosophy to know whatwe should do to be honest and good, yea, even wise and virtuous. Indeed wemight well have conjectured beforehand that the knowledge of what every man isbound to do, and therefore also to know, would be within the reach of everyman, even the commonest. [1] Here we cannot forbear admiration when we see how great an advantagethe practical judgment has over the theoretical in the common understanding ofmen. In the latter, if common reason ventures to depart from the laws ofexperience and from the perceptions of the senses it falls into mereinconceivabilities and self-contradictions, at least into a chaos ofuncertainty, obscurity, and instability. But in the practical sphere it is justwhen thecommon understanding excludes all sensible springsfrom practical laws that its power of judgment begins to show itself toadvantage. It then becomes even subtle, whether it be that it chicanes with itsown conscience or with other claims respecting what is to be called right, orwhether it desires for its own instruction to determine honestly the worth ofactions; and, in the latter case, it may even have as good a hope of hittingthe mark as any philosopher whatever can promise himself. Nay, it is almostmore sure of doing so, because the philosopher cannot have any other principle,while he may easily perplex his judgment by a multitude of considerationsforeign to the matter, and so turn aside from the right way. Would it nottherefore be wiser in moral concerns to acquiesce in the judgment of commonreason, or at most only to call in philosophy forthe purpose of rendering the system of morals more complete and intelligible,and its rules more convenient for use (especially for disputation), but not soas to draw off the common understanding from its happy simplicity, or to bringit by means of philosophy into a new path of inquiry and instruction?

Innocence is indeed a glorious thing, only, on the other hand, it is verysad that it cannot well maintain itself, and is easily seduced. On this accounteven wisdom—which otherwise consists more in conduct than in knowledge—yet hasneed of science, not in order to learn from it, but to secure for its preceptsadmission and permanence. Against all the commands of duty which reasonrepresents to man as so deserving of repect, he feels in himself a powerfulcounterpoise in his wants and inclinations, the entire satisfaction of which hesums up under the name of happiness. Now reason issues its commandsunyieldingly, without promising anything to the inclinations, and, as it were,with disregard and contempt for these claims, which are so impetuous, and atthe same time so plausible, and which will not allow themselves to besuppressed by any command. Hence there arises a natural dialectic, i. e. a disposition, to argue against these strictlaws of duty and to question their validity, or at least their purity andstrictness; and, if possible, to make them more accordant with our wishes andinclinations,that is to say, to corrupt them at their very source,and entirely to destroy their worth—a thing which even common practical reasoncannot ultimately call good.

Thus is the common reason of man compelled to go out ofits sphere, and to take a step into the field of a practicalphilosophy, not to satisfy any speculative want (which never occurs to itas long as it is content to be mere sound reason), but even on practicalgrounds, in order to attain in it information andclear instruction respecting the source of its principle, and the correctdetermination of it in opposition to the maxims which are based on wants andinclinations, so that it may escape from the perplexity of opposite claims, andnot run the risk of losing all genuine moral principles through theequivocation into which it easily falls. Thus, when practical reason cultivatesitself, there insensibly arises in it a dialectic which forces it to seek aidin philosophy, just as happens to it in its theoretic use; and in this case,therefore, as well as in the other, it will find rest nowhere but in a thoroughcritical examination of our reason.

SECOND SECTION.: transition from popular moral philosophyto the metaphysic of morals.

IF we have hitherto drawn our notion of dutyfrom the common use of our practical reason, it is by no means to be inferredthat we have treated it as an empirical notion. On the contrary, if we attendto the experience of men’s conduct, we meet frequent and, as we ourselvesallow, just complaints that one cannot find a single certain example of thedisposition to act from pure duty. Although many things are done in conformity with what duty prescribes,it is nevertheless always doubtful whether they are done strictly from duty, so as to have a moral worth. Hence there have,at all times, been philosophers who have altogether denied that thisdisposition actually exists at all in human actions, and have ascribedeverything to a more or less refined self-love. Not that they have on thataccount questioned the soundness of the conception of morality; on thecontrary, they spoke with sincere regret of the frailty and corruption of humannature, which though noble enough to take as its rule an idea so worthy ofrespect, is yet too weak to follow it, and employs reason, which ought to giveit the lawonly for the purpose of providing for theinterest of the inclinations, whether singly or at the best in the greatestpossible harmony with one another.

In fact, it is absolutely impossible to make out by experience with completecertainty a single case in which the maxim of an action, however right initself, rested simply on moral grounds and on the conception of duty. Sometimesit happens that with the sharpest self-examination we can find nothing besidethe moral principle of duty which could have been powerful enough to move us tothis or that action and toso great a sacrifice; yet we cannot from this inferwith certainty that it was not really some secret impulse of self-love, underthe false appearance of duty, that was the actual determining cause of thewill. We like then to flatter ourselves by falsely taking credit for a morenoble motive; whereas in fact we can never, even by the strictest examination,get completely behind the secret springs of action; since when the question isof moral worth, it is not with the actions which we see that we are concerned,but with those inward principles of them which we do not see.

Moreover, we cannot better serve the wishes of those who ridicule allmorality as a mere chimera of human imagination overstepping itself fromvanity, than by conceding to them that notions of duty must be drawn only fromexperience (as from indolence, people are ready to think is also the case withall other notions); for this is to prepare for them a certain triumph. I amwilling to admit out of love of humanity that even most of our actions arecorrect, but if we look closer at them we everywhere come upon the dear selfwhich is always prominent, and it is this they have in view, and not the strictcommand of duty which would often require self-denial. Without being an enemy of virtue, a coolobserver, one that does not mistake the wish for good, however lively, for itsreality, may sometimes doubt whether true virtue is actually found anywhere inthe world, and this especially as years increase and the judgment is partlymade wiser by experience, and partly also more acute in observation. This beingso, nothing can secure us from falling away altogether from our ideas of duty,or maintain in the soul a well-grounded respect for its law, but the clearconviction that although there should never have been actions which reallysprang from such pure sources, yet whether this or that takes place is not atall the question; but that reason of itself, independent on all experience,ordains what ought to take place, that accordingly actions of which perhaps theworld has hitherto never given an example, the feasibility even of which mightbe very much doubted by one who founds everything on experience, arenevertheless inflexibly commanded by reason; that, ex. gr. even though there might never yet have been a sincerefriend, yet not a whit the less is pure sincerity infriendship required of every man, because, prior to all experience, this dutyis involved as duty in the idea of a reason determining the will by à priori principles.

When we add further that, unless we deny that the notion of morality has anytruth or reference to any possible object, we must admit that its law must bevalid, not merely for men, but for all rational creaturesgenerally, not merely under certain contingent conditions or withexceptions, but with absolute necessity, then it is clearthat no experience could enable us to infer even the possibility of suchapodictic laws. For with what right could we bring intounbounded respect as a universal precept for every rational nature that whichperhaps holds only under the contingent conditions of humanity? Or how couldlaws of the determination of our will be regarded as lawsof the determination of the will of rational beings generally, and for us onlyas such, if they were merely empirical, and did not take their origin wholly à priori from pure but practical reason?

Nor could anything be more fatal to morality than that we should wish toderive it from examples. For every example of it that is set before me must befirst itself tested by principles of morality, whether it is worthy to serve asan original example, i. e. as a pattern, but by no meanscan it authoritatively furnish the conception of morality. Even the Holy One ofthe Gospels must first be compared with our ideal of moral perfection before wecan recognise Him as such; and so He says of Himself, “Why call ye Me (whom yousee) good; none is good (the model of good) but God only (whom ye do not see)?”But whence have we the conception of God as the supreme good? Simply from the idea of moral perfection, which reason frames à priori, and connects inseparably with the notion of afree-will. Imitation finds no place at all in morality, and examples serve onlyfor encouragement, i. e. they put beyond doubt thefeasibility of what the law commands, they make visible that which thepractical rule expresses more generally, but they can never authorize us to setaside the true original which lies in reason, and to guide ourselves byexamples.

If then there is no genuine supreme principle of morality but what must restsimply on pure reason, independent on all experience, I think it is notnecessary even to put the question, whether it is goodto exhibit these concepts in theirgenerality ( in abstracto ) as they are established à priori along with the principles belonging to them, ifour knowledge is to be distinguished from the vulgar, andto be called philosophical. In our times indeed this might perhaps benecessary; for if we collected votes, whether pure rational knowledge separatedfrom everything empirical, that is to say, metaphysic of morals, or whetherpopular practical philosophy is to be preferred, it is easy to guess which sidewould preponderate.

This descending to popular notions is certainly very commendable, if theascent to the principles of pure reason has first taken place and beensatisfactorily accomplished. This implies that we first found Ethics on Metaphysics, and then, when it is firmlyestablished, procure a hearing for it by giving it apopular character. But it is quite absurd to try to be popular in the firstinquiry, on which the soundness of the principles depends. It is not only thatthis proceeding can never lay claim to the very rare merit of a true philosophical popularity, since there is no art in beingintelligible if one renounces all thoroughness of insight; but also it producesa disgusting medley of compiled observations and half-reasoned principles.Shallow pates enjoy this because it can be used for every-day chat, but thesagacious find in it only confusion, and being unsatisfied and unable to helpthemselves, they turn away their eyes, while philosophers, who see quite wellthrough this delusion, are little listened to when they call men off for a timefrom this pretended popularity, in order that they might be rightfully popularafter they have attained a definite insight.

We need only look at the attempts of moralists in that favourite fashion,and we shall find at one time the special constitution of human nature(including, however, the idea of arational nature generally), at one time perfection, at another happiness, heremoral sense, there fear of God, a little of this, and a little of that, inmarvellous mixture without itsoccurring to them to ask whether the principles ofmorality are to be sought in the knowledge of human nature at all (which we canhave only from experience); and, if this is not so, if these principles are tobe found altogether à priori free from everythingempirical, in pure rational concepts only, and nowhere else, not even in thesmallest degree; then rather to adopt the method of making this a separateinquiry, as pure practical philosophy, or (if one may use a name so decried) asmetaphysic of morals, [1] to bring it by itself to completeness, and to require the public, whichwishes for popular treatment, to await the issue of this undertaking.

Such a metaphysic of morals, completely isolated, not mixed with anyanthropology, theology, physics, or hyperphysics, and still less with occultqualities (which we might call hypophysical), is not only an indispensablesubstratum of all sound theoretical knowledge of duties, but is at the sametime a desideratum of the highest importance to the actual fulfilment of theirprecepts. For the pure conception of duty, unmixed with any foreign addition ofempirical attractions, and, in a word, the conception of themoral law, exercises on the human heart, by way of reason alone (which firstbecomes aware with this that it can of itself be practical), an influence somuch more powerful than all other springs [2] which may be derived from the field of experience, that in theconsciousness of its worth, it despises the latter, and can by degrees becometheir master; whereas a mixed ethics, compounded partly of motives drawn fromfeelings and inclinations, and partly also of conceptions of reason, mustmake the mind waver between motives which cannot bebrought under any principle, which lead to good only by mere accident, and veryoften also to evil.

From what has been said, it is clear that all moral conceptions have theirseat and origin completely à priori in the reason, andthat, moreover, in the commonest reason just as truly as in that which is inthe highest degree speculative; that they cannot be obtained by abstractionfrom any empirical, and therefore merely contingent knowledge; that it is justthis purity of their origin that makes them worthy to serve as our supremepractical principle, and that just in proportion as we addanything empirical, we detract from their genuine influence, and from theabsolute value of actions; that it is not only of the greatest necessity, in apurely speculative point of view, but is also of the greatest practicalimportance to derive these notions and laws from pure reason, to present thempure and unmixed, and even to determine the compass of this practical or purerational knowledge, i. e. to determine the whole facultyof pure practical reason; and, in doing so, we must not make its principlesdependent on the particular nature of human reason, though in speculativephilosophy this may be permitted, or may even at times be necessary; but sincemoral laws ought to hold good for every rational creature, we must derive themfrom the general concept of a rational being. In this way, although for its application to man morality has need of anthropology, yet,in the first instance, we must treat it independently as pure philosophy, i. e. as metaphysic, complete initself (a thing which in such distinct branches of science is easily done);knowing well that unless we are in possession of this, it would not only bevain to determine the moral element of duty in right actions for purposes ofspeculative criticism, but it would be impossible to base morals on theirgenuine principles, even for common practical purposes, especially of moralinstruction, so as to produce pure moral dispositions, and to engraft them onmen’s minds to the promotion of the greatest possible good in the world.

But in order that in this study we may not merely advance by the naturalsteps from the common moral judgment (in this case very worthy of respect) tothe philosophical, as has been already done, but also from a popularphilosophy, which goes no further than it can reach by groping with the help ofexamples, to metaphysic (which does not allow itself to be checked by anythingempirical, and as it must measure the whole extentof this kind of rational knowledge, goes as far as ideal conceptions, whereeven examples fail us), we must follow and clearly describe the practicalfaculty of reason, from the general rules of its determination to the pointwhere the notion of duty springs from it.

Everything in nature works according to laws. Rational beings alone have thefaculty of acting according to the conception of laws,that is according to principles, i. e. have a will. Since the deduction of actions from principlesrequires reason, the will is nothing but practical reason.If reason infallibly determines the will, then the actions of such a beingwhich are recognised as objectively necessary are subjectively necessary also, i. e. the will is a faculty to choose thatonly which reason independent on inclination recognises as practicallynecessary, i. e. as good. But if reason of itself does notsufficiently determine the will, if the latter is subject also to subjectiveconditions (particular impulses) which do not always coincide with theobjective conditions; in a word, if the will does not initself completely accord with reason (which is actually the case withmen), then the actions which objectively are recognised as necessary aresubjectively contingent, and the determination of such a willaccording to objective laws is obligation, that is to say, the relation of the objective lawsto a will that is not thoroughly good is conceived as the determination of thewill of a rational being by principles of reason, but which the will from itsnature does not of necessity follow.

The conception of an objective principle, in so far as it is obligatory fora will, is called a command (of reason), and the formula of the command iscalled an Imperative.

All imperatives are expressed by the word ought [or shall ], and thereby indicate the relation of an objectivelawof reason to a will, which from itssubjective constitution is not necessarily determined by it (an obligation).They say that something would be good to do or to forbear, but they say it to awill which does not always do a thing because it is conceived to be good to doit. That is practically good, however, which determinesthe will by means of the conceptions of reason, and consequently not fromsubjective causes, but objectively, that is on principles which are valid forevery rational being as such. It is distinguished from the pleasant, as that which influences the will only by means ofsensation from merely subjective causes, valid only for the sense of this orthat one, and not as a principle of reason, which holds for every one. [1]

A perfectly good will would therefore be equally subject to objective laws(viz. laws of good), but could not be conceived as obliged thereby to act lawfully, because of itself from its subjective constitution itcan only be determined by the conception of good. Therefore no imperatives hold for theDivine will, or in general for a holy will; ought is here out of place, because the volition isalready of itself necessarily in unison with the law. Therefore imperatives areonly formulæ to express the relation of objective laws of all volition to thesubjective imperfection of the will of this or that rational being, e. g. the human will.

Now all imperatives command either hypothetically or categorically. Theformer represent the practical necessity of a possible action as means tosomething else that is willed (or at least which one might possibly will). Thecategorical imperative would be that which represented an action as necessaryof itself without reference to another end, i.e. asobjectively necessary.

Since every practical law represents a possible action as good, and on thisaccount, for a subject who is practically determinable by reason, necessary,all imperatives are formulæ determining an action which is necessary accordingto the principle of a will good in some respects. If now the action is goodonly as a means to something else, then the imperative is hypothetical; if it is conceived as good in itself and consequently as being necessarily the principleof a will which of itself conforms to reason, then it is categorical.

Thus the imperative declares what action possible by me would be good, andpresents the practical rule in relation to a will which does not forthwithperform an action simply because it is good, whether because the subject doesnot always know that it is good, or because, even if it know this, yet itsmaxims might be opposed to the objective principles of practical reason.

Accordingly the hypothetical imperative only says that the action is goodfor some purpose, possible or actual . In the first case it is a Problematical,in the second an Assertorialpractical principle. The categorical imperative whichdeclares an action to be objectively necessary in itself without reference toany purpose, i.e. without any other end, is valid as anApodictic (practical) principle.

Whatever is possible only by the power of some rational being may also beconceived as a possible purpose of some will; and therefore the principles ofaction as regards the means necessary to attain some possible purpose are infact infinitely numerous. All sciences have a practical part, consisting ofproblems expressing that some end is possible for us, and of imperativesdirecting how it may be attained. These may, therefore, be called in generalimperatives of Skill. Here there is no question whether the end is rational andgood, but only what one must do in order to attain it. The precepts for thephysician to make his patient thoroughly healthy, and for a poisoner to ensurecertain death, are of equal value in this respect, that each serves to effectits purpose perfectly. Since in early youth it cannot be known what ends arelikely to occur to us in the course of life, parents seek to have theirchildren taught a great many things, and provide for their skill in the use of means for all sorts of arbitrary ends,of none of which can they determine whether it may not perhaps hereafter be anobject to their pupil, but which it is at all events possible that he might aim at; and this anxiety is so greatthat they commonly neglect to form and correct their judgment on the value ofthe things which may be chosen as ends.

There is one end, however, which may be assumed to beactually such to all rational beings (so far as imperatives apply to them, viz.as dependent beings), and therefore, one purpose which they not merely may have, but which we may with certainty assume that theyall actually have by a natural necessity, and this is happiness. The hypothetical imperative which expresses thepractical necessity of an action as means to the advancement of happiness isAssertorial. We are not to present it as necessary for an uncertain and merelypossible purpose, but for a purpose which we may presuppose with certainty and à priori in every man, because it belongs to his being.Nowskill in the choice of means to his own greatestwell-being may be called prudence, [1] in the narrowest sense. And thus the imperative which refers to thechoice of means to one’s own happiness, i. e. the preceptof prudence, is still always hypothetical; the action isnot commanded absolutely, but only as means to another purpose.

Finally, there is an imperative which commands a certain conductimmediately, without having as its condition any other purpose to be attainedby it. This imperative is Categorical. It concerns not the matter of theaction, or its intended result, but its form and the principle of which it isitself a result; and what is essentially good in itconsists in the mental disposition, let the consequence be what it may. Thisimperative may be called that of Morality.

There is a marked distinction also between the volitions on these threesorts of principles in the dissimilarity of the obligationof the will. In order to mark this difference more clearly, I think they wouldbe most suitably named in their order if we said they are either rules of skill, or counsels ofprudence, or commands ( laws ) ofmorality. For it is law only that involves the conceptionof an unconditional and objective necessity, which isconsequently universally valid; and commands are laws which must be obeyed,that is, must be followed, even in opposition to inclination. Counsels, indeed, involve necessity, but one which can onlyhold under a contingent subjective condition, viz. they depend on whether thisor that man reckons this or that as part of his happiness; the categoricalimperative, onthe contrary, is not limited by any condition, and asbeing absolutely, although practically, necessary, may be quite properly calleda command. We might also call the first kind of imperatives technical (belonging to art), the second pragmatic [1] (to welfare), the third moral (belonging to freeconduct generally, that is, to morals).

Now arises the question, how are all these imperatives possible? Thisquestion does not seek to know how we can conceive the accomplishment of theaction which the imperative ordains, but merely how we can conceive theobligation of the willwhich the imperative expresses. No specialexplanation is needed to show how an imperative of skill is possible. Whoeverwills the end, wills also (so far as reason decides his conduct) the means inhis power which are indispensably necessary thereto. This proposition is, asregards the volition, analytical; for, in willing an object as my effect, thereis already thought the causality of myself as an acting cause, that is to say,the use of the means; and the imperative educes from the conception of volitionof an end the conception of actions necessary to this end. Syntheticalpropositions must no doubt be employed in defining the means to a proposed end;but they do not concern the principle, the act of the will, but the object andits realization. Ex. gr., that in order to bisect a lineon an unerring principle I must draw from its extremities two interesectingares; this no doubt is taught by mathematics only in synthetical propositions;but if I know that it is only by this process that the intended operation canbe performed, then to say that if I fully will the operation, I also will theaction required for it, is an analytical proposition; for it is one and thesame thing to conceive something as an effect which I canproduce in a certain way, and to conceive myself asacting in this way.

If it were only equally easy to give a definite conception of happiness, theimperatives of prudence would correspond exactly with those of skill, and wouldlikewise be analytical. For in this case as in that, it could be said, whoeverwills the end, wills also (according to the dictate of reason necessarily) theindispensable means thereto which are in his power. But, unfortunately, thenotion of happiness is so indefinite that although every man wishes to attainit, yet he never can say definitely and consistently what it is that he reallywishes and wills. The reason of this is that all theelements which belong to the notion of happiness are altogether empirical, i.e. they must be borrowed from experience, andnevertheless the idea of happiness requires an absolute whole, a maximum ofwelfare in my present and all future circumstances. Now it is impossible thatthe most clear-sighted, and at the same time most powerful being (supposedfinite) should frame to himself a definite conception of what he really willsin this. Does he will riches, how much anxiety, envy, and snares might he notthereby draw upon his shoulders? Does he will knowledge and discernment,perhaps it might prove to be only an eye so much the sharper to show him somuch the more fearfully the evils that are now concealed from him, and thatcannot be avoided, or to impose more wants on his desires, which already givehim concern enough. Would he have long life, who guarantees to him that itwould not be a long misery? would he at least have health? how often hasuneasiness of the body restrained from excesses into which perfect health wouldhave allowed one to fall? and so on. In short he is unable, on any principle,to determine with certainty what would make him truly happy; because to do sohe would need to be omniscient. We cannot therefore act on any definiteprinciples to secure happiness, but only on empirical counsels, ex. gr. of regimen, frugality, courtesy, reserve, c.,which experience teaches do, on the average, most promote well-being. Hence itfollows that the imperatives of prudence do not, strictly speaking, commandat all, that is, they cannot present actionsobjectively as practically necessary; that they are ratherto be regarded as counsels ( consilia ) than precepts ( præcepta ) of reason, that the problem to determine certainlyand universallywhat action would promote the happiness ofa rational being is completely insoluble, and consequently no imperativerespecting it is possible which should, in the strict sense, command to do whatmakes happy; because happiness is not an ideal of reason but of imagination,resting solely on empirical grounds, and it is vain to expect that these shoulddefine an action by which one could attain the totality of a series ofconsequences which is really endless. This imperative of prudence would howeverbe an analytical proposition if we assume that the means to happiness could becertainly assigned; for it is distinguished from the imperative of skill onlyby this, that in the latter the end is merely possible, in the former it isgiven; as however both only ordain the means to that which we suppose to bewilled as an end, it follows that the imperative which ordains the willing ofthe means to him who wills the end is in both cases analytical. Thus there isno difficulty in regard to the possibility of an imperative of this kindeither.

On the other hand the question, how the imperative of morality is possible, is undoubtedly one, the only one,demanding a solution, as this is not at all hypothetical, and the objectivenecessity which it presents cannot rest on any hypothesis, as is the case withthe hypothetical imperatives. Only here we must never leave out ofconsideration that we cannot make out byany example, in other words empirically, whether there is such animperative at all; but it is rather to be feared that all those which seem tobe categorical may yet be at bottom hypothetical. For instance, when theprecept is: Thou shalt not promise deceitfully; and it is assumed that thenecessity of this is not a mere counsel to avoid some other evil, so that itshould mean: thou shalt not make a lying promise, lest if it become known thoushouldst destroy thy credit, but that an action of this kind must beregarded as evil in itself, so that the imperative of the prohibition iscategorical; then we cannotshow with certainty in any example that the will wasdetermined merely by the law, without any other spring of action, although itmay appear to be so. For it is always possible that fear of disgrace, perhapsalso obscure dread of other dangers, may have a secret influence on the will.Who can prove by experience the non-existence of a cause when all thatexperience tells us is that we do not perceive it? But in such a case theso-called moral imperative, which as such appears to be categorical andunconditional, would in reality be only a pragmatic precept, drawing ourattention to our own interests, and merely teaching us to take these intoconsideration.

We shall therefore have to investigate à priori thepossibility of a categorical imperative, as we have not in this case theadvantage of its reality being given in experience, so that [the elucidationof] its possibility should be requisite only for its explanation, not for itsestablishment. In the meantime it may be discerned beforehand that thecategorical imperative alone has the purport of a practical law: all the restmay indeed be called principles of the will but not laws,since whatever is only necessary for the attainment of some arbitrary purposemay be considered as in itself contingent, and we can at any time be free fromthe precept if we give up the purpose: on the contrary, the unconditionalcommand leaves the will no liberty to choose the opposite; consequently italone carries with it that necessity which we require in a law.

Secondly, in the case of this categorical imperative or law of morality, thedifficulty (of discerning its possibility) is a very profound one. It is an à priori synthetical practical proposition; [1] and as there is so much difficulty in discerning the possibilityof speculative propositions of this kind, it mayreadily be supposed that the difficulty will be no less with the practical.

In this problem we will first inquire whether the mere conception of acategorical imperative may not perhaps supply us also with the formula of it,containing the proposition which alone can be a categorical imperative; foreven if we know the tenor of such an absolute command, yet how it is possiblewill require further special and laborious study, which we postpone to the lastsection.

When I conceive a hypothetical imperative in general I do not knowbeforehand what it will contain until I am given the condition. But when Iconceive a categorical imperative I know at once what it contains. For as theimperative contains besides the law only the necessity that the maxims [1] shall conform to this law, while the law contains no conditionsrestricting it, there remains nothing but the general statement that the maximof the action should conform to a universal law, and it is this conformity alone that theimperative properly represents as necessary. [2]

There is therefore but one categorical imperative, namely this: Act only on that maxim whereby thou canst at the same time willthat it should become a universal law.

Now if all imperatives of duty can be deduced from this one imperative asfrom their principle, then, although it should remain undecided whether what iscalled duty is not merely avain notion, yet at least we shall be able to showwhat we understand by it and what this notion means.

Since the universality of the law according to which effects are producedconstitutes what is properly called nature in the mostgeneral sense (as to form), that is the existence of things so far as it isdetermined by general laws, the imperative of duty may be expressed thus: Act as if the maxim of thy action were to become by thy will aUniversal Law of Nature.

We will now enumerate a few duties, adopting the usual division of them intoduties to ourselves and to others, and into perfect and imperfect duties. [1] .

1. A man reduced to despair by a series of misfortunes feels wearied oflife, but is still so far in possession of his reason that he can ask himselfwhether it would not be contrary to his duty to himself to take his own life.Now he inquires whether the maxim of his action could become a universal law ofnature. His maxim is: From self-love I adopt it as a principle to shorten mylife when its longer duration is likely to bring more evil than satisfaction.It is asked then simply whether this principle founded on self-love can becomea universal law of nature. Now we see at once that a system of nature of whichit should be a law to destroy life by means of the very feeling whose specialnature it is to impel to the improvement of life would contradict itself, andtherefore could not exist as a system of nature; hence that maxim cannotpossibly exist as a universal law of nature, and consequentlywould be wholly inconsistent with the supremeprinciple of all duty. [1]

2. Another finds himself forced by necessity to borrow money. He knows thathe will not be able to repay it, but sees also that nothing will be lent tohim, unless he promises stoutly to repay it in a definite time. He desires tomake this promise, but he has still so much conscience as to ask himself: Is itnot unlawful and inconsistent with duty to get out of a difficulty in this way?Suppose however that he resolves to do so, then the maxim of his action wouldbe expressed thus: When I think myself in want of money, I will borrow moneyand promise to repay it, although I know that I never can do so. Now thisprinciple of self-love or of one’s own advantage may perhaps be consistent withmy whole future welfare; but the question now is, Is it right? I change thenthe suggestion of self-love into a universal law, and state the question thus: How would it be if my maxim were auniversal law? Then I see at once that it could never hold as a universal lawof nature, but would necessarily contradict itself. For supposing it to be auniversal law that everyone when he thinks himself in a difficulty should beable to promise whatever he pleases, with the purpose of not keeping hispromise, the promise itself would become impossible, as well as the end thatone might have in view in it, since no one would consider that anything waspromised to him, but would ridicule all such statements as vain pretences.

3. A third finds in himself a talent which with the help of some culturemight make him a useful man in many respects. But he finds himself incomfortable circumstances, and prefers to indulge in pleasure rather than totake pains in enlarging and improving his happy natural capacities. He asks,however, whether his maxim of neglect of his natural gifts, besides agreeingwith his inclination to indulgence, agrees also with what is called duty. Hesees then that a system of nature could indeed subsist with such a universallaw although men(like the South Sea islanders) should let theirtalents rust, and resolve to devote their lives merely to idleness, amusement,and propagation of their species—in a word, to enjoyment; but he cannotpossibly will that this should be a universal law ofnature, or be implanted in us as such by a natural instinct. For, as a rationalbeing, he necessarily wills that his faculties be developed, since they servehim, and have been given him, for all sorts of possible purposes.

4. A fourth, who is in prosperity, while he sees that others have to contendwith great wretchedness and that he could help them, thinks: What concern is itof mine? Let everyone be as happyas heaven pleases, or as he can makehimself; I will take nothing from him nor even envy him, only I do not wish tocontribute anything to his welfare or to his assistance in distress! Now nodoubt if such a mode of thinking were a universal law, the human race mightvery well subsist, and doubtless even better than in a state in which everyonetalks of sympathy and good-will, or even takes care occasionally to put it intopractice, but on the other side, also cheats when he can, betrays the rights ofmen, or otherwise violates them. But although it is possible that a universallaw of nature might exist in accordance with that maxim, it is impossible to will that such a principle should have the universalvalidity of a law of nature. For a will which resolved this would contradictitself, inasmuch as many cases might occur in which one would have need of thelove and sympathy of others, and in which, by such a law of nature, sprung fromhis own will, he would deprive himself of all hope of the aid he desires.

These are a few of the many actual duties, or at least what we regard assuch, which obviously fall into two classes on the one principle that we havelaid down. We must be able to will that a maxim of ouraction should be a universal law. This is the canon of the moral appreciationof the action generally. Some actions are of such a character that their maximcannot without contradiction be even conceived as auniversal law of nature, far from it being possible that we should will that it should be so. In othersthis intrinsic impossibility is notfound, but still it is impossible to will that their maxim should be raised to the universality ofa law of nature, since such a will would contradict itself. It is easily seenthat the former violate strict or rigorous (inflexible) duty; the latter only laxer (meritorious) duty.Thus it has been completely shown by these examples how all duties depend asregards the nature of the obligation (not the object of the action) on the sameprinciple.

If now we attend to ourselves on occasion of any transgression of duty, weshall find that we in fact do not will that our maxim should be a universallaw, for that is impossible for us; on the contrary we will that the oppositeshould remain a universal law, only we assume the liberty of making an exception in our own favour or (just for this time only)in favour of our inclination. Consequently if we considered all cases from oneand the same point of view, namely, that of reason, we should find acontradiction in our own will, namely, that a certain principle should beobjectively necessary as a universal law, and yet subjectively should not beuniversal, but admit of exceptions. As however we at one moment regard ouraction from the point of view of a will wholly conformed to reason, and thenagain look at the same action from the point of view of a will affected byinclination, there is not really any contradiction, but an antagonism ofinclination to the precept of reason, whereby the universality of the principleis changed into a mere generality, so that the practical principle of reasonshall meet the maxim half way. Now, although this cannot be justified in ourown impartial judgment, yet it proves that we do really recognise the validityof the categorical imperative and (with all respect for it) only allowourselves a few exceptions, which we think unimportant and forced from us.

We have thus established at least this much, that if duty is a conceptionwhich is to have any import and real legislative authority for our actions, it can only be expressed in categorical,and not at all in hypothetical imperatives. We have also, which is of greatimportance, exhibited clearly and definitely for every practical applicationthe content of the categorical imperative, which must contain the principle ofallduty if there is such a thing at all. We have notyet, however, advanced so far as to prove à priori thatthere actually is such an imperative, that there is a practical law whichcommands absolutely of itself, and without any other impulse, and that thefollowing of this law is duty.

With the view of attaining to this it is of extreme importance to rememberthat we must not allow ourselves to think of deducing the reality of thisprinciple from the particular attributes of human nature. For duty is to be a practical, unconditional necessity of action; it musttherefore hold for all rational beings (to whom an imperative can apply at all)and for this reason only be also a law for all humanwills. On the contrary, whatever is deduced from the particular naturalcharacteristics of humanity, from certain feelings and propensions, [1] nay even, if possible, from any particular tendency proper to humanreason, and which need not necessarily hold for the will of every rationalbeing; this may indeed supply us with a maxim, but not with a law; with asubjective principle on which we may have a propension and inclination to act,but not with an objective principle on which we should be enjoined to act, even though all our propensions,inclinations, and natural dispositions were opposed to it. In fact thesublimity and intrinsic dignity of the command in duty are so much the moreevident, the less the subjective impulses favour it and the more they opposeit, without being able in the slighest degree to weaken the obligation of thelaw or to diminish its validity.

Here then we see philosophy brought to a critical position, since it has tobe firmly fixed, notwithstanding that it has nothing to support it either inheaven or earth. Here it must show its purity as absolute dictator of its ownlaws, not theherald of those which are whispered to it by animplanted sense or who knows what tutelary nature. Although these may be betterthan nothing, yet they can never afford principles dictated by reason, whichmust have their source wholly à priori and thence theircommanding authority, expecting everything from the supremacy of the law andthe due respect for it, nothing from inclination, or else condemning the man toself-contempt and inward abhorrence.

Thus every empirical element is not only quite incapable of being an aid tothe principle of morality, but is even highly prejudicial to the purity ofmorals, for the proper and inestimable worth of an absolutely good willconsists just in this, that the principle of action is free from all influenceof contingent grounds, which alone experience can furnish. We cannot too muchor too often repeat our warning against this lax and even mean habit of thoughtwhich seeks for its principle amongst empirical motives and laws; for humanreason in its weariness is glad to rest on this pillow, and in a dream of sweetillusions (in which, instead of Juno, it embraces a cloud) it substitutes formorality a bastard patched up from limbs of various derivation, which lookslike anything one chooses to see in it; only not like virtue to one who hasonce beheld her in her true form. [1]

The question then is this: Is it anecessary law for all rational beings that they shouldalways judge of their actions by maxims of which they can themselves will thatthey should serve as universal laws? If it is so, then it must be connected(altogether à priori ) with the very conception of the willof a rational being generally. But in order to discover this connexion we must,however reluctantly, take a step into metaphysic, although into a domain of itwhich is distinct from speculative philosophy, namely, the metaphysic ofmorals. Ina practical philosophy, where it is not the reasonsof what happens that we have to ascertain, but the laws ofwhat ought to happen, even although it never does, i. e. objective practical laws, there it is not necessaryto inquire into the reasons why anything pleases or displeases, how thepleasure of mere sensation differs from taste, and whether the latter isdistinct from a general satisfaction of reason; on what the feeling of pleasureor pain rests, and how from it desires and inclinations arise, and from theseagain maxims by the co-operation of reason: for all this belongs to anempirical psychology, which would constitute the second part of physics, if weregard physics as the philosophy of nature, so far as itis based on empirical laws. But here we are concerned withobjective practical laws, and consequently with the relation of the will toitself so far as it is determined by reason alone, in which case whatever hasreference to anything empirical is necessarily excluded; since if reason of itself alone determines the conduct(and it is the possibility of this that weare now investigating), it must necessarily do so àpriori.

The will is conceived as a faculty of determining oneself to action in accordance with the conception of certain laws. Andsuch a faculty can be found only in rational beings. Now that which serves thewill as the objective ground of its self-determination is the end, and if this is assigned by reason alone, it must hold forall rational beings. On the other hand, that which merely contains the groundof possibility of the action of which the effect is the end, this is called the means. The subjective ground of the desire is the spring, the objective ground of the volition is the motive; hence the distinction between subjective endswhich rest on springs, and objective ends which depend on motives valid forevery rational being. Practical principles are formal whenthey abstract from all subjective ends, they are material when they assume these, and therefore particular springs of action. The endswhich a rational being proposes to himself at pleasure as effects of his actions (material ends) are all only relative,for it is only their relation to the particular desires of the subject thatgives them their worth,which therefore cannot furnish principles universaland necessary for all rational beings and for every volition, that is to saypractical laws. Hence all these relative ends can give rise only tohypothetical imperatives.

Supposing, however, that there were something whoseexistence has in itself an absolute worth, somethingwhich, being an end in itself, could be a source ofdefinite laws, then in this and this alone would lie the source of a possiblecategorical imperative, i.e. a practical law.

Now I say: man and generally any rational being exists as an end in himself, not merely as a means to bearbitrarily used by this or that will, but in all his actions, whether theyconcern himself or other rational beings, must be always regarded at the sametime as an end. All objects of the inclinations have only a conditional worth,for if the inclinations and the wants founded on them did not exist, then theirobject would be without value. But the inclinations themselves being sources ofwant, are so far from having an absolute worth for which they should bedesired, that on the contrary it must be the universal wish of every rationalbeing to be wholly free from them. Thus the worth of any object which is to be acquired by our action is always conditional. Beingswhose existence depends not on our will but on nature’s, have nevertheless, ifthey are irrational beings, only a relative value as means, and are thereforecalled things; rational beings, on the contrary, arecalled persons, because their very nature points them outas ends in themselves, that is as something which must not be used merely asmeans, and so far therefore restricts freedom of action (and is an object ofrespect). These, therefore, are not merely subjective ends whose existence hasa worth for us as an effect of our action, but objective ends, that is things whose existence is an endin itself: an end moreover for which no other can be substituted, which theyshould subserve merely as means, for otherwise nothingwhatever would possess absolute worth; but if all worthwere conditioned and therefore contingent, then there would be no supremepractical principle of reason whatever.

If then there is a supreme practical principle or, in respect ofthe human will, a categorical imperative, it must beone which, being drawn from the conception of thatwhich is necessarily an end for every one because it is an endin itself, constitutes an objective principle ofwill, and can therefore serve as a universal practical law. The foundation ofthis principle is: rational nature exists as an end initself. Man necessarily conceives his own existence as being so: so farthen this is a subjective principle of human actions. Butevery other rational being regards its existence similarly, just on the samerational principle that holds for me: [1] so that it is at the same time an objective principle, from which as asupreme practical law all laws of the will must be capable of being deduced.Accordingly the practical imperative will be as follows: So actas to treat humanity, whether in thine own person or in that of any other, inevery case as an end withal, never as means only. We will now inquirewhether this can be practically carried out.

To abide by the previous examples:

Firstly, under the head of necessary duty to oneself:He who contemplates suicide should ask himself whether his action can beconsistent with the idea of humanity as an end in itself. If he destroys himself in order to escape from painful circumstances, he uses aperson merely as a mean to maintain a tolerable conditionup to the end of life. But a man is not a thing, that is to say, somethingwhich can be used merely as means, but must in all his actions be alwaysconsidered as an end in himself. I cannot, therefore, dispose in any way of aman in my own person so as to mutilate him, to damage or kill him. (It belongs to ethics proper to definethis principle more precisely so as to avoid all misunderstanding, e.g. as to the amputation of the limbs in order topreserve myself; as to exposing my life to danger with a view to preserve it,c. This question is therefore omitted here.)

Secondly, as regards necessary duties, or those ofstrict obligation, towards others; he who is thinking of making a lyingpromise to others will see at once that he would beusing another man merely as a mean, without the lattercontaining at the same time the end in himself. For he whom I propose by such apromise to use for my own purposes cannot possibly assent to my mode of actingtowards him, and therefore cannot himself contain the end of this action. Thisviolation of the principle of humanity in other men is more obvious if we takein examples of attacks on the freedom and property of others. For then it isclear that he who transgresses the rights of men, intends to use the person ofothers merely as means, without considering that as rational beings they oughtalways to be esteemed also as ends, that is, as beings who must be capable ofcontaining in themselves the end of the very same action. [1]

Thirdly, as regards contingent (meritorious) duties tooneself; is not enough that the action does not violate humanity in our ownperson as an end in itself, it must also harmonise with it. Now there are in humanity capacities ofgreater perfection, which belong to the end that nature has in view in regardto humanity in ourselves as the subject: to neglect these might perhaps beconsistent with the maintenance of humanity as an end initself, but not with the advancement of this end.

Fourthly, as regards meritorious duties towards others:the natural end which all men have is their own happiness. Now humanity mightindeed subsist, although no one should contribute anything to the happiness ofothers, provided he did not intentionally withdraw anything from it; but afterall this would only harmonise negatively not positively with humanity as an end in itself, if everyone does not also endeavour, as far as in him lies, to forward the ends ofothers. For the ends of any subject which is an end in himself, ought as far aspossible to be my ends also, if that conception is to haveits full effect with me.

This principle, that humanity and generally every rational nature is an end in itself (which is the supreme limiting conditionof every man’s freedom of action), is not borrowed from experience, firstly, because it is universal, applying as it does toall rational beings whatever, and experience is not capable of determininganything about them; secondly, because it does not presenthumanity as an end to men (subjectively), that is as an object which men do ofthemselves actually adopt as an end; but as an objective end, which must as alaw constitute the supreme limiting condition of all our subjective ends, letthem be what we will; it must therefore spring from pure reason. In fact theobjective principle of all practical legislation lies (according to the firstprinciple) in the rule and its form of universality whichmakes it capable of being a law (say, e. g., a law ofnature); but the subjective principle is in the end; now by the second principle the subject of all endsis each rational being, inasmuch as it is an end in itself. Hencefollows the third practical principle of the will, which is the ultimatecondition of its harmony with the universal practical reason, viz.: the idea of the will of every rational being as a universally legislativewill.

On this principle all maxims are rejected which are inconsistent with thewill being itself universal legislator. Thus the will is not subject simply tothe law, but so subject that it must be regarded as itselfgiving the law, and on this ground only, subject to the law (of which itcan regard itself as the author).

In the previous imperatives, namely, that based on the conception of theconformity of actions to general laws, as in a physical systemof nature, and that based on the universal prerogative of rational beings as ends inthemselves—these imperatives just because they were conceived as categorical,excludedfrom any share in their authority all admixture ofany interest as a spring of action; they were however only assumed to be categorical, because such an assumption wasnecessary to explain the conception of duty. But we could not proveindependently that there are practical propositions which commandcategorically, nor can it be proved in this section; one thing however could bedone, namely, to indicate in the imperative itself by some determinateexpression, that in the case of volition from duty all interest is renounced,which is the specific criterion of categorical as distinguished fromhypothetical imperatives. This is done in the present (third) formula of theprinciple, namely, in the idea of the will of every rational being as a universally legislating will.

For although a will whichis subject to laws may be attached to this law by means of an interest,yet a will which is itself a supreme lawgiver so far as it is such cannotpossibly depend on any interest, since a will so dependent would itself stillneed another law restricting the interest of its self-love by the conditionthat it should be valid as universal law.

Thus the principle that every human will is a will which in all its maxims gives universal laws [1] , provided it be otherwise justified, would be very welladapted to be the categorical imperative, in this respect, namely, thatjust because of the idea of universal legislation it is notbased on any interest, and therefore it alone among all possibleimperatives can be unconditional. Or still better,converting the proposition, if there is a categorical imperative ( i. e., a law for the will of every rational being), it canonly command that everything be done from maxims of one’s will regarded as awill which could at the same time will that it should itself give universallaws, for in that case only the practical principle and the imperative which itobeys are unconditional, since they cannot be based on any interest.

Looking back now on all previous attempts to discover the principle ofmorality, we need not wonder why they all failed. It was seen that man wasbound to laws by duty, but it was not observed that the laws to which he issubject are only those of his own giving, though at thesame time they are universal , and that he is only bound to act inconformity with his own will; a will, however, which is designed by nature togive universal laws. For when one has conceived man only as subject to a law(no matter what), then this law required some interest, either by way ofattraction or constraint, since it did not originate as a law from his own will, but this will was according to a law obligedby something else to act in a certain manner. Now by thisnecessary consequence all the labour spent in finding a supreme principle of duty was irrevocably lost. For men never elicited duty,but only a necessity of acting from a certain interest. Whether this interestwas private or otherwise, in any case the imperative must be conditional, andcould not by any means be capable of being a moral command. I will thereforecall this the principle of Autonomy of the will, incontrast with every other which I accordingly reckon as Heteronomy. [1]

The conception of every rational being as one which must consider itself asgiving in all the maxims of its will universal laws, so as to judge itself andits actions from this point of view—this conception leads to another whichdepends on it and is very fruitful, namely, that of a kingdomof ends.

By a kingdom I understand the union of differentrational beings in a system by common laws. Now since it is by laws that endsare determined as regards their universal validity, hence, if we abstract fromthe personal differences of rational beings, and likewise from all the contentof their private ends, we shall be able to conceive all ends combined in asystematic whole (including both rational beings as ends in themselves, andalso the special ends which each may propose to himself), that isto say, we can conceive a kingdom of ends, which onthe preceding principles is possible.

For all rational beings come under the law that each of them must treat itself and all others never merely as means, but in every case at the same time as ends in themselves. Hence results asystematic union of rational beings by common objective laws, i.e., a kingdom which may be called a kingdom of ends, sincewhat these laws have in view is just the relation of these beings to oneanother as ends and means. It is certainly only an ideal.

A rational being belongs as a member to the kingdom ofends when, although giving universal laws in it, he is also himself subject tothese laws. He belongs to it as sovereign when, whilegiving laws, he is not subject to the will of any other.

A rational being must always regard himself as giving laws either as memberor as sovereign in a kingdom of ends which is rendered possible by the freedomof will. He cannot, however, maintain the latter position merely by the maximsof his will, but only in case he is a completely independent being withoutwants and with unrestricted power adequate to his will.

Morality consists then in the reference of all action to the legislationwhich alone can render a kingdom of ends possible. This legislation must becapable of existing in every rational being, and of emanating from his will, sothat the principle of this will is, never to act on any maxim which could notwithout contradiction be also a universal law, and accordingly always so to act that the will could at the same time regard itself as giving inits maxims universal laws. If now the maxims of rational beings are not bytheir own nature coincident with this objective principle, then the necessityof acting on it is called practical necessitation, i.e., duty. Dutydoes not apply to the sovereign in the kingdom of ends, but it does to everymember of it and to all in the same degree.

The practical necessity of acting on this principle, i.e., duty, does not rest at all on feelings, impulses, orinclinations, but solely on the relation of rational beings to one another, arelation in which the will of a rational being must always be regarded as legislative, since otherwise it could not be conceivedas an end in itself. Reason thenrefers every maxim of the will, regarding it as legislating universally, toevery other will and also to every action towards oneself; and this not onaccount of any other practical motive or any future advantage, but from theidea of the dignity of a rational being, obeying no lawbut that which he himself also gives.

In the kingdom of ends everything has either Value or Dignity. Whatever hasa value can be replaced by something else which is equivalent; whatever, on the other hand, is above all value,and therefore admits of no equivalent, has a dignity.

Whatever has reference to the general inclinations and wants of mankind hasa market value; whatever, without presupposing a want,corresponds to a certain taste, that is to a satisfaction in the merepurposeless play of our faculties, has a fancy value; butthat which constitutes the condition under which alone anything can be an endin itself, this has not merely a relative worth, i.e., value, but an intrinsic worth, that is dignity.

Now morality is the condition under which alone a rational being can be anend in himself, since by this alone is it possible that he should be alegislating member in the kingdom of ends. Thus morality, and humanity ascapable of it, is that which alone has dignity. Skill and diligence in labour have amarket value; wit, lively imagination, and humour, have fancy value; on theother hand, fidelity to promises, benevolence from principle (not frominstinct), have an intrinsic worth. Neither nature nor art contains anythingwhich in default of these it could put in their place, for their worth consistsnot in the effects which spring from them, not in the use and advantage whichthey secure, but in the disposition of mind, that is, the maxims of the willwhich are ready to manifest themselves in such actions, even though they shouldnot have the desired effect. These actions also need no recommendation from anysubjective taste or sentiment, that they may be looked on with immediate favourand satisfaction: they need no immediate propension or feeling for them; theyexhibit the will that performs them as an object of an immediate respect,and nothing but reason is required to impose them on the will; not to flatter it into them, which, in the case of duties, would be a contradiction. Thisestimation therefore shows that the worth of such a disposition is dignity, andplaces it infinitely above all value, with which it cannot for a moment bebrought into comparison or competition without as it were violating itssanctity.

What then is it which justifies virtue or the morally good disposition, inmaking such lofty claims? It is nothing less than the privilege it secures tothe rational being of participating in the giving of universal laws, by whichit qualifies him to be a member of a possible kingdom of ends, a privilege towhich he was already destined by his own nature as being an end in himself, andon that account legislating in the kingdom of ends; free as regards all laws ofphysical nature, and obeying those only which he himself gives, and by whichhis maxims can belong to a system of universal law, to which at the same timehe submits himself. For nothing has any worth exceptwhat the law assigns it. Now thelegislation itself which assigns the worth of everything, must for that veryreason possess dignity, that is an unconditional incomparable worth, and theword respect alone supplies a becoming expression for theesteem which a rational being must have for it. Autonomy then is the basis of the dignity of human and of every rational nature.

The three modes of presenting the principle of morality that have beenadduced are at bottom only so many formulæ of the very same law, and each ofitself involves the other two. There is, however, a difference in them, but itis rather subjectively than objectively practical, intended namely to bring anidea of the reason nearer to intuition (by means of a certain analogy), andthereby nearer to feeling. All maxims, in fact, have—

1. A form, consisting in universality; and in this viewthe formula of the moral imperative is expressed thus, that the maxims must beso chosen as if they were to serve as universal laws of nature.

2. A matter, [1] namely, an end, and here the formula says that the rational being, asit is an end by its own nature and therefore an end in itself, must in everymaxim serve as the condition limiting all merely relative and arbitraryends.

3. A complete characterisation of all maxims by meansof that formula, namely, that all maxims ought by their own legislation toharmonise with a possible kingdom of ends as with a kingdom of nature [2] . There is a progress here in the order ofthe categories of unity of the form of the will (itsuniversality), plurality of the matter (the objects, i.e., the ends), and totality of thesystem of these. In forming our moral judgment of actionsit is better to proceed always on the strict method, and start from the generalformula of the categorical imperative: Act according to a maximwhich can at the same time make itself a universal law. If, however, wewish to gain an entrance for the moral law, it is veryuseful to bring one and the same action under the three specified conceptions,and thereby as far as possible to bring it nearer to intuition.

We can now end where we started at the beginning, namely, with theconception of a will unconditionally good. That will is absolutely good which cannot be evil, in other words,whose maxim, if made a universal law, could never contradict itself. Thisprinciple then is its supreme law: Act always on such a maxim as thou canst atthe same time will to be a universal law; this is the sole condition underwhich a will can never contradict itself; and such an imperative iscategorical. Since the validity of the will as a universal law for possibleactions is analogous to the universal connexion of the existence of things bygeneral laws, which is the formal notion of nature in general,the categorical imperative can also be expressedthus: Act on maxims which can at the same time have for theirobject themselves as universal laws of nature. Such then is the formula ofan absolutely good will.

Rational nature is distinguished from the rest of nature by this, that itsets before itself an end. This end would be the matter of every good will. But since in the idea of a will that isabsolutely good without being limited by any condition (of attaining this orthat end) we must abstract wholly from every end to beeffected (since this would make every will only relatively good), itfollows that in this case the end must be conceived, not as an end to beeffected, but as an independently existing end.Consequently it is conceived only negatively, i. e., asthat which we must never act against, and which, therefore, must never beregarded merely as means, but must in every volition be esteemed as an endlikewise. Now this end can be nothing but the subject of all possible ends,since this is also the subject of a possible absolutely good will; for such awill cannot without contradiction be postponed to any other object. Theprinciple: So act in regard to every rational being (thyself and others), thathe may always have place in thy maxim as an end in himself, is accordinglyessentially identical with this other: Act upon a maxim which, at the sametime, involves its own universal validity for every rational being. For that inusing means for every end I should limit my maxim by the condition of itsholding good as a law for every subject, this comes to the same thing as thatthe fundamental principle of all maxims of action must be that the subject ofall ends, i.e., the rational being himself, be neveremployed merely as means, but as the supreme condition restricting the use ofall means, that is in every case as an end likewise.

It follows incontestably that, to whatever laws any rational being may besubject, he being an end in himself must be able to regard himself as alsolegislating universally in respect of these same laws, since it is just thisfitness of his maxims for universal legislation that distinguishes him as anend in himself;also it follows that this implies his dignity(prerogative) above all mere physical beings, that he must always take hismaxims from the point of view whichregards himself, and likewise every other rational being, as lawgiving beings(on which account they are called persons). In this way a world of rationalbeings ( mundus intelligibilis ) is possible as a kingdom ofends, and this by virtue of the legislation proper to all persons as members.Therefore every rational being must so act as if he were by his maxims in everycase a legislating member in the universal kingdom of ends. The formalprinciple of these maxims is: So act as if thy maxim were to serve likewise asthe universal law (of all rational beings). A kingdom of ends is thus onlypossible on the analogy of a kingdom of nature, the former however only bymaxims, that is self-imposed rules, the latter only by the laws of efficientcauses acting under necessitation from without. Nevertheless, although thesystem of nature is looked upon as a machine, yet so far as it has reference torational beings as its ends, it is given on this account the name of a kingdomof nature. Now such a kingdom of ends would be actually realised by means ofmaxims conforming to the canon which the categorical imperative prescribes toall rational beings, if they were universally followed. But although a rational being, even if he punctually follows this maximhimself, cannot reckon upon all others being therefore true to the same, norexpect that the kingdom of nature and its orderly arrangements shall be inharmony with him as a fitting member, so as to form a kingdom of ends to whichhe himself contributes, that is to say, that it shall favour his expectation ofhappiness, still that law: Act according to the maxims of a member of a merelypossible kingdom of ends legislating in it universally, remains in its fullforce, inasmuch as it commands categorically. And it is just in this that theparadox lies; that the mere dignity of man as a rational creature, without any other end or advantage to beattained thereby, in other words, respect for a mere idea, should yet serve asan inflexible precept of the will, and that it is precisely in thisindependence of the maxim on all such springs ofaction that its sublimity consists; and it is thisthat makes every rational subject worthy to be a legislative member in thekingdom of ends: for otherwise he would have to be conceived only as subject tothe physical law of his wants. And although we should suppose the kingdom ofnature and the kingdom of ends to be united under one sovereign, so that thelatter kingdom thereby ceased to be a mere idea and acquired true reality, thenit would no doubt gain the accession of a strong spring, but by no means anyincrease of its intrinsic worth. For this sole absolute lawgiver must,notwithstanding this, be always conceived as estimating the worth of rationalbeings only by their disinterested behaviour, as prescribed to themselves fromthat idea [the dignity of man] alone. The essence of things is not altered bytheir external relations, and that which abstracting from these, aloneconstitutes the absolute worth of man, is also that by which he must be judged,whoever the judge may be, and even by the Supreme Being. Morality then is the relation of actions to the autonomy ofthe will, that is, to the potential universal legislation by its maxims. Anaction that is consistent with the autonomy of the will is permitted; one that does not agree therewith is forbidden. A will whose maxims necessarily coincide withthe laws of autonomy is a holy will, good absolutely. Thedependence of a will not absolutely good on the principle of autonomy (moralnecessitation) is obligation. This then cannot be applied to a holy being. Theobjective necessity of actions from obligation is called duty.

From what has just been said, it is easyto see how it happens that although the conception of duty implies subjectionto the law, we yet ascribe a certain dignity and sublimityto the person who fulfils all his duties. There is not, indeed, any sublimityin him, so far as he is subject to the moral law; butinasmuch as in regard to that very law he is likewise a legislator, and on that account alone subject to it, he hassublimity. We have also shown above that neither fear nor inclination, butsimply respect for the law, is the spring which can give actions a moral worth.Our own will, so far as we supposeit to act only under the condition that its maximsare potentially universal laws, this ideal will which is possible to us is theproper object of respect, and the dignity of humanity consists just in thiscapacity of being universally legislative, though with the condition that it isitself subject to this same legislation.

The Autonomy of the Will as the SupremePrinciple of Morality.

Autonomy of the will is that property of it by which it is a law to itself(independently on any property of the objects of volition). The principle ofautonomy then is: Always so to choose that the same volition shall comprehendthe maxims of our choice as a universal law. We cannot prove that thispractical rule is an imperative, i.e., that the will ofevery rational being is necessarily bound to it as a condition, by a mereanalysis of the conceptions which occur in it, since it is a syntheticalproposition; we must advance beyond the cognition ofthe objects to a critical examination of the subject, that is of the purepractical reason, for this synthetic proposition which commands apodicticallymust be capable of being cognised wholly à priori. Thismatter, however, does not belong to the present section. But that the principleof autonomy in question is the sole principle of morals can be readily shown bymere analysis of the conceptions of morality. For by this analysis we find thatits principle must be a categorical imperative, and that what this commands isneither more nor less than this very autonomy.

Heteronomy of the Will as the Source ofall spurious Principles of Morality.

If the will seeks the law which is to determine it anywhereelse than in the fitness of its maxims to be universal laws of its owndictation, consequently if it goes out of itself and seeks this law in thecharacter of any of its objects, there always results heteronomy. The will in that case does not give itself thelaw, but it is given by the object through its relation to the will. Thisrelation whether it rests on inclination or on conceptions ofreason only admits of hypothetical imperatives: Iought to do something because I wish for something else. On the contrary, the moral, and therefore categorical, imperative says: I oughtto do so and so, even though I should not wish for anything else. Ex. gr., the former says: I ought not to lie if I wouldretain my reputation; the latter says: I ought not to lie although it shouldnot bring me the least discredit. The latter therefore must so far abstractfrom all objects that they shall have no influence on thewill, in order that practical reason (will) may not be restricted toadministering an interest not belonging to it, but may simply show its own commandingauthority as the supreme legislation. Thus, ex. gr., Iought to endeavour to promote the happiness of others, not as if itsrealization involved any concern of mine (whether by immediate inclination orby any satisfaction indirectly gained through reason), but simply because amaxim which excludes it cannot be comprehended as a universal law [1] in one and the same volition.

CLASSIFICATION OF ALLPRINCIPLES OF MORALITY WHICH CAN BE FOUNDED ON THE CONCEPTION OFHETERONOMY.

Here as elsewhere human reason in its pure use, so long as it was notcritically examined, has first tried all possible wrong ways before itsucceeded in finding the one true way.

All principles which can be taken from this point of view are either empirical or rational. The former, drawn from the principle of happiness, are built on physical or moral feelings; the latter, drawn from the principle of perfection, are built either on the rational conception ofperfection as a possible effect, or on that of an independent perfection (thewill of God) as the determining cause of our will.

Empirical principles are wholly incapable of serving asa foundation for moral laws. For the universality with whichthese should hold for all rational beings withoutdistinction, the unconditional practical necessity which is thereby imposed onthem is lost when their foundation is taken from the particularconstitution of human nature, or the accidentalcircumstances in which it is placed. Theprinciple of private happiness, however, is the mostobjectionable, not merely because it is false, and experience contradicts thesupposition that prosperity is always proportioned to good conduct, nor yetmerely because it contributes nothing to the establishment of morality—since itis quite a different thing to make a prosperous man and a good man, or to makeone prudent and sharp-sighted for his own interests, and to make himvirtuous—but because the springs it provides for morality are such as ratherundermine it and destroy its sublimity, since they put the motives to virtueand to vice in the same class, and only teach us to make a better calculation,the specific difference between virtue and vice being entirely extinguished. Onthe other hand, as to moral feeling, this supposed special sense, [1] the appeal to it is indeed superficial when those who cannot think believe that feeling will helpthem out, even in what concerns general laws: and besides, feelings whichnaturally differ infinitely in degree cannot furnish a uniform standard of goodand evil, nor has any one a right to form judgments for others by his ownfeelings: nevertheless this moral feeling is nearer to morality and its dignityin this respect, that it pays virtue the honour of ascribing to her immediately the satisfaction and esteem we have for her,and does not, as it were, tell her to her face that we are not attached to herby her beauty but by profit.

Amongst the rational principles of morality, the ontological conception of perfection, notwithstanding its defects, is better than thetheological conception which derives moralityfrom a Divine absolutely perfect will. The former is,no doubt, empty and indefinite, and consequently useless for finding in theboundless field of possible reality the greatest amount suitable for us;moreover, in attempting to distinguish specifically the reality of which we arenow speaking from every other, it inevitably tends to turn in a circle, andcannot avoid tacitly presupposing the morality which it is to explain; it isnevertheless preferable to the theological view, first, because we have nointuition of the Divine perfection, and can only deduce it from our ownconceptions, the most important of which is that of morality, and ourexplanation would thus be involved in a gross circle; and, in the next place,if we avoid this, the only notion of the Divine will remaining to us is aconception made up of the attributes of desire of glory and dominion, combinedwith the awful conceptions of might and vengeance, and any system of moralserected on this foundation would be directly opposed to morality.

However, if I had to choose between the notion of the moral sense and thatof perfection in general (two systems which at least do not weaken morality,although they are totally incapable of serving as its foundation), then Ishould decide for the latter, because it at least withdraws the decision of thequestion from the sensibility and brings it to the court of pure reason; andalthough even here it decides nothing, it at all events preserves theindefinite idea (of a will good in itself) free from corruption, until it shallbe more precisely defined.

For the rest I think I may be excused here from a detailed refutation of allthese doctrines; that would only be superfluous labour, since it is so easy,and is probably so well seen even by those whose office requires them to decidefor one of these theories (because their hearers would not tolerate suspensionof judgment). But what interests us more here is toknow that the prime foundation of morality laid down by all these principles isnothing but heteronomy of the will, and for this reason they must necessarilymiss their aim.

In every case where an object of the will has to be supposed, in order thatthe rule may be prescribed which is todetermine the will, there the rule is simplyheteronomy; the imperative is conditional, namely, if or because one wishes for this object, one should act so andso: hence it can never command morally, that is categorically. Whether theobject determines the will by means of inclination, as in the principle ofprivate happiness, or by means of reason directed to objects of our possiblevolition generally, as in the principle of perfection, in either case the willnever determines itself immediately by the conception ofthe action, but only by the influence which the foreseen effect of the actionhas on the will; I ought to do something, on this account,because I wish for something else; and here there must be yet another lawassumed in me as its subject, by which I necessarily will this other thing, andthis law again requires an imperative to restrict this maxim. For the influencewhich the conception of an object within the reach of our faculties canexercise on the will of the subject in consequence of its natural properties,depends on the nature of the subject, either the sensibility (inclination andtaste), or the understanding and reason, the employment of which is by thepeculiar constitution of their nature attended with satisfaction. It followsthat the law would be, properly speaking, given by nature, and as such, it mustbe known and proved by experience, and would consequently be contingent, andtherefore incapable of being an apodictic practical rule, such as the moralrule must be. Not only so, but it is inevitably onlyheteronomy ; the will does not give itself the law,but it is given by a foreign impulse by means of a particular naturalconstitution of the subject adapted to receive it. An absolutely good willthen, the principle of which must be a categorical imperative, will beindeterminate as regards all objects, and will contain merely the form of volition generally, and that as autonomy, that isto say, the capability of the maxims of every good will to make themselves auniversal law, is itself the only law which the will of every rational beingimposes on itself, without needing to assume any spring or interest as afoundation.

How such a synthetical practical à priori proposition is possible and why it is necessary, is a problem whose solutiondoes not lie within the bounds of the metaphysic of morals; and we have nothere affirmed its truth, much less professed to have a proof of it in ourpower. We simply showed by the development of the universally received notionof morality that an autonomy of the will is inevitably connected with it, orrather is its foundation. Whoever then holds morality to be anything real, andnot a chimerical idea without any truth, must likewise admit the principle ofit that is here assigned. This section then, like the first, was merelyanalytical. Now to prove that morality is no creation of the brain, which itcannot be if the categorical imperative and with it the autonomy of the will istrue, and as an à priori principle absolutely necessary,this supposes the possibility of a synthetic use of purepractical reason, which however we cannot venture on without first givinga critical examination of this faculty of reason. In the concluding section weshall give the principal outlines of this critical examination as far as issufficient for our purpose.

THIRD SECTION.: transition from the metaphysic of moralsto the critique of pure practical reason.

The Concept of Freedom is the Key thatexplains the Autonomy of the Will.

THE will is a kind ofcausality belonging to living beings in so far as they are rational, and freedom would be this property of such causality that itcan be efficient, independently on foreign causes determining it; just as physicalnecessity is the property that the causality of all irrational beings hasof being determined to activity by the influence of foreign causes.

The preceding definition of freedom is negative, andtherefore unfruitful for the discovery of its essence; but it leads to a positive conception which is so much the more full andfruitful. Since the conception of causality involves that of laws, according towhich, by something that we call cause, something else, namely, the effect,must be produced [laid down]; [1] hence, although freedom is not a property of the will depending onphysical laws, yet it is not for that reason lawless; on the contrary it mustbe a causality acting according to immutable laws, but of a peculiar kind;otherwise a free will would be an absurdity. Physical necessityis a heteronomy of the efficient causes,for every effect is possible only according to this law, that something elsedetermines the efficient cause to exert its causality. What else then canfreedom of the will be but autonomy, that is the property of the will to be alaw toitself? But the proposition: The will is in everyaction a law to itself, only expresses the principle, to act on no other maximthan that which can also have as an object itself as a universal law. Now thisis precisely the formula of the categorical imperative and is the principle ofmorality, so that a free will and a will subject to moral laws are one and thesame.

On the hypothesis then of freedom of the will, morality together with itsprinciple follows from it by mere analysis of the conception. However thelatter is still a synthetic proposition; viz., an absolutely good will is thatwhose maxim can always include itself regarded as a universal law; for thisproperty of its maxim can never be discovered by analysing the conception of anabsolutely good will. Now such synthetic propositions are only possible in thisway: that the two cognitions are connected together by their union with a thirdin which they are both to be found. The positive conceptof freedom furnishes this third cognition, which cannot, as with physicalcauses, be the nature of the sensible world (in the concept of which we findconjoined the concept of something in relation as cause to something else as effect). We cannot now at once show whatthis third is to which freedom points us, and of which we have an idea à priori, nor can we make intelligible how the concept offreedom is shown to be legitimate from principles of pure practical reason, andwith it the possibility of a categorical imperative; but some furtherpreparation is required.

FREEDOM Mustbe presupposed as a Property of the Will of all RationalBeings.

It is not enough to predicate freedom of our own will, from whatever reason,if we have not sufficient grounds for predicating the same of all rationalbeings. For as morality serves as a law for us only because we are rational beings, it must also hold for all rationalbeings; and as it must be deduced simply from the property of freedom, it mustbe shown that freedom also is a property of all rational beings. It is notenough thento prove it from certain supposed experiences ofhuman nature (which indeed is quite impossible, and it can only be shown à priori ), but we must show that it belongs to theactivity of all rational beings endowed with a will. Now I say every being thatcannot act except under the idea of freedom is just forthat reason in a practical point of view really free, that is to say, all lawswhich are inseparably connected with freedom have the same force for him as ifhis will had been shown to be free in itself by a proof theoreticallyconclusive. [1] Now I affirm that we must attribute to every rational beingwhich has a will that it has also the ideaof freedom and acts entirely under this idea. For in such a being we conceive areason that is practical, that is, has causality in reference to its objects.Now we cannot possibly conceive a reason consciously receiving a bias from anyother quarter with respect to its judgments, for then the subject would ascribethe determination of its judgment not to its own reason, but to an impulse. Itmust regard itself as the author of its principles independent on foreigninfluences. Consequently as practical reason or as the will of a rational beingit must regard itself as free, that is to say, the will of such a being cannotbe a will of its own except under the idea of freedom. This idea must thereforein a practical point of view be ascribed to every rational being.

Of the Interest attaching to the Ideasof Morality.

We have finally reduced the definite conception of morality to the idea offreedom. This latter, however, we could not prove to be actually a property ofourselves or of human nature;only we saw that it must be presupposed if we wouldconceive a being as rational and conscious of its causality in respect of itsactions, i. e., as endowed with a will; and so we findthat on just the same grounds we must ascribe to every being endowed withreason and will this attribute of determining itself to action under the ideaof its freedom.

Now it resulted also from the presupposition of this idea that we becameaware of a law that the subjective principles of action, i.e., maxims, must always be so assumed that they can also hold as objective, that is, universal principles, and soserve as universal laws of our own dictation. But why then should I subjectmyself to this principle and that simply as a rational being, thus alsosubjecting to it all other beings endowed with reason? I will allow that nointerest urges me to this, for that would not give acategorical imperative, but I must take an interest in itand discern how this comes to pass; for this “I ought” is properly an “Iwould,” valid for every rational being, provided only that reason determinedhis actions without any hindrance. But for beings that are in addition affectedas we are by springs of a different kind, namely, sensibility, and in whosecase that is not always done which reason alone would do, for these thatnecessity is expressed only as an “ought,” and the subjective necessity isdifferent from the objective.

It seems then as if the moral law, that is, the principle of autonomy of thewill, were properly speaking only presupposed in the idea of freedom, and as ifwe could not prove its reality and objective necessity independently. In thatcase we should still have gained something considerable by at least determiningthe true principle more exactly than had previously been done; but as regardsits validity and the practical necessity of subjecting oneself to it, we shouldnot have advanced a step. For if we were asked why the universal validity ofour maxim as a law must be the condition restricting our actions, and on whatwe ground the worth which we assign to this manner of acting—a worth so greatthat there cannot be any higher interest; and if we were asked further how ithappens that it is bythis alone a man believes he feels his own personalworth, in comparison with which that of an agreeable or disagreeable conditionis to be regarded as nothing, to these questions we could give no satisfactoryanswer.

We find indeed sometimes that we can takean interest [1] in a personal quality which does not involve any interest of externalcondition, provided this quality makes us capable of participating in thecondition in case reason were to effect the allotment; that is to say, the merebeing worthy of happiness can interest of itself even without the motive ofparticipating in this happiness. This judgment, however, is in fact only theeffect of the importance of the moral law which we before presupposed (when bythe idea of freedom we detach ourselves from every empirical interest); butthat we ought to detach ourselves from these interests, i.e., to consider ourselves as free in action and yet assubject to certain laws, so as to find a worth simply in our own person whichcan compensate us for the loss of everything that gives worth to our condition;this we are not yet able to discern in this way, nor do we see how it ispossible so to act—in other words, whence the moral law derivesits obligation.

It must be freely admitted that there is a sort of circle here from which itseems impossible to escape. In the order of efficient causes we assumeourselves free, in order that in the order of ends we may conceive ourselves assubject to moral laws: and we afterwards conceive ourselves as subject to theselaws, because we have attributed to ourselves freedom of will: for freedom andself-legislation of will are both autonomy, and therefore are reciprocalconceptions, and for this very reason one must not be used to explain the otheror give the reason of it, but at most only for logical purposes to reduceapparently different notions of the same object to one single concept (as wereduce different fractions of the same value to the lowest terms).

One resource remains to us, namely, to inquire whether we do not occupydifferent points of view when by means offreedomwe think ourselves as causes efficient à priori, and when we form our conception of ourselvesfrom our actions as effects which we see before our eyes.

It is a remark which needs no subtle reflection to make, but which we mayassume that even the commonest understanding can make, although it be after itsfashion by an obscure discernment of judgment which it calls feeling, that allthe “ideas” [1] that come to us involuntarily (as those of the senses) do not enable usto know objects otherwise than as they affect us; so that what they may be inthemselves remains unknown to us, and consequently that as regards “ideas” ofthis kind even with the closest attention and clearness that the understandingcan apply to them, we can by them only attain to the knowledge of appearances, never to that of things inthemselves. As soon as this distinction has once been made (perhaps merelyin consequence of the difference observed between the ideas given us fromwithout, and in which we are passive, and those that we produce simply fromourselves, and in which we show our own activity), then it follows of itselfthat we must admit and assume behind the appearance something else that is notan appearance, namely, the things in themselves; although we must admit that asthey can never be known to us except as they affect us, we can come no nearerto them, nor can we ever know what they are in themselves. This must furnish adistinction, however crude, between a world of sense andthe world of understanding, of which the former may bedifferent according to the difference of the sensuous impressions in variousobservers, while the second which is its basis always remains the same. Even asto himself, a man cannot pretend to know what he is in himself from theknowledge he has by internal sensation. For as he does not as it were createhimself, and does not come by the conception of himself àpriori but empirically, it naturally follows that he can obtain hisknowledge even of himself only by the inner sense, and consequentlyonly through the appearances of his nature and theway in which his consciousness is affected. At the same time beyond thesecharacteristics of his own subject, made up of mere appearances, he mustnecessarily suppose something else as their basis, namely, his ego, whatever its characteristics in itself may be. Thus inrespect to mere perception and receptivity of sensations he must reckon himselfas belonging to the world of sense, but in respect ofwhatever there may be of pure activity in him (that which reaches consciousnessimmediately and not through affecting the senses) he must reckon himself asbelonging to the intellectual world, of which however hehas no further knowledge. To such a conclusion the reflecting man must comewith respect to all the things which can be presented to him: it is probably tobe met with even in persons of the commonest understanding, who, as is wellknown, are very much inclined to suppose behind the objects of the sensessomething else invisible and acting of itself. They spoil it however bypresently sensualizing this invisible again; that is to say, wanting to make itan object of intuition, so that they do not become a whit the wiser.

Now man really finds in himself a faculty by which he distinguishes himselffrom everything else, even from himself as affected by objects, and that is Reason. This being pure spontaneity is even elevated abovethe understanding. For although the latter is aspontaneity and does not, like sense, merely contain intuitions that arise whenwe are affected by things (and are therefore passive), yet it cannot producefrom its activity any other conceptions than those which merely serve to bring the intuitions of sense under rules , and thereby to unite them in oneconsciousness, and without this use of the sensibility it could not think atall; whereas, on the contrary, Reason shows so pure a spontaneity in the caseof what I call Ideas [Ideal Conceptions] that it thereby far transcendseverything that the sensibility can give it, and exhibits its most importantfunction in distinguishing the world of sense from that of understanding, andthereby prescribing the limits of the understanding itself.

For this reason a rational being must regard himself qua intelligence (not from the side of his lower faculties) asbelonging not to the world of sense, but to that of understanding; hence he hastwo points of view from which he can regard himself, and recognise laws of theexercise of his faculties, and consequently of all his actions: first, so far as he belongs to the world of sense, he findshimself subject to laws of nature (heteronomy); secondly, as belonging to the intelligible world, under laws which being independent onnature have their foundation not in experience but in reason alone.

As a rational being, and consequently belonging to the intelligible world,man can never conceive the causality of his own will otherwise than oncondition of the idea of freedom, for independence on the determining causes ofthe sensible world (an independence which Reason must always ascribe to itself)is freedom. Now the idea of freedom is inseparably connected with theconception of autonomy, and this again with the universalprinciple of morality which is ideally the foundation of all actions of rational beings, just as the law of nature is of allphenomena.

Now the suspicion is removed which we raised above, that there was a latentcircle involved in our reasoning from freedom to autonomy, and from this to themoral law, viz.: that we laid down the idea of freedom because of the moral lawonly that we might afterwards in turn infer the latter from freedom, and that consequently we could assign noreason at all for this law, but could only [present] [1] it as a petitio principii which well disposedminds would gladly concede to us, but which we could never put forward as aprovable proposition. For now we see that when we conceive ourselves as free wetransfer ourselves into the world of understanding as members of it, andrecognise the autonomy of the will with its consequence, morality; whereas, ifwe conceive ourselves as under obligation we consider ourselves as belonging tothe world of sense, and at the same time to the world of understanding.

How is a Categorical ImperativePossible?

Every rational being reckons himself qua intelligenceas belonging to the world of understanding, and it is simply as an efficientcause belonging to that world that he calls his causality a will. On the other side he is also conscious of himself as apart of the world of sense in which his actions which are mere appearances[phenomena] of that causality are displayed; we cannot however discern how theyare possible from this causality which we do not know; but instead of that,these actions as belonging to the sensible world must be viewed as determinedby other phenomena, namely, desires and inclinations. If therefore I were onlya member of the world of understanding, then all my actions would perfectlyconform to the principle of autonomy of the pure will; if I were only a part ofthe world of sense they would necessarily be assumed to conform wholly to thenatural law of desires and inclinations, in other words, to the heteronomy ofnature. (The former would rest on morality as the supreme principle, the latteron happiness.) Since however the world of understandingcontains the foundation of the world of sense, and consequently of its lawsalso, and accordingly gives the law to my will (which belongs wholly tothe world of understanding) directly, and must be conceived as doing so, itfollows that, although on the one side I must regard myself as a beingbelonging to the world of sense, yet on the other side I must recognise myselfas subject as an intelligence to the law of the world of understanding, i.e., to reason, which contains this law in the idea offreedom, and therefore as subject to the autonomy of the will: consequently Imust regard the laws of the world of understanding as imperatives for me, andthe actions which conform to them as duties.

And thus what makes categorical imperatives possible is this, that the ideaof freedom makes me a member of an intelligible world, in consequence of whichif I were nothing else all my actions would always conformto the autonomy of the will; but as I at the same time intuite myself as amember of the worldof sense, they ought so toconform, and this categorical “ought” implies a synthetic à priori proposition, inasmuch as besides my will asaffected by sensible desires there is added further the idea of the same willbut as belonging to the world of the understanding, pure and practical ofitself, which contains the supreme condition according to Reason of the formerwill; precisely as to the intuitions of sense there are added concepts of theunderstanding which of themselves signify nothing but regular form in general,and in this way synthetic à priori propositions becomepossible, on which all knowledge of physical nature rests.

The practical use of common human reason confirms this reasoning. There isno one, not even the most consummate villain, provided only that he isotherwise accustomed to the use of reason, who, when we set before him examplesof honesty of purpose, of steadfastness in following good maxims, of sympathyand general benevolence (even combined with great sacrifices of advantages andcomfort), does not wish that he might also possess these qualities. Only onaccount of his inclinations and impulses he cannot attain this in himself, but at the same time he wishes to be freefrom such inclinations which are bundensome to himself. He proves by this thathe transfers himself in thought with a will free from the impulses of thesensibility into an order of things wholly different from that of his desiresin the field of the sensibility; since he cannot expect to obtain by that wishany gratification of his desires, nor any position which would satisfy any ofhis actual or supposable inclinations (for this would destroy the pre-eminenceof the very idea which wrests that wish from him): he can only expect a greaterintrinsic worth of his own person. This better person, however, he imagineshimself to be when he transfers himself to the point of view of a member of theworld of the understanding, to which he is involuntarily forced by the idea offreedom, i.e., of independence on determining causes of the world of sense; and from this pointof view he is conscious of a good will, which by his own confession constitutesthe law for the bad will that he possesses as a member of the world of sense—alaw whose authority herecognises while transgressing it. What he morally“ought” is then what he necessarily “would” as a member of the world of theunderstanding, and is conceived by him as an “ought” only inasmuch as helikewise considers himself as a member of the world of sense.

On the Extreme Limits of all PracticalPhilosophy.

All men attribute to themselves freedom of will. Hence come all judgmentsupon actions as being such as ought to have been done, although they have not been done. However this freedom isnot a conception of experience, nor can it be so, since it still remains, even though experience shows the contraryof what on supposition of freedom are conceived as its necessary consequences.On the other side it is equally necessary that everything that takes placeshould be fixedly determined according to laws of nature. This necessity ofnature is likewise not an empirical conception, just for this reason, that itinvolves the motion of necessity and consequently of àpriori cognition. But this conception of a system of nature is confirmedby experience, and it must even be inevitably presupposed if experience itselfis to be possible, that is, a connected knowledge of the objects of senseresting on general laws. Therefore freedom is only an Idea [Ideal Conception]of Reason, and its objective reality in itself is doubtful, while nature is a concept of the understanding whichproves, and must necessarily prove, its reality in examples of experience.

There arises from this a dialectic of Reason, since the freedom attributedto the will appears to contradict the necessity of nature, and placed betweenthese two ways Reason for speculative purposes finds theroad of physical necessity much more beaten and more appropriate than that offreedom; yet for practical purposes the narrow footpath offreedom is the only one on which it is possible to make use of reason in ourconduct; hence it is just as impossible for the subtlest philosophy as for thecommonest reason of men to argue away freedom. Philosophy must then assume thatno real contradiction will be found between freedom and physical necessity ofthe same humanactions, for it cannot give up the conception ofnature any more than that of freedom.

Nevertheless, even though we should never be able to comprehend how freedomis possible, we must at least remove this apparent contradiction in aconvincing manner. For if the thought of freedom contradicts either itself ornature, which is equally necessary, it must in competition with physicalnecessity be entirely given up.

It would, however, be impossible to escape this contradiction if thethinking subject, which seems to itself free, conceived itself in the same sense or in the very samerelation when it calls itself free as when in respect of the same actionit assumes itself to be subject to the law of nature. Hence it is anindispensable problem of speculative philosophy to show that its illusionrespecting the contradiction rests on this, that we think of man in a differentsense and relation when we call him free, and when we regard him as subject tothe laws of nature as being part and parcel of nature. It must therefore showthat not only can both these very well co-exist, but thatboth must be thought as necessarily united in the samesubject, since otherwise no reason could be given why we should burden reasonwith an idea which, though it may possibly withoutcontradiction be reconciled with another that is sufficiently established,yet entangles us in a perplexity which sorely embarrasses Reason in itstheoretic employment. This duty, however, belongs only to speculativephilosophy, in order that it may clear the way for practical philosophy. Thephilosopher then has no option whether he will remove the apparentcontradiction or leave it untouched; for in the latter case the theoryrespecting this would be bonum vacans into the possessionof which the fatalist would have a right to enter, and chase all morality outof its supposed domain as occupying it without title.

We cannot, however, as yet say that we are touching the bounds of practicalphilosophy. For the settlement of that controversy does not belong to it; itonly demands from speculative reason that it should put an end to the discordin which it entangles itself in theoretical questions, so thatpractical reason may have rest and security fromexternal attackswhich might make the ground debatable onwhich it desires to build.

The claims to freedom of will made even by common reason are founded on theconsciousness and the admitted supposition that reason is independent on merelysubjectively determined causes which together constitute what belongs tosensation only, and which consequently come under the general designation ofsensibility. Man considering himself in this way as an intelligence, placeshimself thereby in a different order of things and in a relation to determininggrounds of a wholly different kind when on the one hand he thinks of himself asan intelligence endowed with a will, and consequently with causality, and whenon the other he perceives himself as a phenomenon in the world of sense (as hereally is also), and affirms that his causality is subject to externaldetermination according to laws of nature. [1] Now he soon becomes aware that both can hold good, nay, must hold goodat the same time. For there is not the smallest contradiction in saying that a thing in appearance (belonging to the world of sense) issubject to certain laws, on which the very same as a thing or being in itself is independent; and that he mustconceive and think of himself in this two-fold way, rests as to the first onthe consciousness of himself as an object affected through the senses, and asto the second on the consciousness of himself as an intelligence, i. e., as independent on sensible impressions in theemployment of his reason (in other words as belonging to the world ofunderstanding).

Hence it comes to pass that man claims the possession of a will which takesno account of anything that comes under the head of desires and inclinations,and on the contrary conceives actions as possible to him, nay, even asnecessary, which can only be done by disregarding all desires and sensibleinclinations.The causality of such actions [1] lies in him as an intelligence and in the laws of effects and actions[which depend] on the principlesof an intelligible world, of which indeedhe knows nothing more than that in it pure reason alone independent onsensibility gives the law; moreover since it is only in that world, as anintelligence, that he is his proper self (being as man only the appearance ofhimself) those laws apply to him directly and categorically, so that theincitements of inclinations and appetites (in other words the whole nature ofthe world of sense) cannot impair the laws of his volition as an intelligence.Nay, he does not even hold himself responsible for the former or ascribe themto his proper self, i. e., his will: he only ascribes tohis will any indulgence which he might yield them if he allowed them toinfluence his maxims to the prejudice of the rational laws of the will.

When practical Reason thinks itself into a world ofunderstanding it does not thereby transcend its own limits, as it would if ittried to enter it by intuition or sensation. The former is only a negative thought in respect ofthe world of sense, which does not give any laws to reason in determining thewill, and is positive only in this single point that this freedom as a negativecharacteristic is at the same time conjoined with a (positive) faculty and evenwith a causality of reason, which we designate a will, namely, a faculty of soacting that the principle of the actions shall conform to the essentialcharacter of a rational motive, i. e., the condition thatthe maxim have universal validity as a law. But were it to borrow an object of will, that is, a motive, from the world ofunderstanding, then it would overstep its bounds and pretend to be acquaintedwith something of which it knows nothing. The conception of a world of theunderstanding is then only a point of view which Reasonfinds itself compelled to take outside the appearances in order to conceive itself as practical, which would not be possibleif the influences of the sensibility had adetermining power on man, but which is necessary unless he is to bedenied the consciousness of himself as an intelligence, and consequently as arational cause, energizing by reason, that is, operating freely. This thoughtcertainly involves the idea of an order and a system of laws different fromthat of the mechanism of nature which belongs to the sensible world, and itmakes the conception of an intelligible world necessary (that is to say, thewhole system of rational beings as things in themselves). But it does not inthe least authorize us to think of it further than as to its formal condition only, that is, the universality of the maximsof the will as laws, and consequently the autonomy of the latter, which aloneis consistent with its freedom; whereas, on the contrary, all laws that referto a definite object give heteronomy, which only belongs to laws of nature, andcan only apply to the sensible world.

But Reason would overstep all its bounds if it undertook to explain how pure reason can be practical, which would beexactly the same problem as to explain how freedom ispossible.

For we can explain nothing but that which we can reduce to laws, the objectof which can be given in some possible experience. But freedom is a mere Idea[Ideal Conception], the objective reality of which can in no wise be shownaccording to laws of nature, and consequently not in any possible experience;and for this reason it can never be comprehended or understood, because wecannot support it by any sort of example or analogy. It holds good only as anecessary hypothesis of reason in a being that believes itself conscious of awill, that is, of a faculty distinct from mere desire (namely a faculty ofdetermining itself to action as an intelligence, in other words, by laws ofreason independently on natural instincts). Now where determination according to lawsof nature ceases, there all explanation ceases also, andnothing remains but defence, i. e., the removal of theobjections of those who pretend to have seen deeper into the nature of things,and thereupon boldly declare freedom impossible. We can only point out to themthat thesupposed contradiction that they have discovered init arises only from this, that in order to be able to apply the law of natureto human actions, they must necessarily consider man as an appearance: thenwhen we demand of them that they should also think of him qua intelligence as a thing in itself, they still persist inconsidering him in this respect also as an appearance. In this view it would nodoubt be a contradiction to suppose the causality of the same subject (that is,his will) to be withdrawn from all the natural laws of the sensible world. Butthis contradiction disappears, if they would only bethink themselves and admit,as is reasonable, that behind the appearances there must also lie at their root(although hidden) the things in themselves, and that we cannot expect the lawsof these to be the same as those that govern their appearances.

The subjective impossibility of explaining the freedom of the will isidentical with the impossibility of discovering and explaining an interest [1] whichman can take in the moral law.Nevertheless he does actually take an interest in it, the basis of which in uswe call the moral feeling, which some have falsely assigned as the standard ofour moral judgment, whereas it must rather be viewed as the subjective effect that the law exercises on the will, theobjective principle of which is furnished by Reason alone.

In order indeed that a rational being who is also affected through thesenses should will what Reason alone directs suchbeings that they ought to will, it is no doubtrequisite that reason should have a power to infuse a feelingof pleasure or satisfaction in the fulfilment of duty, that is to say,that it should have a causality by which it determines the sensibilityaccording to its own principles. But it is quite impossible to discern, i. e. to make it intelligible àpriori, how a mere thought, which itself contains nothing sensible, canitself produce a sensation of pleasure or pain; for this is a particular kindof causality of which as of every other causality we can determine nothingwhatever à priori; we must only consult experience aboutit. But as this cannot supply us with any relation of cause and effect exceptbetween two objects of experience, whereas in this case, although indeed theeffect produced lies within experience, yet the cause is supposed to be purereason acting through mere ideas which offer no object to experience, itfollows that for us men it is quite impossible to explain how and why the universality of the maxim as a law, that is, morality,interests. This only is certain, that it is not because itinterests us that it has validity for us (for that would be heteronomy anddependence of practical reason on sensibility, namely, on a feeling as itsprinciple, in which case it could never give moral laws), but that it interests us because it isvalid for us as men, inasmuch as it had its source in our will asintelligences, in other words in our proper self, and whatbelongs to mere appearance is necessarily subordinated by reason to the natureof the thing in itself.

The question then: How a categorical imperative is possible can be answeredto this extent that we can assign the only hypothesis on which it is possible,namely, the idea of freedom; and we can also discern the necessity of thishypothesis, and this is sufficient for the practicalexercise of reason, that is, for the conviction of the validity of this imperative, and hence of the moral law; buthow this hypothesis itself is possible can never be discerned by any humanreason. On the hypothesis, however, that the will of an intelligence is free,its autonomy, as the essential formal condition of itsdetermination, is a necessary consequence. Moreover, this freedom of will isnot merely quite possible as a hypothesis (notinvolving any contradiction to the principle of physical necessity in theconnexion of the phenomena of the sensible world) as speculative philosophy canshow: but further, a rational being who is conscious of a causality [1] through reason, that is to say, of a will (distinct from desires), must of necessity make it practically, that is, in idea, thecondition of all his voluntary actions. But to explain how pure reason can beof itself practical without the aid of any spring of action that could bederived from any other source, i. e. how the mereprinciple of the universal validity of all its maxims aslaws (which would certainly be the form of a pure practical reason) can ofitself supply a spring, without any matter (object) of the will in which onecould antecedently take any interest; and how it can produce an interest whichwould be called purely moral; or in other words, how pure reason can be practical —to explain this is beyondthe power of human reason, and all the labour and pains of seeking anexplanation of it are lost.

It is just the same as if I sought to find out how freedom itself ispossible as the causality of a will. For then I quit the ground ofphilosophical explanation, and I have no other to go upon. I might indeed revelin the world of intelligences which still remains to me, but although I have an idea of it which is well founded, yet I have not the least knowledge of it, nor can I ever attain to such knowledgewith all the efforts of my natural faculty of reason. It signifies only asomething that remains over when I have eliminated everything belonging to theworld of sense from the actuating principles of my will, serving merely to keepin bounds the principle of motives taken from the field of sensibility; fixingits limits and showing that it does not contain all in all within itself, butthat there is more beyond it; but this something more I know no further. Ofpure reason which frames this ideal, there remains after the abstraction of allmatter, i. e. knowledge of objects, nothing but the form,namely, the practical law of the universality of themaxims, and in conformity with this the conception ofreason in reference to a pure world of understanding as a possible efficientcause, that is a cause determining the will. There must here be a total absenceof springs; unless this idea of an intelligible world is itself the spring, orthat in which reason primarily takes an interest; but to make this intelligibleis precisely the problem that we cannot solve.

Here now is the extreme limit of all moral inquiry, and it is of great importance todetermine it even on this account, in order that reason may not on the onehand, to the prejudice of morals, seek about in the world of sense for thesupreme motive and an interest comprehensible but empirical; and on the otherhand, that it may not impotently flap its wings without being able to move inthe (for it) empty space of transcendent concepts which we call theintelligible world, and so lose itself amidst chimeras. For the rest, the ideaof a pure world of understanding as a system of all intelligences, and to whichwe ourselves as rational beings belong (although we are likewise on the otherside members of the sensible world), this remains always a useful andlegitimate idea for the purposes of rational belief, although all knowledgestops at its threshold, useful, namely, to produce in us a lively interest inthe moral law by means of the noble ideal of a universal kingdom of ends in themselves (rational beings), to which we canbelong as members then only when we carefully conduct ourselves according tothe maxims of freedom as if they were laws of nature.

Concluding Remark.

The speculative employment of reason with respect tonature leads to the absolute necessity of some supreme cause of the world: the practical employment of reason with a view to freedom leads also to absolute necessity,but only of the laws of the actions of a rational being assuch. Now it is an essential principle of reason, howeveremployed, to push its knowledge to a consciousness of its necessity (without which it would not be rational knowledge).It is however an equally essential restriction of the samereason that it can neither discern the necessity of what is or what happens, nor of whatought to happen, unless a condition is supposed on which it is or happens orought to happen. In this way, however, by the constant inquiry for thecondition, the satisfaction of reason is only further and further postponed.Hence it unceasingly seeks the unconditionally necessary, and finds itselfforced to assume it, although without any means of making it comprehensible toitself, happy enough if only it can discover a conception which agrees withthis assumption. It is therefore no fault in our deduction of the supremeprinciple of morality, but an objection that should be made to human reason ingeneral, that it cannot enable us to conceive the absolute necessity of anunconditional practical law (such as the categorical imperative must be). Itcannot be blamed for refusing to explain this necessity by a condition, that isto say, by means of some interest assumed as a basis, since the law would thencease to be a moral law, i. e. a supreme law of freedom.And thus while we do not comprehend the practical unconditional necessity ofthe moral imperative, we yet comprehend its incomprehensibility, and this is all that can be fairlydemanded of a philosophy which strives to carry its principles up to the verylimit of human reason.

CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF PRACTICALREASON.

PREFACE.

THIS WORK is called the “Critical Examination of PracticalReason,” not of the pure practical reason, although itsparallelism with the speculative critique would seem to require the latterterm. The reason of this appears sufficiently from the treatise itself. Itsbusiness is to show that there is pure practical reason, and for this purpose it criticises the entire practical faculty of reason. If it succeeds in this it has no need tocriticise the pure faculty itself in order to see whetherreason in making such a claim does not presumptuously overstep itself (as is the case with the speculative reason).For if, as pure reason, it is actually practical, it proves its own reality andthat of its concepts by fact, and all disputation against the possibility ofits being real is futile.

With this faculty, transcendental freedom is alsoestablished; freedom, namely, in that absolute sense in which speculativereason required it in its use of the concept of causality in order to escapethe antinomy into which it inevitably falls, when in the chain of cause andeffect it tries to think the unconditioned. Speculativereason could only exhibit this concept (of freedom) problematically as notimpossible to thought, without assuring it any objective reality, and merelylest the supposed impossibility of what it must at least allow to be thinkableshould endanger its very being and plunge it into anabyss of scepticism.

Inasmuch as the reality of the concept of freedom is proved by an apodicticlaw of practical reason, it is the keystone of the wholesystem of pure reason, even the speculative, and all other concepts (those ofGod and immortality) which, as being mere ideas, remain in it unsupported, nowattach themselves to this concept, and by it obtain consistence and objectivereality; that is to say, their possibility is proved by the fact that freedom actually exists, for thisidea is revealed by the moral law.

Freedom, however, is the only one of all the ideas of the speculative reasonof which we know the possibility àpriori (without, however, understanding it), because it is the conditionof the moral law which we know. [1] The ideas of God and Immortality, however, are not conditions of the moral law, butonly conditions of the necessary object of a will determined by this law: thatis to say, conditions of the practical use of our pure reason. Hence withrespect to these ideas we cannot affirm that we know and understand, I will not say the actuality, but even thepossibility of them. However they are the conditions of the application of themorallydetermined will to its object, which isgiven toit à priori, viz. the summum bonum. Consequently in this practical point of viewtheir possibility must be assumed, although we cannottheoretically know and understand it. To justify this assumption it issufficient, in a practical point of view, that they contain no intrinsioimpossibility (contradiction). Here we have what, as far as speculative Reasonis concerned, is a merely subjective principle of assent,which, however, is objectively valid for a Reason equallypure but practical, and this principle, by means of the concept of freedom,assures objective reality and authority to the ideas of God and Immortality.Nay, there is a subjective necessity (a need of pure reason) to assume them.Nevertheless the theoretical knowledge of reason is not hereby enlarged, butonly the possibility is given, which heretofore was merely a problem, and now becomes assertion, andthus the practical use of reason is connected with the elements of theoreticalreason. And this need is not a merely hypothetical one for the arbitrary purposes of speculation, that we must assumesomething if we wish in speculation to carry reason to itsutmost limits, but it is a need which has the force of law to assume something without which that cannot be which we must inevitably setbefore us as the aim of our action.

It would certainly be more satisfactory to our speculative reason if itcould solve these problems for itself without this circuit, and preserve thesolution for practical use as a thing to be referred to, but in fact ourfaculty of speculation is not so well provided. Those who boast of such highknowledge ought not to keep it back, but to exhibit it publicly that it may betested and appreciated. They want to prove: very good, let them prove; and thecritical philosophy lays its arms at their feet as the victors. “Quid statis?Nolint.Atqui licet esse beatis.” As they then do not in factchoose to do so, probably becausethey cannot, we must take up these armsagain in order to seek in the mortal use of reason, and to base on this, thenotions of God, freedom, and immortality, the possibility of whichspeculation cannot adequately prove.

Here first is explained the enigma of the oritical philosophy, viz. how we deny objective reality to thesupersensible use of the categories in speculation, andyet admit this reality with respectto the objects of pure practical reason. This must at first seem inconsistent as long as this practical use is onlynominally known. But when, by a thorough analysis of it, one becomes aware thatthe reality spoken of does not imply any theoretical determination of the categories, and extension of ourknowledge to the supersensible; but that what is meant is that in this respect an object belongs to them, because either they arecontained in the necessary determination of the will àpriori, or are inseparably connected with its object; then thisinconsistency disappears, because the use we make of these concepts isdifferent from what speculative reason requires. On the other hand, there nowappears an unexpected and very satisfactory proof of the consistency of the speculative critical philosophy. Forwhereas it insisted that the objects of experience as such, including our ownsubject, have only the value of phenomena, while at thesame time things in themselves must be supposed as their basis, so that noteverything supersensible was to be regarded as a fiction and its concepts asempty; so now practical reason itself, without any concert with thespeculative, assures reality to a supersensible object of the category ofcausality, viz. Freedom, although (as becomes a practicalconcept)onlyfor practical use; and this establishes on theevidence of a fact that which in the former case could only be conceived. Bythis the strange but certain doctrine of the speculative critical philosophy,that the thinking subject is to itself in internal intuitiononly a phenomenon, obtains in the critical examination of the practicalreason its full confirmation, and that so thoroughly that we should becompelled to adopt this doctrine, even if the former had never proved it atall. [1]

By this also I can understand why the most considerable objections which Ihave as yet met with against the Critique turn about these two points, namely,on the one side, the objective reality of the categories as applied to noumena,which is in the theoretical department of knowledge denied, in the practicalaffirmed; and on the other side, the paradoxical demand to regard oneself quâ subject of freedom as a noumenon, and at the same timefrom the point of view of physical nature as a phenomenon in one’s ownempirical consciousness; for as long as one has formed no definite notions ofmorality and freedom, one could not conjecture on the one side what wasintended to be the noumenon, the basis of the alleged phenomenon, and on theother side it seemed doubtful whether it was at all possible to form any notionof it, seeing that we had previously assigned all the notions of the pureunderstanding in its theoretical use exclusively to phenomena. Nothing but adetailed criticism of the practical reason can remove all thismisapprehension, and set in a clear light theconsistency which constitutes its greatest merit.

So much by way of justification of theproceeding by which, in this work, the notions and principles of purespeculative reason which have already undergone their special criticalexamination, are, now and then, again subjected to examination. This would notin other cases be in accordance with the systematic process by which a scienceis established, since matters which have been decided ought only to be citedand not again discussed. In this case, however, it was not only allowable butnecessary, because Reason is here considered in transition to a different useof these concepts from what it had made of them before. Such a transitionnecessitates a comparison of the old and the new usage, in order to distinguishwell the new path from the old one, and, at the same time, to allow theirconnexion to be observed. Accordingly considerations of this kind, includingthose which are once more directed to the concept of freedom in the practicaluse of the pure reason, must not be regarded as an interpolation serving onlyto fill up the gaps in the critical system of speculative reason (for this isfor its own purpose complete), or like the props and buttresses which in ahastily constructed building are often added afterwards; but as true memberswhich make the connexion of the system plain, and show us concepts, herepresented as real, which there could only be presented problematically. Thisremark applies especially to the concept of freedom, respecting which onecannot but observe with surprise, that so many boast of being able tounderstand it quite well, and to explain its possibility, while they regard itonly psychologically, whereas if they had studied it in a transcendental pointof view, they musthave recognised that it is not only indispensable as a problematical concept, in the complete useof speculative reason, but also quite incomprehensible ; and if they afterwards came to considerits practical use, they must needs have come to the very mode of determiningthe principles of this, to which they are now so loth to assent. The concept offreedom is the stone of stumbling for all empiricists, butat the same time the key to the loftiest practical principles for critical moralists, who perceive by its means that theymust necessarily proceed by a rational method. For thisreason I beg the reader not to pass lightly over what is said of this conceptat the end of the Analytic.

I must leave it to those who are acquainted with works of this kind to judgewhether such a system as that of the practical reason, which is here developedfrom the critical examination of it, has cost much or little trouble,especially in seeking not to miss the true point of view from which the wholecan be rightly sketched. It presupposes, indeed, the Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals, but onlyin so far as this gives a preliminary acquaintance with the principle of duty,and assigns and justifies a definite formula thereof; in other respects it isindependent. [1] It results from the nature of this practical faculty itself thatthe complete classification ofall practical sciences cannot be added, as in the critique of the speculativereason. For it is not possible to define dutiesspecially, as human duties, with a view to their classification, until thesubject of this definition (viz. man) is known according to his actual nature,at least so far as is necessary with respect to duty; this, however, does notbelong to a critical examination of the practical reason, the business of whichis only to assign in a complete manner the principles of its possibility,extent, and limits, without special reference to human nature. Theclassification then belongs to the system of science, not to the system ofcriticism.

In the second part of the Analytic I have given, as I trust, a sufficientanswer to the objection of a truth-loving and acute critic [1] of the Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysic ofMorals —a critic always worthy of respect—the objection, namely, that the notion of good was not established before the moralprinciple, as he thinks it ought to have been [2] .I have also had regard to many of the objectionswhich have reached me from men who show that they have at heart the discoveryof the truth, and I shall continue to do so (for those who have only their oldsystem before their eyes, and who have already settled what is to be approvedor disapproved, do not desire any explanation which might stand in the way oftheir own private opinion).

When we have to study a particular faculty of the human mind in its sources,its content, and its limits; then from the nature of human knowledge we mustbegin with its parts, with an accurate and completeexposition of them; complete, namely, so far as is possible in the presentstate of our knowledge of its elements. But there is another thing to beattended to which is of a more philosophical and architectonic character, namely, to grasp correctly the idea of the whole, and from thence to get a view of allthose parts as mutually related by the aid of pure reason, and by means oftheir derivation from the concept of the whole. This is onlypossible through the most intimate acquaintance withthe system; and those who find the first inquiry too troublesome, and do notthink it worth their while to attain such an acquaintance, cannot reach thesecond stage, namely, the general view, which is a synthetical return to thatwhich had previously been given analytically. It is no wonder then if they findinconsistencies everywhere, although the gaps which these indicate are not inthe system itself, but in their own incoherent train of thought.

I have no fear, as regards this treatise, of the reproach that I wish tointroduce a new language, since the sort of knowledge herein question has itself somewhat of an everyday character. Nor even in the caseof the former critique could this reproach occur to any one who had thought itthrough, and not merely turned over the leaves. To invent new words where thelanguage has no lack of expressions for given notions is a childish effort todistinguish oneself from the crowd, if not by new and true thoughts, yet by newpatches on the old garment. If, therefore, the readers of that work know anymore familiar expressions which are as suitable to the thought as those seem tome to be, or if they think they can show the futility ofthese thoughts themselves, and hence that of the expression, they would, in thefirst case, very much oblige me, for I only desire to be understood; and, inthe second case, they would deserve well of philosophy. But, as long as thesethoughts stand, I very much doubt that suitable, and yet more common,expressions for them can be found. [1]

In this manner then the à priori principles of two faculties of the mind, the facultyof cognition andthat of desire, would be found anddetermined as to the conditions, extent, and limits of their use, and thus asure foundation be laid for a scientific system of philosophy, both theoreticand practical.

Nothing worse could happen to these labourers than that anyone should makethe unexpected discovery that there neither is, nor can be, any à priori knowledge at all. But there is no danger of this.This would be the same thing as if one sought to prove by Reason that there isno Reason. For we only say that we know something by Reason, when we areconscious that we could have known it, even if it had not been given to us inexperience; hence rational knowledge and knowledge àpriori are one and the same. It is a clear contradiction to try to extractnecessity from a principle of experience ( ex pumiceaquam ), and to try by this to give a judgment true universality (withoutwhich there is no rational inference, not even inference from analogy, which isat least a presumed universality and objective necessity). To substitutesubjective necessity, that is, custom, for objective, which exists only in à priori judgments, is to deny to Reason the power ofjudging about the object, i.e. of knowing it, and whatbelongs to it. It implies, for example, that we must not say of something whichoften or always follows a certain antecedent state, that we can conclude from this to that (for this would imply objectivenecessity and the notion of an à priori connexion), butonly that we may expectsimilar cases (just as animals do), that is, that wereject the notion of cause altogether as false and a meredelusion. As to attempting to remedy this want of objective, and consequentuniversal, validity by saying that we can see no groundfor attributing any other sort ofknowledge to other rational beings, if this reasoning were valid, our ignorancewould do more for the enlargement of our knowledge than all our meditation.For, then, on this very ground that we have no knowledge of any other rationalbeings besides man, we should have a right to suppose them to be of the samenature as we know ourselves to be: that is, we should really know them. I omitto mention that universal assent does not prove the objective validity of ajudgment ( i.e. its validity as a cognition), and althoughthis universal assent should accidentally happen, it could furnish no proof ofagreement with the object; on the contrary, it is the objective validity whichalone constitutes the basis of a necessary universal consent.

Hume would be quite satisfied with this system ofuniversal empiricism, for, as is well known, he desired nothing more than thatinstead of ascribing any objective meaning to the necessity in the concept ofcause, a merely subjective one should be assumed, viz. custom, in order to denythat reason could judge about God, freedom, and immortality; and if once hisprinciples were granted he was certainly well able to deduce his conclusionstherefrom, with all logical coherence. But even Hume didnot make his empiricism so universal as to include mathematics. He holds theprinciples of mathematics to be analytical, and if this were correct they wouldcertainly be apodictic also; but we could not infer from this that reason hasthe faculty of forming apodictic judgments in philosophy also—that is to say,those which are synthetical judgments, like the judgment of causality. But ifwe adopt a universal empiricism, then mathematics will beincluded.

Now if this science is in contradiction with a reason thatadmits only empirical principles, as it inevitably is in the antinomy inwhich mathematics prove the infinite divisibility of space, which empiricismcannot admit; then the greatest possible evidence of demonstration is inmanifest contradiction with the alleged conclusions from experience, and we aredriven to ask, like Cheselden’s blind patient, “Which deceives me, sight ortouch?” (for empiricism is based on a necessity felt, rationalism on a necessity seen ). And thus universalempiricism reveals itself as absolute scepticism. It is erroneous to attributethis in such an unqualified sense to Hume, [1] since he left at least one certain touchstone of experience, namely,mathematics; whereas thorough scepticism admits no such touchstone (which canonly be found in à priori principles), although experienceconsists not only of feelings, but also of judgments.

However, as in this philosophical and critical age such empiricism canscarcely be serious, and it is probably put forward only as an intellectualexercise, and for the purpose of putting in a clearer light, by contrast, thenecessity of rational à priori principles, we can only begrateful to those who employ themselves in this otherwise uninstructivelabour.

INTRODUCTION.: OF THE IDEA OF A CRITIQUE OF PRACTICALREASON.

THE theoretical use of reason was concerned with objects of thecognitive faculty only, and a critical examination of it with reference to thisuse applied properly only to the pure faculty ofcognition; because this raised the suspicion, which was afterwards confirmed,that it might easily pass beyond its limits, and be lost among unattainableobjects, or even contradictory notions. It is quite different with thepractical use of reason. In this, reason is concerned with the grounds ofdetermination of the will, which is a faculty either to produce objectscorresponding to ideas, or to determine ourselves to the effecting of suchobjects (whether the physical power is sufficient or not); that is, todetermine our causality. For here, reason can at least attain so far as todetermine the will, and has always objective reality in so far as it is thevolition only that is in question. The first question here then is, whetherpure reason of itself alone suffices to determine the will, or whether it canbe a ground of determination only as dependent on empirical conditions. Now, here there comes in a notion ofcausality justified by the critique of the pure reason, although not capable ofbeing presented empirically, viz. that of freedom; and ifwe can now discover means of proving that this property does in fact belong tothe human will (and so to the will of all rational beings), then it will notonly be shown that pure reason can be practical, but that it alone, and notreason empirically limited, is indubitably practical; consequently, we shallhave to make a critical examination, not of pure practical reason, butonly of practical reasongenerally. For when once pure reason is shown to exist it needs no criticalexamination. For reason itself contains the standard for the criticalexamination of every use of it. The critique, then, of practical reasongenerally is bound to prevent the empirically conditioned reason from claimingexclusively to furnish the ground of determination of the will. If it is provedthat there is a [practical] [1] reason, its employment is alone immanent; the empirically conditioneduse, which claims supremacy, is on the contrary transcendent, and expressesitself in demands and precepts which go quite beyond its sphere. This is justthe opposite of what might be said of pure reason in its speculativeemployment.

However, as it is still pure reason, the knowledge of which is here thefoundation of its practical employment, the general outline of theclassification of a critique of practical reason must be arranged in accordancewith that of the speculative. We must then have the Elements and the Methodology of it; andin the former an Analytic as the rule of truth, and a Dialectic as the exposition and dissolution of theillusion in the judgments of practical reason. But the order in the subdivision of theAnalytic will be the reverse of that in the critique of the pure speculativereason. For, in the present case, we shall commence with the principles and proceed to the concepts, and only then, if possible, to the senses; whereas in the case of thespeculative reason we began with the senses, and had to end with theprinciples. The reason of this lies again in this: that now we have to do witha will, and have to consider reason, not in its relation to objects, but tothis will and its causality. We must, then, begin with the principles of acausality not empirically conditioned, after which the attempt can be made toestablish our notions of the determining grounds of such a will, of theirapplication to objects, and finally to the subject and its sense faculty. Wenecessarily begin with the law of causality from freedom, that is, with a purepractical principle, and this determines the objects to which alone it can beapplied.

PART FIRST.: ELEMENTS OF PURE PRACTICAL REASON.

BOOK I.: THE ANALYTIC OF PURE PRACTICAL REASON.

CHAPTER I.: of the principles of pure practicalreason.

§ I. —: Definition.

PRACTICAL PRINCIPLES are propositions whichcontain a general determination of the will, having under it several practicalrules. They are subjective, or Maxims, when the conditionis regarded by the subject as valid only for his own will, but are objective,or practical laws, when the condition is recognised asobjective, that is, valid for the will of every rational being.

REMARK.

Supposing that pure reason contains in itself apractical motive, that is, one adequate to determine thewill, then there are practical laws; otherwise all practical principles will bemere maxims. In case the will of a rational being is pathologically affected,there may occur a conflict of the maxims with the practical laws recognised byitself. For example, one may make it his maxim to let no injury passunrevenged, and yet he may see that this is not a practical law, but only hisown maxim; that, on the contrary, regarded as being in one and the same maxim arule for the will of every rational being, it must contradict itself. Innatural philosophy the principles of what happens ( e.g. the principle of equality of action and reaction inthe communication of motion) are at the same time laws of nature; for the useof reason there is theoretical, and determined by the nature of the object. Inpractical philosophy, i.e. that which has to do only withthe grounds of determination of the will, the principles which a man makes forhimself are not laws by which one is inevitably bound; because reason inpractical matters has to do with the subject, namely, with the faculty ofdesire, the special character of which may occasion variety in the rule. Thepractical rule is always a product of reason, because it prescribes action as ameans to the effect. But in the case of a being with whom reason does not ofitself determine the will, this rule is an imperative, i.e. a rule characterised by “shall,” which expresses the objectivenecessitation of the action, and signifies that if reason completely determinedthe will, the action would inevitably take place according to this rule.Imperatives, therefore, are objectively valid, and are quite distinct frommaxims, which are subjective principles. The former either determine theconditions of the causality of the rational being as an efficient cause, i. e. merely in reference to the effect and the means ofattaining it; or they determine the will only, whether it is adequate to theeffect or not. The former would be hypotheticalimperatives, and contain mere precepts of skill; the latter, on the contrary,would be categorical, and would alone be practical laws. Thus maxims are principles, but not imperatives. Imperatives themselves, however, when they are conditional ( i.e. do not determine the will simply as will, but only in respect to adesired effect, that is, when they are hypothetical imperatives), are practical precepts but not laws. Laws must besufficient to determine the will as will, even before I ask whether I havepower sufficient for a desired effect, or the means necessary to produce it;hence they are categorical: otherwise they are not laws at all, because thenecessity is wanting, which, if it is to be practical, must be independent onconditions which are pathological, and are therefore only contingentlyconnected with the will. Tell aman, for example, that he must be industrious andthrifty in youth, in order that he may not want in old age; this is a correctand important practical precept of the will. But it is easy to see that in thiscase the will is directed to something else which it ispresupposed that it desires; and as to this desire, we must leave it to theactor himself whether he looks forward to other resources than those of his ownacquisition, or does not expect to be old, or thinks that in case of futurenecessity he will be able to make shift with little. Reason, from which alonecan spring a rule involving necessity, does, indeed, give necessity to thisprecept (else it would not be an imperative), but this is a necessity dependenton subjective conditions, and cannot be supposed in the same degree in allsubjects. But that reason may give laws it is necessary that it should onlyneed to presuppose itself, because rules are objectivelyand universally valid only when they hold without any contingent subjectiveconditions, which distinguish one rational being from another. Now tell a manthat he should never make a deceitful promise, this is a rule which onlyconcerns his will, whether the purposes he may have can be attained thereby ornot; it is the volition only which is to bedetermined à priori by that rule. If now it is found thatthis rule is practically right, then it is a law, because it is a categoricalimperative. Thus, practical laws refer to the will only, without consideringwhat is attained by its causality, and we may disregard this latter (asbelonging to the world of sense) in order to have them quite pure.

§ II. —: THEOREM I.

All practical principles which presuppose an object (matter) of the facultyof desire as the ground of determination of the will are empirical, and canfurnish no practical laws.

By the matter of the faculty of desire I mean an object the realization ofwhich is desired. Now, if the desire for this object precedes the practical rule, and is the condition of ourmaking it a principle, then I say ( in the first place )this principleis in that case wholly empirical, for then whatdetermines the choice is the idea of an object, and that relation of this ideato the subject by which its faculty of desire is determined to its realization.Such a relation to the subject is called the pleasure inthe realization of an object. This, then, must be presupposed as a condition ofthe possibility of determination of the will. But it is impossible to know à priori of any idea of an object whether it will beconnected with pleasure or pain, orbe indifferent. In such cases, therefore, the determining principle of thechoice must be empirical, and, therefore, also the practical material principlewhich presupposes it as a condition.

In the secondplace, since susceptibility to a pleasure or pain can be known onlyempirically, and cannot hold in the same degree for all rational beings, aprinciple which is based on this subjective condition may serve indeed as a maxim for the subject which possesses this susceptibility,but not as a law even to him (because it is wanting inobjective necessity, which must be recognised à priori );it follows, therefore, that such a principle can never furnish a practicallaw.

§ III. —: THEOREM II.

All material practical principles as such are of one and the same kind, andcome under the general principle of self-love or private happiness.

Pleasure arising from the idea of the existence of a thing, in so far as itis to determine the desire of this thing, is founded on the susceptibility of the subject, since it depends on the presence of an object; hence it belongs tosense (feeling), and not to understanding, which expresses a relation of theidea to an object according to concepts, not to thesubject according to feelings. It is then practical only in so far as thefaculty of desire is determined by the sensation of agreeableness which thesubject expects from the actual existence of the object. Now, a rationalbeing’s consciousness of the pleasantness of life uninterruptedly accompanyinghis whole existence is happiness, and the principle which makes this thesupreme groundof determination of the will is the principle ofself-love. All material principles, then, which place the determining ground ofthe will in the pleasure or pain to be received from the existence of anyobject are all of the same kind, inasmuch as they all belong to theprinciple of self-love or private happiness.

COROLLARY.

All material practical rules place the determiningprinciple of the will in the lower desires, and if therewere no purely formal laws of the will adequate todetermine it, then we could not admit any higher desire atall.

REMARK I.

It is surprising that men, otherwise acute, can think it possible todistinguish between higher and lowerdesires, according as the ideas which are connected with the feeling ofpleasure have their origin in the senses or in the understanding; for when we inquire what are thedetermining grounds of desire, and place them in some expected pleasantness, itis of no consequence whence the idea of this pleasingobject is derived, but only how much it pleases. Whetheran idea has its seat and source in the understanding or not, if it can onlydetermine the choice by presupposing a feeling of pleasure in the subject, itfollows that its capability of determining the choice depends altogether on thenature of the inner sense, namely, that this can be agreeably affected by it.However dissimilar ideas of objects may be, though they be ideas of theunderstanding, or even of the reason in contrast to ideas of sense, yet thefeeling of pleasure, by means of which they constitute the determiningprinciple of the will (the expected satisfaction which impels the activity tothe production of the object), is of one and the same kind, not onlyinasmuch as it can be only known empirically, but also inasmuch as it affectsone and the same vital force which manifests itself in the faculty of desire,and in this respect can only differ in degree from every other ground ofdetermination. Otherwise, how could we compare in respect of magnitude two principles ofdetermination, the ideas of which depend upon different faculties, so as toprefer that which affects the faculty of desire in the highest degree. The sameman may return unread an instructive book which he cannot again obtain, inorder not to miss a hunt; he may depart in the midst of a fine speech, in ordernot to be late for dinner; he may leave a rational conversation, such as heotherwise values highly, to take his place at the gaming-table; he may evenrepulse a poor man whom he at other times takes pleasure in benefiting, becausehe has only just enough money in his pocket to pay for his admission to thetheatre. If the determination of his will rests on the feeling of theagreeableness or disagreeableness that he expects from any cause, it is all thesame to him by what sort of ideas he will be affected. The only thing thatconcerns him, in order to decide his choice, is, how great, how long continued,how easily obtained, and how often repeated, this agreeableness is. Just as tothe man who wants money to spend, it is all the same whether the gold was dugout of the mountain or washed out of the sand, provided it is everywhereaccepted at the same value; so the man who cares only for the enjoyment of lifedoes not ask whether the ideas are of the understanding or the senses, but only how much and how great pleasure theywill give for the longest time. It is only those that would gladly deny to purereason the power of determining the will, without the presupposition of anyfeeling, who could deviate so far from their own exposition as to describe asquite heterogeneous what they have themselves previously brought under one andthe same principle. Thus, for example, it is observed thatwe can find pleasure in the mere exercise of power, in theconsciousness of our strength of mind in overcoming obstacles which are opposedto our designs, in the culture of our mental talents, etc.; and we justly callthese more refined pleasures and enjoyments, because they are more in our powerthan others; they do not wear out, but rather increase the capacity for furtherenjoyment of them, and while they delight they at the same time cultivate. Butto say on this account that they determine the will in a different way, and notthroughsense, whereas the possibility of the pleasurepresupposes a feeling for it implanted in us, which is the first condition ofthis satisfaction; this is just as when ignorant persons that like to dabble inmetaphysics imagine matter so subtle, so super-subtle, that they almost makethemselves giddy with it, and then think that in this way they have conceivedit as a spiritual and yet extended being. If with Epicurus we make virtue determine the will only by meansof the pleasure it promises, we cannot afterwards blame him for holding thatthis pleasure is of the same kind as those of the coarsest senses. For we haveno reason whatever to charge him with holding that the ideas by which thisfeeling is excited in us belong merely to the bodily senses. As far as can beconjectured, he sought the source of many of them in the use of the highercognitive faculty; but this did not prevent him, and could not prevent him,from holding on the principle above stated, that the pleasure itself whichthose intellectual ideas give us, and by which alone they can determine thewill, is just of the same kind. Consistency is the highestobligation of a philosopher, and yet the most rarely found. The ancient Greekschools give us more examples of it than we find in our syncretistic age, in which a certain shallow and dishonest system of compromise of contradictory principles isdevised, because it commends itself better to a publicwhich is content to know something ofeverything and nothing thoroughly, so as to please every party. [1]

The principle of private happiness, however much understanding and reasonmay be used in it, cannot contain any other determining principles for the willthan those which belong to the lower desires; and eitherthere are no [higher] [2] desires at all, or pure reason must of itselfalone be practical: that is, it must be able to determine the will by the mereform of the practical rule without supposing any feeling, and consequentlywithout any idea of the pleasant or unpleasant, whichis the matter of the desire, and which is always anempirical condition of the principles. Then only, when reason of itselfdetermines the will (not as the servant of the inclination), it is really a higher desire to which that which is pathologicallydetermined is subordinate, and is really, and even specifically, distinct fromthe latter, so that even the slightest admixture of the motives of the latterimpairs its strength and superiority; just as in a mathematical demonstrationthe least empirical condition would degrade and destroy its force and value.Reason, with its practical law, determines the will immediately, not by meansof an intervening feeling of pleasure or pain, not even of pleasure in the lawitself, and it is only because it can, as pure reason, be practical, that it ispossible for it to be legislative.

REMARK II.

To be happy is necessarily the wish of every finite rational being, andthis, therefore, is inevitably a determining principle of its faculty ofdesire. For we are not in possession originally of satisfaction with our wholeexistence—a bliss which would imply a consciousness of our own independentself-sufficiency—this is a problem imposed upon us by our own finite nature,because we have wants, and these wants regardthe matter of our desires, that is,something that is relative to a subjective feeling of pleasure or pain, whichdetermines what we need in order to be satisfied with our condition. But justbecause this material principle of determination can only be empirically knownby the subject, it is impossible to regard this problem as a law; for a lawbeing objective must contain the very same principle ofdetermination of the will in all cases and for all rational beings. For,although the notion of happiness is in every case thefoundation of the practical relation of the objects to thedesires, yet it is only a general name for the subjective determiningprinciples, and determines nothing specifically; whereas this is what alone weare concerned with in this practical problem, which cannot be solved at allwithout such specific determination. For it is every man’s own special feelingofpleasure and pain that decides in what he is toplace his happiness, and even in the same subject this will vary with thedifference of his wants according as this feeling changes, and thus a law whichis subjectively necessary (as a law of nature) is objectively a very contingent practical principle, whichcan and must be very different in different subjects, and therefore can neverfurnish a law; since, in the desire for happiness it is not the form ofconformity to law that is decisive, but simply the matter, namely, whether I amto expect pleasure in following the law, and how much. Principles of self-lovemay, indeed, contain universal precepts of skill (how to find means toaccomplish one’s purposes), but in that case they are merely theoreticalprinciples; [1] as, for example, how he who would like to eat breadshould contrive a mill; but practicalprecepts founded on them can never be universal, for the determining principleof the desire is based on the feeling of pleasure and pain, which can never besupposed to be universally directed to the same objects.

Even supposing, however, that all finite rational beings were thoroughlyagreed as to what were the objects of their feelings of pleasure and pain, andalso as to the means which they must employ to attain the one and avoid theother; still, they could by no means set up the principle of self-love as a practicallaw, for this unanimity itself would be only contingent. The principle ofdetermination would still be only subjectively valid and merely empirical, andwould not possess the necessity which is conceived in every law, namely, anobjective necessity arising from à priori grounds; unless,indeed, we hold this necessity to be not at all practical, but merely physical,viz. that our action is as inevitably determined by our inclination, as yawningwhen we see others yawn. It would be betterto maintain that there are no practical laws at all,but only counsels for the service of our desires, than toraise merely subjective principles to the rank of practical laws, which haveobjective necessity, and not merely subjective, and which must be known byreason à priori, not by experience (however empiricallyuniversal this may be). Even the rules of corresponding phenomena are onlycalled laws of nature ( e. g. the mechanical laws), when weeither know them really à priori, or (as in the case ofchemical laws) suppose that they would be known à priori from objective grounds if our insight reached further. But in the case ofmerely subjective practical principles, it is expressly made a conditionthat they rest not on objective but onsubjective conditions of choice, and hence that they must always be representedas mere maxims; never as practical laws. This second remark seems at firstsight to be mere verbal refinement, but it defines [1] the terms of the most important distinction which can come intoconsideration in practical investigations.

§ IV. —: THEOREM III.

A rational being cannot regard his maxims as practical universal laws,unless he conceives them as principles which determine the will, not by theirmatter, but by their form only.

By the matter of a practical principle I mean the object of the will. Thisobject is either the determining ground of the will or it is not. In the formercase the rule of the will is subjected to an empirical condition (viz. therelation of the determining idea to the feeling of pleasure and pain),consequently it cannot be a practical law. Now, when we abstract from a law allmatter, i. e. every object of the will (as a determiningprinciple), nothing is left but the mere form of auniversal legislation. Therefore, either a rational being cannot conceive hissubjective practical principles, that is, his maxims, as beingat the same time universal laws, or he must supposethat their mere form, by which they are fitted for universal legislation, isalone what makes them practical laws.

REMARK.

The commonest understanding can distinguish without instruction what form ofmaxim is adapted for universal legislation, and what is not. Suppose, forexample, that I have made it my maxim to increase my fortune by every safemeans. Now, I have a deposit in my hands, the owner of which is dead and hasleft no writing about it. This is just the case for my maxim. I desire then toknow whether that maxim can also hold good as a universal practical law. Iapply it, therefore, to the present case, and ask whether it could take theform of a law, and consequently whether I can by my maxim at the same time givesuch a law as this, that everyone may deny a deposit of which no one canproduce a proof. I at once become aware that such a principle, viewed as a law,would annihilate itself, because the result would be that there would be nodeposits. A practical law which I recognize as such must be qualified foruniversal legislation; this is an identical proposition, and thereforeself-evident. Now, if I say that my will is subject to a practical law, Icannot adduce my inclination ( e. g. in the present case myavarice) as a principle of determination fitted to be a universal practicallaw; for this is so far from being fitted for a universal legislation that, ifput in the form of a universal law, it would destroy itself.

It is, therefore, surprising that intelligent men could have thought ofcalling the desire of happiness a universal practical law on the ground that the desire is universal, and, therefore, also the maxim by which everyone makes this desire determine hiswill. For whereas in other cases a universal law of nature makes everythingharmonious; here, on the contrary, if we attribute to the maxim theuniversality of a law, the extreme opposite of harmony will follow, thegreatest opposition, and the completedestruction of the maxim itself, and itspurpose. For, in that case, the will of all has notone and the same object, but everyone has his own (his private welfare), whichmay accidentally accord with the purposes of others which are equally selfish,but it is far from sufficing for a law; because the occasional exceptions whichone is permitted to make are endless, and cannot be definitely embraced in oneuniversal rule. In this manner, then, results a harmony like that which acertain satirical poem depicts as existing between a married couple bent ongoing to ruin, “O, marvellous harmony, what he wishes, she wishes also;” orlike what is said of the pledge of Francis I. to the emperor Charles V., “Whatmy brother Charles wishes that I wish also” (viz. Milan). Empirical principlesof determination are not fit for any universal external legislation, but justas little for internal; for each man makes his own subject the foundation ofhis inclination, and in the same subject sometimes one inclination, sometimesanother, has the preponderance. To discover a law which would govern them allunder this condition, namely, bringing them all into harmony, is quiteimpossible.

§ V. —: PROBLEM I.

Supposing that the mere legislative form of maxims is alone the sufficientdetermining principle of a will, to find the nature of the will which can bedetermined by it alone.

Since the bare form of the law can only be conceived by reason, and is,therefore, not an object of the senses, and consequently does not belong to theclass of phenomena, it follows that the idea of it, which determines the will, is distinctfrom all the principles that determine events in nature according to the law ofcausality, because in their case the determining principles must themselves bephenomena. Now, if no other determining principle can serve as a law for thewill except that universal legislative form, such a will must be conceived asquite independent on the natural law of phenomena in their mutual relation,namely, the law of causality; such independence is called freedom in the strictest, that is in the transcendentalsense; consequently, a will which can have its lawin nothing but the mere legislative form of the maxim is a free will.

§ VI. —: PROBLEM II.

Supposing that a will is free, to find the law which alone is competent todetermine it necessarily.

Since the matter of the practical law, i. e. an objectof the maxim, can never be given otherwise than empirically, and the free willis independent on empirical conditions (that is, conditions belonging to theworld of sense) and yet is determinable, consequently a free will must find itsprinciple of determination in the law, and yet independently of the matter ofthe law. But, besides the matter of the law, nothing is contained in it exceptthe legislative form. It is the legislative form, then, contained in the maxim,which can alone constitute a principle of determination of the [free] will.

REMARK.

Thus freedom and an unconditional practical law reciprocally imply eachother. Now I do not ask here whether they are in fact distinct, or whether anunconditioned law is not rather merely the consciousness of a pure practicalreason, and the latter identical with the positive concept of freedom; I onlyask, whence begins our knowledge ofthe unconditionally practical, whether it is from freedom or from the practicallaw? Now it cannot begin from freedom, for of this we cannot be immediatelyconscious, since the first concept of it is negative; nor can we infer it fromexperience, for experience gives us the knowledge only of the law of phenomena,and hence of the mechanism of nature, the direct opposite of freedom. It istherefore the moral law, of which we become directly conscious (as soon as wetrace for ourselves maxims of the will), that first presents itself to us, and leads directly to the concept of freedom, inasmuchas reason presents it as a principle of determinationnot to be outweighed by any sensible conditions,nay, wholly independent of them. But how is the consciousness of that moral lawpossible? We can become conscious of pure practical laws just as we areconscious of pure theoretical principles, by attending to the necessity withwhich reason prescribes them, and to the elimination of all empiricalconditions, which it directs. The concept of a pure will arises out of theformer, as that of a pure understanding arises out of the latter. That this isthe true subordination of our concepts, and that it is morality that firstdiscovers to us the notion of freedom, hence that it is practical reason which, with this concept, first proposes tospeculative reason the most insoluble problem, thereby placing it in thegreatest perplexity, is evident from the following consideration:—Since nothingin phenomena can be explained by the concept of freedom, but the mechanism ofnature must constitute the only clue; moreover, when pure reason tries toascend in the series of causes to the unconditioned, it falls into an antinomywhich is entangled in incomprehensibilities on the one side as much as theother; whilst the latter (namely, mechanism) is at least useful in theexplanation of phenomena, therefore no one would ever have been so rash as tointroduce freedom into science, had not the moral law, and with it practicalreason, come in and forced this notion upon us. Experience, however, confirmsthis order of notions. Suppose some one asserts of his lustful appetite that,when the desired object and the opportunity are present, it is quiteirresistible. [Ask him]—if a gallows were erected before the house where hefinds this opportunity, in order that he should be hanged thereon immediatelyafter the gratification of his lust, whether he could not then control hispassion; we need not be long in doubt what he would reply. Ask him, however—ifhis sovereign ordered him, on pain of the same immediate execution, to bearfalse witness against an honourable man, whom the prince might wish to destroyunder a plausible pretext, would he consider it possible in that case toovercome his love of life, however great it may be. He would perhaps notventure to affirm whether he would do so or not, but he must unhesitatinglyadmit that it is possibleto do so. He judges, therefore, that he can do acertain thing because he is conscious that he ought, and he recognizes that heis free, a fact which but for the moral law he would never have known.

§ VII. —: Fundamental Law of the Pure PracticalReason.

Act so that the maxim of thy will can always at the same time hold good as aprinciple of universal legislation.

REMARK.

Pure geometry has postulates which are practical propositions, but containnothing further than the assumption that we can dosomething if it is required that we should do it, andthese are the only geometrical propositions that concern actual existence. Theyare, then, practical rules under a problematical condition of the will; buthere the rule says:—We absolutely must proceed in a certain manner. Thepractical rule is, therefore, unconditional, and hence it is conceived à priori as a categorically practical proposition by whichthe will is objectively determined absolutely and immediately (by the practicalrule itself, which thus is in this case a law); for pure reasonpractical of itself is here directly legislative. The will is thought asindependent on empirical conditions, and, therefore, as pure will determined by the mere form of the law, and this principle ofdetermination is regarded as the supreme condition of all maxims. The thing isstrange enough, and has no parallel in all the rest of our practical knowledge.For the à priori thought of a possible universallegislation which is therefore merely problematical, is unconditionallycommanded as a law without borrowing anything from experience or from anyexternal will. This, however, is not a precept to do something by which somedesired effect can be attained (for then the will would depend on physicalconditions), but a rule that determines the will à priori only so far as regards the forms of its maxims; and thus it is at least notimpossible to conceive thata law, which only applies to the subjective form of principles, yet serves as a principle ofdetermination by means of the objective form of law ingeneral. We may call the consciousness of this fundamental law a fact ofreason, because we cannot reason it out from antecedent data of reason, e. g. the consciousness of freedom (for this is notantecedently given), but it forces itself on us as a synthetic à priori proposition, which is not based on any intuition,either pure or empirical. It would, indeed, be analytical if the freedom of thewill were presupposed, but to presuppose freedom as a positive concept would require an intellectual intuition, which cannothere be assumed; however, when we regard this law as given, it must be observed, in order not to fall into anymisconception that it is not an empirical fact, but the sole fact of the purereason, which thereby announces itself as originally legislative ( sic volo, sic jubeo ).

COROLLARY.

Pure reason is practical of itself alone, and gives (to man) a universal lawwhich we call the Moral Law.

REMARK.

The fact just mentioned is undeniable. It is only necessary to analyse thejudgment that men pass on the lawfulness of their actions, in order to findthat, whatever inclination may say to the contrary, reason, incorruptible andself-constrained, always confronts the maxim of the will in any action with thepure will, that is, with itself, considering itself as àpriori practical. Now this principle of morality, just on account of theuniversality of the legislation which makes it the formal supreme determiningprinciple of the will, without regard to any subjective differences, isdeclared by the reason to be a law for all rational beings, in so far as theyhave a will, that is, a power to determine their causality by the conception ofrules; and, therefore, so far as they are capable of acting according toprinciples, and consequently also according topractical à priori principles(for these alone have the necessity that reason requires in a principle). Itis, therefore, not limited to men only, but applies to all finite beings thatpossess reason and will; nay, it even includes the InfiniteBeing as the supreme intelligence. In the former case, however, the law has theform of an imperative, because in them, as rational beings, we can suppose a pure will, but being creatures affected with wants andphysical motives, not a holy will, that is, one whichwould be incapable of any maxim conflicting with the moral law. In their case,therefore, the moral law is an imperative, which commandscategorically, because the law is unconditioned; the relation of such a will tothis law is dependence under the name of obligation, which implies a constraint toan action, though only by reason and its objective law; and this action iscalled duty, because an elective will, subject topathological affections (though not determined by them, and therefore stillfree), implies a wish that arises from subjective causes,and therefore may often be opposed to the pure objective determining principle;whence it requires the moral constraint of a resistance of the practicalreason, which may be called an internal, but intellectual compulsion. In thesupreme intelligence the elective will is rightly conceived as incapable of anymaxim which could not at the same time be objectively a law; and the notion of holiness, which on that account belongs to it, places it,not indeed above all practical laws, but above all pratically restrictive laws,and consequently above obligation and duty. This holiness of will is, however,a practical idea, which must necessarily serve as a type to which finiterational beings can only approximate indefinitely, and which the pure morallaw, which is itself on this account called holy, constantly and rightly holdsbefore their eyes. The utmost that finite practical reason can effect is to becertain of this indefinite progress of one’s maxims, and of their steadydisposition to advance. This is virtue, and virtue, at least as a naturallyacquired faculty, can never be perfect, because assurance in such a case neverbecomes apodictic certainty, and when it only amounts to persuasion is verydangerous.

§ VIII. —: THEOREM IV.

The autonomy of the will is the sole principle of allmoral laws, and of all duties which conform to them; on the other hand, heteronomy of the elective will not only cannot be thebasis of any obligation, but is, on the contrary, opposed to the principlethereof, and to the morality of the will.

In fact the sole principle of morality consists in the independence on allmatter of the law (namely, a desired object), and in the determination of theelective will by the mere universal legislative form of which its maxim must becapable. Now this independence is freedom in the negative sense, and this self-legislation of the pure, and, therefore, practicalreason, is freedom in the positive sense. Thus the morallaw expresses nothing else than the autonomy of the purepractical reason; that is, freedom; and this is itself the formal condition ofall maxims, and on this condition only can they agree with the supremepractical law. If therefore the matter of the volition, which can be nothingelse than the object of a desire that is connected with the law, enters intothe practical law, as the condition of its possibility, there results heteronomy of the elective will, namely, dependence on thephysical law that we should follow some impulse or inclination. In that casethe will does not give itself the law, but only the precept how rationally tofollow pathological law; and the maxim which, in such a case, never containsthe universally legislative form, not only produces no obligation, but isitself opposed to the principle of a pure practical reason, and, therefore,also to the moral disposition, even though the resulting action may beconformable to the law.

REMARK I.

Hence a practical precept, which contains a material (and thereforeempirical) condition, must never be reckoned a practical law. For the law ofthe pure will, which is free, brings the will into a sphere quite differentfrom the empirical; and as the necessity involved in the law is not a physicalnecessity, itcan only consist in the formal conditions of thepossibility of a law in general. All the matter of practical rules rests onsubjective conditions, which give them only a conditional universality (in caseI desire this or that, what I must do in order to obtainit), and they all turn on the principle of privatehappiness. Now, it is indeed undeniable that every volition must have anobject, and therefore a matter; but it does not follow that this is thedetermining principle, and the condition of the maxim; for, if it is so, thenthis cannot be exhibited in a universally legislative form, since in that casethe expectation of the existence of the object would be the determining causeof the choice, and the volition must presuppose the dependence of the facultyof desire on the existence of something; but this dependence can only be soughtin empirical conditions, and therefore can never furnish a foundation for anecessary and universal rule. Thus, the happiness of others may be the objectof the will of a rational being. But if it were the determining principle ofthe maxim, we must assume that we find not only a rational satisfaction in thewelfare of others, but also a want such as the sympathetic disposition in somemen occasions. But I cannot assume the existence of this want in every rationalbeing (not at all in God). The matter then of the maxim may remain, but it mustnot be the condition of it, else the maxim could not be fit for a law. Hence,the mere form of law, which limits the matter, must also be a reasonfor adding this matter to the will, notfor presupposing it. For example, let the matter be my own happiness. This(rule), if I attribute it to everyone (as, in fact, I may, in the case of everyfinite being), can become an objective practical law onlyif I include the happiness of others. Therefore, the law that we should promotethe happiness of others does not arise from the assumption that this is anobject of everyone’s choice, but merely from this, that the form ofuniversality which reason requires as the condition of giving to a maxim ofself-love the objective validity of a law, is the principle that determines thewill. Therefore it was not the object (the happiness of others) that determinedthe pure will, but it was the form of law only, by which I restricted mymaxim, founded on inclination, so as to give it theuniversality of a law, and thus to adapt it to the practical reason; and it isthis restriction alone, and not the adddition of an external spring, that cangive rise to the notion of the obligation to extend themaxim of my self-love to the happiness of others.

REMARK II.

The direct opposite of the principle of morality is, when the principle of private happiness is made the determining principle of thewill, and with this is to be reckoned, as I have shown above, everything thatplaces the determining principle which is to serve as a law anywhere but in thelegislative form of the maxim. This contradiction, however, is not merelylogical, like that which would arise between rules empirically conditioned, ifthey were raised to the rank of necessary principles of cognition, but ispractical, and would ruin morality altogether were not the voice of reason inreference to the will so clear, so irrepressible, so distinctly audible even,to the commonest men. It can only, indeed, be maintained in the perplexingspeculations of the schools, which arebold enough to shut their ears against that heavenly voice, in order to supporta theory that costs no trouble.

Suppose that an acquaintance whom you otherwise liked were to attempt tojustify himself to you for having borne false witness, first by alleging the,in his view, sacred duty of consulting his own happiness; then by enumeratingthe advantages which he had gained thereby, pointing out the prudence he hadshown in securing himself against detection, even by yourself, to whom he nowreveals the secret, only in order that he may be able to deny it at any time;and suppose he were then to affirm, in all seriousness, that he has fulfilled atrue human duty; you would either laugh in his face, or shrink back from himwith disgust; and yet, if a man has regulated his principles of action solelywith a view to his own advantage, you would have nothing whatever to objectagainst this mode of proceeding. Or suppose some one recommends you aman as steward, as a man to whom you can blindlytrust all your affairs; and, in order to inspire you with confidence, extolshim as a prudent man who thoroughly understands his own interest, and is soindefatigably active that he lets slip no opportunity of advancing it; lastly,lest you should be afraid of finding a vulgar selfishness in him, praises thegood taste with which he lives; not seeking his pleasure in money-making, or incoarse wantonness, but in the enlargement of his knowledge, in instructiveintercourse with a select circle, and even in relieving the needy; while as tothe means (which, of course, derive all their value from the end) he is notparticular, and is ready to use other people’s money for the purpose as if itwere his own, provided only he knows that he can do so safely, and withoutdiscovery; you would either believe that the recommender was mocking you, orthat he had lost his senses. So sharply and clearly marked are the boundariesof morality and self-love that even the commonest eyecannot fail to distinguish whether athing belongs to the one or the other. The few remarks that follow may appearsuperfluous where the truth is so plain, but at least they may serve to give alittle more distinctness to the judgment of common sense.

The principle of happiness may, indeed, furnish maxims, but never such aswould be competent to be laws of the will, even if universal happiness were made the object. For since theknowledge of this rests on mere empirical data, since every man’s judgment onit depends very much on his particular point of view, which is itself moreoververy variable, it can supply only general rules, not universal; that is, it can give rules which on the averagewill most frequently fit, but not rules which must hold good always andnecessarily; hence, no practical laws can be founded onit. Just because in this case an object of choice is the foundation of therule, and must therefore precede it; the rule can refer to nothing but what is[felt] [1] , and therefore it refers to experience and is founded on it, and thenthe variety of judgment must be endless. Thisprinciple, therefore, does not prescribe the samepractical rules to all rational beings, although the rules are all includedunder a common title, namely, that of happiness. The moral law, however, isconceived as objectively necessary, only because it holds for everyone that hasreason and will.

The maxim of self-love (prudence) only advises; the lawof morality commands. Now there is a great differencebetween that which we are advised to do and that to whichwe are obliged.

The commonest intelligence can easily and without hesitation see what, onthe principle of autonomy of the will, requires to be done; but on suppositionof heteronomy of the will, it is hard and requires knowledge of the world tosee what is to be done. That is to say, what duty is, inplain of itself to everyone; but what is to bring true durable advantage, suchas will extend to the whole of one’s existence, is always veiled in impenetrableobscurity; and much prudence is required to adapt the practical rule founded onit to the ends of life, even tolerably, by making proper exceptions. But themoral law commands the most punctual obedience from everyone; it must,therefore, not be so difficult to judge what it requires to be done, that thecommonest unpractised understanding, even without worldly prudence, should failto apply it rightly.

It is always in everyone’s power to satisfy the categorical command ofmorality; whereas it is but seldom possible, and by no means so to everyone, tosatisfy the empirically conditioned precept of happiness, even with regard to asingle purpose. The reason is, that in the former case there is question onlyof the maxim, which must be genuine and pure; but in the latter case there isquestion also of one’s capacity and physical power to realise a desired object.A command that everyone should try to make himself happy would be foolish, forone never commands anyone to do what he of himself infallibly wishes to do. Wemust only command the means, or rather supply them, since he cannot doeverything that he wishes. But to command morality under the name of duty isquite rational; for, in the first place, not everyone is willingto obey its precepts if they oppose hisinclinations; and as to the means of obeying this law, these need not in thiscase be taught, for in this respect whatever he wishes to do he can do.

He who has lost at play may be vexed at himself and his folly, but if he is conscious ofhaving cheated at play (although he has gained thereby),he must despise himself as soon as he compares himselfwith the moral law. This must, therefore, be something different from theprinciple of private happiness. For a man must have a different criterion whenhe is compelled to say to himself: I am a worthless fellow, though I have filled my purse; and when he approves himself, and says: I am a prudent man, for I have enriched my treasure.

Finally, there is something further in the idea of our practical reason,which accompanies the transgression of a moral law—namely, its ill desert. Now the notion of punishment, as such, cannot beunited with that of becoming a partaker of happiness; for although he whoinflicts the punishment may at the same time have the benevolent purpose ofdirecting this punishment to this end, yet it must first be justified in itselfas punishment, i. e. as mere harm, so that if it stoppedthere, and the person punished could get no glimpse of kindness hidden behindthis harshness, he must yet admit that justice was done him, and that hisreward was perfectly suitable to his conduct. In every punishment, as such,there must first be justice, and this constitutes the essence of the notion.Benevolence may, indeed, be united with it, but the man who has deservedpunishment has not the least reason to reckon upon this. Punishment, then, is aphysical evil, which, though it be not connected with moral evil as a natural consequence, ought to be connected with it as aconsequence by the principles of a moral legislation. Now, if every crime, evenwithout regarding the physical consequence with respect to the actor, is initself punishable, that is, forfeits happiness (at least partially), it isobviously absurd to say that the crime consisted just in this, that he hasdrawn punishment on himself, thereby injuring his private happiness (which, onthe principle of self-love, must be the proper notion of all crime). Accordingto this view the punishment wouldbe the reason for calling anything a crime, andjustice would, on the contrary, consist in omitting all punishment, and evenpreventing that which naturally follows; for, if this were done, there would nolonger be any evil in the action, since the harm which otherwise followed it,and on account of which alone the action was called evil, would now beprevented. To look, however, on all rewards and punishments as merely themachinery in the handof a higher power, which is to serveonly to set rational creatures striving after their final end (happiness), thisis to reduce the will to a mechanism destructive of freedom; this is so evidentthat it need not detain us.

More refined, though equally false, is the theory of those who suppose acertain special moral sense, which sense and not reason determines the morallaw, and in consequence of which the consciousness of virtue is supposed to bedirectly connected with contentment and pleasure; that of vice, with mentaldissatisfaction and pain; thus reducing the whole to the desire of privatehappiness. Without repeating what has been said above, I will here only remarkthe fallacy they fall into. In order to imagine the vicious man as tormentedwith mental dissatisfaction by the consciousness of his transgressions, theymust first represent him as in the main basis of his character, at least insome degree, morally good; just as he who is pleased with the consciousness ofright conduct must be conceived as already virtuous. The notion of morality andduty must, therefore, have preceded any regard to this satisfaction, and cannotbe derived from it. A man must first appreciate the importance of what we callduty, the authority of the moral law, and the immediate dignity which thefollowing of it gives to the person in his own eyes, in order to feel thatsatisfaction in the consciousness of his conformity to it, and the bitterremorse that accompanies the consciousness of its transgression. It is,therefore, impossible to feel this satisfaction or dissatisfaction prior to theknowledge of obligation, or to make it the basis of the latter. A man must beat least half honest in order even to be able to form a conception of thesefeelings. I do not deny that as the human will is, by virtue of libertycapable of being immediately determined by the morallaw, so frequent practice in accordance with this principle of determinationcan, at last, produce subjectively a feeling of satisfaction; on the contrary, it is a duty toestablish and to cultivate this, which alone deserves to be called properly themoral feeling; but the notion of duty cannot be derived from it, else we shouldhave to suppose a feeling for the law as such, and thus make that an object ofsensation which can only be thought by the reason; and this, if it is not to bea flat contradiction, would destroy all notion of duty, and put in its place amere mechanical play of refined inclinations sometimes contending with thecoarser.

If now we compare our formal supreme principle of purepractical reason (that of autonomy of the will) with all previous material principles or morality, we can exhibit them allin a table in which all possible cases are exhausted, except the one formalprinciple; and thus we can show visibly that it is vain to look for any otherprinciple than that now proposed. In fact all possible principles ofdetermination of the will are either merely subjective, and therefore empirical, or are also objective andrational; and both are either external or internal.

Practical MaterialPrinciples of Determination taken as the Foundation of Morality, are: —

SUBJECTIVE.

OBJECTIVE.

EXTERNAL.

INTERNAL.

INTERNAL.

EXTERNAL.

Education.

Physical feeling.

Perfection.

Will of God.

( Montaigne ).

( Epicurus ).

( Wolf and the Stoics ).

( Crusius and other theological Moralists).

The civil Constitution

Moral feeling.

( Hutcheson ).

( Mandeville ).

Those at the left hand are allempirical, and evidently incapable of furnishing the universal principle ofmorality; but those on the right hand are based on reason (for perfection as aquality of things, and the highest perfection conceived as substance, that is, God, can only be thought by means ofrational concepts). But the former notion, namely, that of perfection, may either be taken in a theoretic signification, and then it means nothing but thecompleteness of each thing in its own kind (transcendental), or that of athing, merely as a thing (metaphysical); and with that we are not concernedhere. But the notion of perfection in a practical sense isthe fitness or sufficiency of a thing for all sorts of purposes. Thisperfection, as a quality of man, and consequentlyinternal, is nothing but talent, and, what strengthens orcompletes this, skill. Supreme perfection conceived as substance, that is God, and consequently external(considered practically), is the sufficiency of this being for all ends. Endsthen must first be given, relatively to which only can the notion of perfection (whether internal in ourselves or external inGod) be the determining principle of the will. But an end—being an object which must precede the determination of the will bya practical rule, and contain the ground of the possibility of thisdetermination, and therefore contain also the matter of the will, taken as itsdetermining principle—such an end is always empirical, and, therefore, mayserve for the Epicurean principle of the happiness theory,but not for the pure rational principle of morality and duty. Thus, talents andthe improvement of them, because they contribute to the advantages of life; orthe will of God, if agreement with it be taken as the object of the will,without any antecedent independent practical principle, can be motives only byreason of the happiness expected therefrom. Hence itfollows, first, that all the principles here stated are material; secondly, that they include all possiblematerial principles; and, finally, the conclusion, thatsince material principles are quite incapable of furnishing the supreme morallaw (as has been shown), the formal practical principle ofthe pure reason (according to which the mere form of a universal legislationmust constitute the supreme and immediate determining principle of the will) isthe only one possible which isadequate to furnish categorical imperatives; that is, practical laws (whichmake actions a duty); and in general to serve as the principle of morality,both in criticising conduct and also in its application to the human will todetermine it.

I.: — Of the Deduction of the FundamentalPrinciples of the Pure Practical Reason.

This Analytic shows that pure reason can be practical, that is, can ofitself determine the will independently of anything empirical; and this itproves by a fact in which pure reason in us proves itself actually practical,namely, the autonomy shown in the fundamental principle of morality, by whichreason determines the will to action.

It shows at the same time that this fact is inseparably connected with theconsciousness of freedom of the will; nay, is identical with it; and by thisthe will of a rational being, although as belonging to the world of sense, itrecognises itself as necessarily subject to the laws of causality like otherefficient causes; yet, at the same time, on another side, namely, as a being initself, is conscious of existing in and being determined by an intelligibleorder of things; conscious notby virtue of a specal intuition ofitself, but by virtue of certain dynamical laws which determine its causalityin the sensible world; for it has been elsewhere proved that if freedom ispredicated of us, it transports us into an intelligible order of things.

Now, if we compare with this the analytical part of the critique of purespeculative reason, we shall see a remarkable contrast. There it was notfundamental principles, but pure, sensible intuition (space and time), that was the first datum that made à priori knowledge possible, though only of objects of thesenses. Synthetical principles could not be derived from mere concepts withoutintuition; on the contrary, they could only exist with reference to thisintuition, and therefore to objects of possible experience, since it is theconcepts of the understanding, united with this intuition, which alone makethat knowledge possible which we call experience. Beyond objects of experience,and therefore with regard to things as noumena, all positive knowledge wasrightly disclaimed for speculative reason. This reason, however, went so far asto establish with certainty the concept of noumena; that is, the possibility,naythe necessity, of thinking them; for example, itshowed against all objections that the supposition of freedom, negativelyconsidered, was quite consistent with those principles and limitations of puretheoretic reason. But it could not give us any definite enlargement of ourknowledge with respect to such objects, but, on the contrary, cut off all viewof them altogether.

On the other hand, the moral law, although it gives no view, yet gives us a fact absolutely inexplicable from anydata of the sensible world, and the whole compass of our theoretical use ofreason, a fact which points to a pure world of the understanding, nay, even defines it positively, and enables us to know something of it, namely, alaw.

This law (as far as rational beings are concerned) gives to the world ofsense, which is a sensible system of nature, the form of a world of theunderstanding, that is, of a supersensible system ofnature, without interfering with its mechanism. Now, a system of nature,in the most general sense, is the existence of things under laws. The sensiblenature of rational beings in general is their existence under laws empiricallyconditioned, which, from the point of view of reason, is heteronomy. The supersensible nature of the same beings, onthe other hand, is their existence according to laws which are independent onevery empirical condition, and therefore belong to the autonomy of pure reason. And, since the laws by which theexistence of things depends on cognition are practical, supersensible nature,so far as we can form any notion of it, is nothing else than a system of nature under the autonomy of pure practical reason. Now, the law of this autonomy is the moral law, which, therefore, is thefundamental law of a supersensible nature, and of a pure world ofunderstanding, whose counterpart must exist in the world of sense, but withoutinterfering with its laws. We might call the former the archetypal world ( natura archetypa ),which we only know in the reason; and the latter the ectypal world ( natura ectypa ), because itcontains the possible effect of the idea of the former which is the determiningprinciple of the will. For the moral law, in fact, transfersus ideally into a system in which pure reason, if itwere accompanied with adequate physical power, would produce the summum bonum, and it determines our will to give thesensible world the form of a system of rational beings. [1]

The least attention to oneself proves that this idea really serves as themodel for the determinations of our will.

When the maxim which I am disposed tofollow in giving testimony is tested by the practical reason, I always considerwhat it would be if it were to hold as a universal law of nature. It ismanifest that in this view it would oblige everyone to speak the truth. For itcannot hold as a universal law of nature that statements should be allowed tohave the force of proof, and yet to be purposely untrue. Similarly, the maximwhich I adopt with respect to disposing freely of my life is at oncedetermined, when I ask myself what it should be, in order that a system, ofwhich it is the law, should maintain itself. It is obvious that in such asystem no one could arbitrarily put an end to his ownlife, for such an arrangement would not be a permanent order of things. And soin all similar cases. Now, in nature, as it actually is an object ofexperience, the free will is not of itself determined to maxims which could ofthemselves be the foundation of a natural system of universal laws, or whichcould even be adapted to a system so constituted; on the contrary, its maximsare private inclinations which constitute, indeed, a natural whole inconformity with pathological (physical) laws, but could not form part of asystem of nature, which would only be possible through our will acting inaccordance with pure practical laws. Yet we are, through reason, conscious of alaw to which all our maxims are subject, as though a natural order must beoriginated from our will. This law, therefore, must be the idea of a naturalsystem not given in experience, and yet possible through freedom; a system,therefore, which is supersensible, and to which we give objective reality, atleast in a practical point of view, since we look on it as an object of ourwill as pure rational beings.

Hence the distinction between the laws of a natural system to which the will is subject, and of a natural system which is subject to a will (as far as its relation to its freeactions is concerned)rests on this, that in the former theobjects must be causes of the ideas which determine the will; whereas in thelatter the will is the cause of the objects; so that its causality has itsdetermining principle solely in the pure faculty of reason, which may thereforebe called a pure practical reason.

There are therefore two very distinct problems: how, on theone side, pure reason can cognise objects à priori, and how on the other side it can be an immediate determining principle of the will, that is, of thecausality of the rational being with respect to the reality of objects (throughthe mere thought of the universal validity of its own maxims as laws).

The former, which belongs to the critique of the pure speculative reason,requires a previous explanation, how intuitions, without which no object can begiven, and, therefore, none known synthetically, are possible àpriori; and its solution turns out to be that these are all only sensible,and therefore do not render possible any speculative knowledge which goesfurther than possible experience reaches; and that therefore all the principlesof that pure speculative [1] reason avail only to make experience possible; either experience ofgiven objects or of those that may be given ad infinitum, but never are completely given.

The latter, which belongs to the critique of practical reason, requires noexplanation how the objects of the faculty of desire are possible, for thatbeing a problem of the theoretical knowledge of nature, is left to the critiqueof the speculative reason, but only how reason can determine the maxims of thewill; whether this takes place only by means of empirical ideas as principlesof determination, or whether pure reason can be practical and be the law of apossible order of nature, which is not empirically knowable. The possibility of such a supersensiblesystem of nature, the conception of which canalso be the ground of its reality through our ownfree will, does not require any à priori intuition (of anintelligible world) which, being in this case supersensible, would beimpossible for us. For the question is only as to the determining principle ofvolition in its maxims, namely, whether it is empirical, or is a conception ofthe pure reason (having the legal character belonging to it in general), andhow it can be the latter. It is left to the theoretic principles of reason todecide whether the causality of the will suffices for the realization of theobjects or not, this being an inquiry into the possibility of the objects ofthe volition. Intuition of these objects is therefore of no importance to thepractical problem. We are here concerned only with the determination of thewill and the determining principles of its maxims as a free will, not at allwith the result. For, provided only that the will conformsto the law of pure reason, then let its power in executionbe what it may, whether according to these maxims of legislation of a possiblesystem of nature any such system really results or not, this is no concern ofthe critique, which only inquires whether, and in what way, pure reason can bepractical, that is, directly determine the will.

In this inquiry criticism may and must begin with pure practical laws andtheir reality. But instead of intuition it takes as their foundation theconception of their existence in the intelligible world, namely, the concept offreedom. For this concept has no other meaning, and these laws are onlypossible in relation to freedom of the will; but freedom being supposed, theyare necessary; or conversely, freedom is necessary because those laws arenecessary, being practical postulates. It cannot be further explained how thisconsciousness of the moral law, or, what is the same thing, of freedom, ispossible; but that it is admissible is well established in the theoreticalcritique.

The Exposition ofthe supreme principle of practical reason is now finished; that is to say, ithas been shown first, what it contains, that it subsists for itself quite à priori and independent on empirical principles; andnext, in what it isdistinguished from all other practical principles.With the deduction, that is, the justification of itsobjective and universal validity, and the discernment of the possibility ofsuch a synthetical proposition à priori, we cannot expectto succeed so well as in the case of the principles of pure theoretical reason.For these referred to objects of possible experience, namely, to phenomena, andwe could prove that these phenomena could be known asobjects of experience only by being brought under the categories in accordancewith these laws; and consequently that all possible experience must conform tothese laws. But I could not proceed in this way with the deduction of the morallaw. For this does not concern the knowledge of the properties of objects,which may be given to the reason from some other source; but a knowledge whichcan itself be the ground of the existence of the objects, and by which reasonin a rational being has causality, i. e. pure reason,which can be regarded as a faculty immediately determining the will.

Now all our human insight is at an end as soon as we have arrived atfundamental powers or faculties, for the possibility of these cannot beunderstood by any means, and just as little should it be arbitrarily inventedand assumed. Therefore, in the theoretic use of reason, it is experience alonethat can justify us in assuming them. But this expedient of adducing empiricalproofs, instead of a deduction from à priori sources ofknowledge, is denied us here in respect to the pure practical faculty of reason. For whatever requires to draw the proofof its reality from experience must depend for the grounds of its possibilityon principles of experience; and pure, yet practical, reason by its very notioncannot be regarded as such. Further, the moral law is given as a fact of purereason of which we are à priori conscious, and which isapodictically certain, though it be granted that in experience no example ofits exact fulfilment can be found. Hence, the objective reality of the morallaw cannot be proved by any deduction by any efforts of theoretical reason,whether speculative or empirically supported, and therefore, even if werenounced its apodicticcertainty, it could not be proved àposteriori by experience, and yet it is firmly established of itself.

But instead of this vainly sought deduction of the moral principle,something else is found which was quite unexpected, namely, that this moralprinciple serves conversely as the principle of the deduction of an inscrutablefaculty which no experience could prove, but of which speculative reason wascompelled at least to assume the possibility (in order to find amongst itscosmological ideas the unconditioned in the chain of causality, so as not tocontradict itself)—I mean the faculty of freedom. The moral law, which itselfdoes not require a justification, proves not merely the possibility of freedom,but that it really belongs to beings who recognise this law as binding onthemselves. The moral law is in fact a law of the causality of free agents, andtherefore of the possibility of a supersensible system of nature, just as themetaphysical law of events in the world of sense was a law of causality of thesensible system of nature; and it therefore determines what speculativephilosophy was compelled to leave undetermined, namely, the law for acausality, the concept of which in the latter was only negative; and thereforefor the first time gives this concept objective reality.

This sort of credential of the morallaw, viz. that it is set forth as a principle of the deduction of freedom,which is a causality of pure reason, is a sufficient substitute for all à priori justification, since theoretic reason wascompelled to assume at least the possibility of freedom,in order to satisfy a want of its own. For the moral law proves its reality, soas even to satisfy the critique of the speculative reason, by the fact that itadds a positive definition to a causality previously conceived only negatively,the possibility of which was incomprehensible to speculative reason, which yetwas compelled to suppose it. For it adds the notion of a reason that directlydetermines the will (by imposing on its maxims the condition of a universallegislative form); and thus it is able for the first time to give objective,though only practical, reality to reason, which always became transcendent whenit sought to proceed speculativelywith its ideas. It thus changes the transcendent use of reason into an immanent [1] use (so that reason is itself, by means of ideas, an efficient cause inthe field of experience).

The determination of the causality of beings in the world of sense, as such,can never be unconditioned; and yet for every series of conditions there mustbe something unconditioned, and therefore there must be a causality which isdetermined wholly by itself. Hence, the idea of freedom as a faculty ofabsolute spontaneity was not found to be a want, but as far asits possibility is concerned, an analytic principle of pure speculativereason. But as it is absolutely impossible to find in experience any example inaccordance with this idea, because amongst the causes of things as phenomena,it would be impossible to meet with any absolutely unconditioned determinationof causality, we were only able to defend our supposition that a freely acting cause might be a being in the world of sense, in so far asit is considered in the other point of view as a noumenon , showing that there is no contradictionin regarding all its actions as subject to physical conditions so far as theyare phenomena, and yet regarding its causality as physically unconditioned, inso far as the acting being belongs to the world of understanding, [2] and in thus making the concept of freedom the regulative principle ofreason. By this principle I do not indeed learn what the object is to whichthat sort of causality is attributed; but I remove the difficulty; for, on theone side, in the explanation of events in the world, and consequently also ofthe actions of rational beings, I leave to the mechanism of physical necessitythe right of ascending from conditioned to condition adinfinitum, while on the other side I keep open for speculative reason theplace which for it is vacant, namely, the intelligible, in order to transferthe unconditionedthither. But I was not able to verify this supposition; that is, tochange it into the knowledge of a being so acting, noteven into the knowledge of the possibility of such a being. This vacant placeis now filled by pure practical reason with a definite law of causality in anintelligible world (causality with freedom), namely, the moral law. Speculativereason does not hereby gain anything as regards its insight, but only asregards the certainty of its problematical notion offreedom, which here obtains objective reality, which,though only practical, is nevertheless undoubted. Even the notion ofcausality—the application, and consequently the signification of which holdsproperly only in relation to phenomena, so as to connect them into experiences(as is shown by the critique of pure reason)—is not so enlarged as to extendits use beyond these limits. For if reason sought to do this it would have toshow how the logical relation of principle and consequence can be usedsynthetically in a different sort of intuition from the sensible; that is how a causa noumenon is possible. This it can never do; and, as practicalreason, it does not even concern itself with it, since it only places the determining principle of causality of man as a sensiblecreature (which is given) in pure reason (which istherefore called practical); and therefore it employs the notion of cause, notin order to know objects, but to determine causality in relation to objects ingeneral. It can abstract altogether from the application of this notion toobjects with a view to theoretical knowledge (since this concept is alwaysfound à priori in the understanding, even independently onany intuition). Reason then employs it only for a practical purpose, and hencewe can transfer the determining principle of the will into the intelligibleorder of things, admitting, at the same time, that we cannot understand how thenotion of cause can determine the knowledge of these things. But reason mustcognise causality with respect to the actions of the will in the sensible worldin a definite manner; otherwise, practical reason could not really produce anyaction. But as to the notion which it forms of its own causality as noumenon,it need not determine it theoretically with a view to the cognition of itssupersensible existence, so as to give itsignificance in this way. For it acquires significance apart from this, thoughonly for practical use, namely, through the moral law. Theoretically viewed, itremains always a pure à priori concept of theunderstanding, which can be applied to objects whether they have been givensensibly or not, although in the latter case it has no definite theoreticalsignificance or application, but is only a formal, though essential, conceptionof the understanding relating to an object in general. The significance whichreason gives it through the moral law is merely practical, inasmuch as the ideaof the law of causality (of the will) has self causality, or is its determiningprinciple.

II.: — Of the right that Pure Reason inits practical use has to an extension which is not possible to it in itsspeculative use.

We have in the moral principle set forth a law of causality, the determiningprinciple of which is set above all the conditions of the sensible world; wehave it conceived how the will, as belonging to the intelligible world, isdeterminable, and therefore we have its subject (man) not merely conceived as belonging to a world of pure understanding,and in this respect unknown (which the critique of speculative reason enabledus to do), but also defined as regards his causality bymeans of a law which cannot be reduced to any physical law of the sensibleworld; and therefore our knowledge is extended beyond thelimits of that world, a pretension which the critique of the pure reasondeclared to be futile in all speculation. Now, how is the practical use of purereason here to be reconciled with the theoretical, as to the determination ofthe limits of its faculty?

David Hume, of whom we may say that he commenced theassault on the claims of pure reason, which made a thorough investigation of itnecessary, argued thus: the notion of cause is a notionthat involves the necessity of the connexion of theexistence of different things, and that, in so far as they are different, sothat, given A, I know that something quite distinct therefrom, namely B, mustnecessarily also exist.Now necessity can be attributed to a connexion, onlyin so far as it is known à priori, for experience wouldonly enable us to know of such a connexion that it exists, not that itnecessarily exists. Now, it is impossible, says he, to know àpriori and as necessary the connexion between one thing and another (orbetween one attribute and another quite distinct) when they have not been givenin experience. Therefore the notion of a cause is fictitious and delusive, and,to speak in the mildest way, is an illusion, only excusable inasmuch as the custom (a subjective necessity) ofperceiving certain things, or their attributes as often associated in existencealong with or in succession to one another, is insensibly taken for anobjective necessity of supposing such a connexion in the objects themselves,and thus the notion of a cause has been acquired surreptitiously and notlegitimately; nay, it can never be so acquired or authenticated, since itdemands a connexion in itself vain, chimerical, and untenable in presence ofreason, and to which no object can ever correspond. In this way was empiricism first introduced as the sole source ofprinciples, as far as all knowledge of the existence of things is concerned(mathematics therefore remaining excepted); and with empiricism the mostthorough scepticism, even with regard to the whole science of nature (asphilosophy). For on such principles we can never conclude from givingattributes of things as existing to a consequence (for this would require thenotion of cause, which involves the necessity of such a connexion); we canonly, guided by imagination, except similar cases—an expectation which is nevercertain, however often it has been fulfilled. Of no event could we say: acertain thing must have preceded it, on which it necessarily followed; that is, it must have a cause; andtherefore, however frequent the cases we have known in which there was such anantecedent, so that a rule could be derived from them, yet we never couldsuppose it as always and necessarily so happening; we should, therefore, beobliged to leave its share to blind chance, with which all use of reason comesto an end; and this firmly establishes scepticism in reference to argumentsascending from effects to causes, and makes it impregnable.

Mathematics escaped well, so far, because Hume thoughtthat its propositions were analytical; that is, proceeded from one property toanother, by virtue of identity, and consequently according to the principle ofcontradiction. This, however, is not the case, since, on the contrary, they aresynthetical; and although geometry, for example, has not to do with theexistence of things, but only with their à priori properties in a possible intuition, yet it proceeds just as in the case of thecausal notion, from one property (A) to another wholly distinct (B), asnecessarily connected with the former. Nevertheless, mathematical science, sohighly vaunted for its apodictic certainty, must at last fall under this empiricism for the same reason for which Hume put custom in the place of objective necessity in thenotion of cause, and in spite of all its pride must consent to lower its boldpretention of claiming assent à priori, and depend forassent to the universality of its propositions on the kindness of observers,who, when called as witnesses, would surely not hesitate to admit that what thegeometer propounds as a theorem they have always perceived to be the fact, and,consequently, although it be not necessarily true, yet they would permit us toexpect it to be true in the future. In this manner Hume’s empiricism leads inevitably to scepticism, even with regardto mathematics, and consequently inevery scientific theoretical use of reason (for this belongs either tophilosophy or mathematics). Whether with such a terrible overthrow of the chiefbranches of knowledge common reason will escape better, and will not ratherbecome irrecoverably involved in this destruction of all knowledge, so thatfrom the same principles a universal scepticism shouldfollow (affecting, indeed, only the learned), this I will leave everyone tojudge for himself.

As regards my own labours in the critical examination of pure reason, whichwere occasioned by Hume’s sceptical teaching, but wentmuch farther, and embraced the whole field of pure theoretical reason in itssynthetic use, and, consequently, the field of what is called metaphysics ingeneral; I proceeded in the following manner with respect to the doubts raisedbythe Scottish philosopher touching the notion ofcausality. If Hume took the objects of experience for things in themselves (as is almost always done), he wasquite right in declaring the notion of cause to be a deception and falseillusion; for as to things in themselves, and their attributes as such, it isimpossible to see why because A is given, B, which is different, mustnecessarily be also given, and therefore he could by no means admit such an à priori knowledge of things in themselves. Still lesscould this acute writer allow an empirical origin of this concept, since thisis directly contradictory to the necessity of connexion which constitutes theessence of the notion of causality; hence the notion was proscribed, and in itsplace was put custom in the observation of the course of perceptions.

It resulted, however, from my inquiries, that the objects with which we haveto do in experienceare by no means things in themselves,but merely phenomena; and that although in the case of things in themselves itis impossible to see how, if A is supposed, it should be contradictory that B,which is quite different from A, should not also be supposed ( i. e. to see the necessity of the connexion between A as causeand B as effect); yet it can very well be conceived that, as phenomena, theymay be necessarily connected in one experience in acertain way ( e. g. with regard to time-relations); so thatthey could not be separated without contradicting that connexion, by means ofwhich this experience is possible in which they are objects, and in which alonethey are cognisable by us. And so it was found to be in fact; so that I wasable not only to prove the objective reality of the concept of cause in regardto objects of experience, but also to deduce it as an à priori concept by reason of the necessity of theconnexion it implied; that is, to show the possibility of its origin from pureunderstanding without any empirical sources; and thus, after removing thesource of empiricism, I was able also to overthrow the inevitable consequenceof this, namely, scepticism, first with regard to physical science, and thenwith regard to mathematics (in which empiricism has just the same grounds),bothbeing sciences which have reference to objects ofpossible experience; herewith overthrowing the thorough doubt of whatevertheoretic reason professes to discern.

But how is it with the application of this category of causality (and allthe others; for without them there can be no knowledge of anything existing) tothings which are not objects of possible experience, but lie beyond its bounds?For I was able to deduce the objective reality of these concepts only withregard to objects of possible experience . But even this very fact, that I havesaved them, only in case I have proved that objects may by means of them bethought, though not determined à priori; this it is thatgives them a place in the pure understanding, by which they are referred toobjects in general (sensible or not sensible). If anything is still wanting, itis that which is the condition of the application of thesecategories, and especially that of causality, to objects, namely, intuition;for where this is not given, the application with a view totheoretic knowledge of the object, as a noumenon, is impossible; andtherefore if anyone ventures on it, is (as in the critique of the pure reason)absolutely forbidden. Still, the objective reality of the concept (ofcausality) remains, and it can be used even of noumena, but without our beingable in the least to define the concept theoretically so as to produceknowledge. For that this concept, even in reference to an object, containsnothing impossible, was shown by this, that even while applied to objects ofsense, its seat was certainly fixed in the pure understanding; and although,when referred to things in themselves (which cannot be objects of experience),it is not capable of being determined so as to represent a definite object for the purpose of theoretic knowledge; yetfor any other purpose (for instance a practical) it might be capable of beingdetermined so as to have such application. This could not be the case if, as Hume maintained, this concept of causality containedsomething absolutely impossible to be thought.

In order now to discover this condition of the application of the saidconcept to noumena, we need only recall why we are not content with itsapplication to objects of experience, butdesire also to apply it to things in themselves. Itwill appear, then, that it is not a theoretic but a practical purposethat makes this a necessity. Inspeculation, even if we were successful in it, we should not really gainanything in the knowledge of nature, or generally with regard to such objectsas are given, but we should make a wide step from the sensibly conditioned (inwhich we have already enough to do to maintain ourselves, and to followcarefully the chain of causes) to the supersensible, in order to complete ourknowledge of principles and to fix its limits: whereas there always remains aninfinite chasm unfilled between those limits and what we know: and we shouldhave hearkened to a vain curiosity rather than a solid desire of knowledge.

But, besides the relation in which the understanding stands to objects (in theoretical knowledge), it has also a relation to thefaculty of desire, which is therefore called the will, and the pure will,inasmuch as pure understanding (in this case called reason) is practicalthrough the mere conception of a law. The objective reality of a pure will, or,what is the same thing, of a pure practical reason, is given in the moral law à priori, as it were, by a fact, for so we may name adetermination of the will which is inevitable, although it does not rest onempirical principles. Now, in the notion of a will the notion of causality isalready contained, and hence the notion of a pure will contains that of acausality accompanied with freedom, that is, one which is not determinable byphysical laws, and consequently is not capable of any empirical intuition inproof of its reality, but, nevertheless, completely justifies its objectivereality à priori in the pure practical law; not, indeed(as is easily seen) for the purposes of the theoretical, but of the practicaluse of reason. Now the notion of a being that has free will is the notion of a causa noumenon, and that this notion involves nocontradictionwe are already assured by the fact—thatinasmuch as the concept of cause has arisen wholly from pure understanding, andhas its objective reality assured by the Deduction, as it is moreover in itsorigin independent on any sensible conditions, it is, therefore, not restrictedto phenomena (unless we wantedto make a definite theoretic use of it), but can beapplied equally to things that are objects of the pure understanding. But,since this application cannot rest on any intuition (for intuition can only besensible), therefore, causa noumenon, as regards thetheoretic use of reason, although a possible and thinkable, is yet an emptynotion. Now, I do not desire by means of this to understandtheoretically the nature of a being, in so far as ithas a pure will; it is enough for me to have therebydesignated it as such, and hence to combine the notion of causality with thatof freedom (and what is inseparable from it, the moral law, as its determiningprinciple). Now this right I certainly have by virtue of the pure,not-empirical, origin of the notion of cause, since I do not consider myselfentitled to make any use of it except in reference to the moral law whichdetermines its reality, that is, only a practical use.

If, with Hume, I had denied to the notion of causalityall objective reality in its [theoretic [1] ] use, not merely with regard to things in themselves the(supersensible), but also with regard to the objects of the senses, it wouldhave lost all significance, and being a theoretically impossible notion wouldhave been declared to be quite useless; and since what is nothing cannot bemade any use of, the practical use of a concept theoreticallynull would have been absurd. But, as it is, the concept of a causalityfree from empirical conditions, although empty ( i. e. without any appropriate intuition), is yet theoretically possible, and refers to an indeterminate object,but in compensation significance is given to it in the moral law, andconsequently in a practical sense. I have, indeed, no intuition which shoulddetermine its objective theoretic reality, but not the less it has a realapplication, which is exhibited in concreto in intentionsor maxims; that is, it has a practical reality which can be specified, and thisis sufficient to justify it even with a view to noumena.

Now, this objective reality of a pure concept of the understanding in thesphere of the supersensible, once brought in,gives an objective reality also to all the othercategories, although only so far as they stand in necessary connexion with the determining principle of the will(the moral law); a reality only of practical application, which has not theleast effect in enlarging our theoretical knowledge of these objects, or thediscernment of their nature by pure reason. So we shall find also in the sequelthat these categories refer only to beings as intelligences, and in them only to the relation of reason to the will; consequently,always only to the practical, and beyond this cannotpretend to any knowledge of these beings; and whatever other propertiesbelonging to the theoretical representation of supersensible things may bebrought into connexion with these categories, this is not to be reckoned asknowledge, but only as a right (in a practical point of view, however, it is anecessity) to admit and assume such beings, even in the case where we [conceive [1] ] supersensible beings ( e. g. God) according toanalogy, that is, a purely rational relation, of which we make a practical usewith reference to what is sensible; and thus the application to thesupersensible solely in a practical point of view does not give pure theoreticreason the least encouragement to run riot into the transcendent.

CHAPTER II.: of the concept of an object of purepractical reason.

BY a concept of the practical reason Iunderstand the idea of an object as an effect possible to be produced throughfreedom. To be an object of practical knowledge, as such, signifies, therefore,only the relation of the will to the action by which the object or its oppositewould be realized; and to decide whether something is an object of pure practical reason or not, is only to discern thepossibility or impossibility of willing the action bywhich, if we had the required power (about which experience must decide), acertain object would be realized. If the object be taken as the determiningprinciple of our desire, it must first be known whether it is physically possible by the free use of our powers, before wedecide whether it is an object of practical reason or not. On the other hand,if the law can be considered à priori as the determiningprinciple of the action, and the latter therefore as determined by purepractical reason; the judgment, whether a thingis an object of pure practical reason ornot does not depend at all on the comparison with our physical power; and thequestion is only whether we should will an action that isdirected to the existence of an object, if the object were in our power; hencethe previous question is only as to the moral possibility of the action, for in this case it is not the object, but the law of the will,that is the determining principle of the action. The only objects of practicalreason are therefore those of good and evil. For by the former is meant an object necessarily desiredaccording to a principle of reason; by the latter one necessarily shunned, alsoaccording to a principle of reason.

If the notion of good is not to be derived from an antecedentpractical law, but, on the contrary, is to serve asits foundation, it can only be the notion of something whose existence promisespleasure, and thus determines the causality of the subject to produce it, thatis to say, determines the faculty of desire. Now, since it is impossible todiscern à priori what idea will be accompanied with pleasure, and what with pain, it willdepend on experience alone to find out what is primarily [1] good or evil. The property of the subject, with reference to whichalone this experiment can be made, is the feeling ofpleasure and pain, a receptivity belonging to the internal sense; thus thatonly would be primarily good with which the sensation of pleasure is immediately connected, and that simply evil whichimmediately excites pain. Since, however, this is opposedeven to the usage of language, which distinguishes the pleasant from the good, the unpleasant from the evil, andrequires that good and evil shall always be judged by reason, and, therefore,by concepts which can be communicated to everyone, and not by mere sensation,which is limited to individual subjects [2] and their susceptibility; and, since nevertheless, pleasure orpain cannot be connected with any idea of an object àpriori, the philosopher who thought himself obliged to make a feeling ofpleasure the foundation of his practical judgments would call that good which is a means to thepleasant, and evil what is a cause of unpleasantness andpain; for the judgment on the relation of means to ends certainly belongs toreason. But, although reason is alone capable of discerning the connexion ofmeans with their ends (so that the will might even be defined as the faculty ofends, since these are always determining principles of the desires), yet thepractical maxims which would follow from the aforesaid principle of the goodbeing merely a means, would never contain as the object of the will anythinggood in itself, but only something good for something; thegood would always be merely the useful, and that for which it isuseful must always lie outside the will, insensation. Now if this as a pleasant sensation were to be distinguished fromthe notion of good, then there would be nothing primarily good at all, but thegood would have to be sought only in the means to something else, namely, somepleasantness.

It is an old formula of the schools: Nihil appetimus nisisub ratione boni; Nihil aversamur nisi sub ratione mali, and it is usedoften correctly, but often also in a manner injurious to philosophy, becausethe expressions boni and mali areambiguous, owing to the poverty of language, in consequence of which they admita double sense, and, therefore, inevitably bring the practical laws intoambiguity; and philosophy, which in employing them becomes aware of thedifferent meanings in the same word, but can find no special expressions forthem, is driven to subtile distinctions about which there is subsequently nounanimity, because the distinctioncould not be directly marked by anysuitable expression. [1]

The German language has the good fortune to possess expressions which do notallow this difference to be overlooked. It possesses two very distinctconcepts, and especially distinct expressions, for that which the Latinsexpress by a single word, bonum. For bonum it has “das Gute” [good], and “das Wohl” [well, weal],for malum “das Böse” [evil], and “das Übel” [ill, bad], or“das Weh” [woe]. So that we express two quite distinct judgments when weconsider in an action the good and evil of it, or our weal and woe (ill). Hence it already follows that the above quotedpsychological proposition is at least very doubtful if it is translated; “wedesire nothing except with a view to our weal or woe ”; on the other hand, ifwe render it thus: “under the direction of reason wedesire nothing except so far as we esteem it good or evil,” it is indubitablycertain, and at the same time quite clearly expressed. [1]

Well or ill always implies only areference to our condition, as pleasant or unpleasant, as one of pleasure or pain, and if we desire oravoid an object on this account, it is only so far as it is referred to oursensibility and to the feeling of pleasure or pain that it produces. But good or evil always implies areference to the will, as determined by the law of reason, to make something its object; for it is never determined directly bythe object and the idea of it, but is a faculty of taking a rule of reason forthe motive of an action (by which an object may be realized). Good and eviltherefore are properly referred to actions, not to the sensations of theperson, and if anything is to be good or evil absolutely ( i.e. in every respect and without any further condition), or is to be soesteemed, it can only be the manner of acting, the maxim of the will, andconsequently the acting person himself as a good or evil man that can be socalled, and not a thing.

However, then, men may laugh at the Stoic, who in the severest paroxysms ofgout cried out: Pain, however thou tormentest me, I will never admit that thouart an evil (κακόν, malum ): he was right. A bad thing itcertainly was, and his cry betrayed that; but that any evil attached to himthereby, this he had no reason whatever to admit, for pain did not in the leastdiminish the worth of his person, but only that of his condition. If he hadbeen conscious of a single lie it wouldhave lowered his pride, but pain served only toraise it, when he was conscious that he had not deserved it by any unrighteousaction by which he had rendered himself worthy of punishment.

What we call good must be an object of desire in the judgment of everyrational man, and evil an object of aversion in the eyes of everyone;therefore, in addition to sense, this judgment requires reason. So it is withtruthfulness, as opposed to lying; so with justice, as opposed to violence,c. But we may call a thing a bad [or ill] thing, which yet everyone mustat the same time acknowledge to be good, sometimes directly, sometimesindirectly. The man who submits to a surgicaloperation feels it no doubt as a bad [ill] thing, but by their reason he andeveryone acknowledge it to be good. If a man who delights in annoying andvexing peaceable people at last receives a right good beating, this is no doubta bad [ill] thing, but everyone approves it and regards it as a good thing,even though nothing else resulted from it; nay, even the man who receives itmust in his reason acknowledge that he has met justice, because he sees theproportion between good conduct and good fortune, which reason inevitablyplaces before him, here put into practice.

No doubt our weal and woe are of very great importancein the estimation of our practical reason, and as far as our nature as sensiblebeings is concerned, our happiness is the only thing of consequence, provided it is estimated as reason especiallyrequires, not by the transitory sensation, but by the influence that this hason our whole existence, and on our satisfaction therewith; but it is not absolutely the only thing of consequence. Man is a beingwho, as belonging to the world of sense, has wants, and so far his reason hasan office which it cannot refuse, namely, to attend to the interest of hissensible nature, and to form practical maxims, even with a view to thehappiness of this life, and if possible even to that of a future. But he is notso completely an animal as to be indifferent to what reason says on its ownaccount, and to use it merely as an instrument for the satisfaction of hiswants as a sensible being.For the possession of reason would not raise hisworth above that of the brutes, if it is observe serve him only for the samepurpose that instinct serves in them; it would in that case be only aparticular method which nature had employed to equip man for the same endsfor which it has qualified brutes,without qualifying him for any higher purpose. No doubt once this arrangementof nature has been made for him he requires reason in order to take intoconsideration his weal and woe, but besides this he possesses it for a higherpurpose also, namely, not only to take into consideration what is good or evilin itself, about which only pure reason, uninfluenced by any sensible interest,can judge, but also to distinguish this estimate thoroughly from the former,and to make it the supreme condition thereof.

In estimating what is good or evil in itself, as distinguished from what canbe so called only relatively, the following points are to be considered. Eithera rational principle is already conceived, as of itself the determiningprinciple of the will, without regard to possible objects of desire (andtherefore by the mere legislative form of the maxim), and in that case thatprinciple is a practical à priori law, and pure reason issupposed to be practical of itself. The law in that case determines the willdirectly; the action conformed to it is good in itself; awill whose maxim always conforms to this law is good absolutelyin every respect, and is the supreme condition of allgood. Or the maxim of the will is consequent on a determining principle ofdesire which presupposes an object of pleasure or pain, something thereforethat pleases or displeases, and themaxim of reason that we should pursue the former and avoid the latterdetermines our actions as good relatively to our inclination, that is, goodindirectly ( i. e. relatively to a different end to whichthey are means), and in that case these maxims can never be called laws, butmay be called rational practical precepts. The end itself, the pleasure that weseek, is in the latter case not a good but a welfare; not a concept of reason, but an empirical concept of an objectof sensation; but the use of the means thereto, that is, the action, isnevertheless called good (because rational deliberation is required for it),not howevergood absolutely, but only relatively to our sensuousnature, with regard to its feelings of pleasure and displeasure; but the willwhose maxim is affected thereby is not a pure will; this is directed only tothat in which pure reason by itself can be practical.

This is the proper place to explain the paradox of method in a critique ofPractical Reason, namely, that the concept of good and evilmust not be determined before the moral law ( of which itseems as if it must be the foundation ), but only after itand by means of it. In fact even if we did not know that the principle ofmorality is a pure à priori law determining the will, yet,that we may not assume principles quite gratuitously, we must, at least atfirst, leave it undecided, whether the will has merelyempirical principles of determination, or whether it has not also pure à priori principles; for it is contrary to all rules ofphilosophical method to assume as decided that which is the very point inquestion. Supposing that we wished to begin with the concept of good, in orderto deduce from it the laws of the will, then this concept of an object (as agood) would at the same time assign to us this object as the sole determiningprinciple of the will. Now, since this concept had not any practical à priori law for its standard, the criterion of good orevil could not be placed in anything but the agreement of the object with ourfeeling of pleasure or pain; and the use of reason could only consist indetermining in the first place this pleasure or pain in connexion with all thesensations of my existence, and in the second place the means of securing tomyself the object of the pleasure. Now, as experience alone can decidewhat conforms to the feeling of pleasure, and by hypothesis the practical lawis to be based on this as a condition, it follows that the possibility of à priori practical laws would be at once excluded, becauseit was imagined to be necessary first of all to find an object the concept ofwhich, as a good, should constitute the universal though empirical principle ofdetermination of the will. But what it was necessary to inquire first of allwas whether there is not an à priori determining principleof the will (and this could never be found anywhere but in a purepractical law, in so far as this law prescribes tomaxims merely their form without regard to an object). Since, however, we laidthe foundation of all practical law in an object determined by our conceptionsof good and evil, whereas without a previous law that object could only beconceived by empirical concepts, we have deprived ourselves beforehand of thepossibility of even conceiving a pure practical law. On the other hand, if wehad first investigated the latter analytically, we should have found that it isnot the concept of good as an object that determines the moral law, and makesit possible, but that, on the contrary, it is the moral law that firstdetermines the concept of good, and makes it possible, so far as it deservesthe name of good absolutely.

This remark, which only concerns the method of ultimate Ethical inquiries,is of importance. It explains at once the occasion of all the mistakes ofphilosophers with respect to the supreme principle of morals. For they soughtfor an object of the will which they could make the matter and principle of alaw (which consequently could not determine the will directly but by means ofthat object referred to the feeling of pleasure or pain; whereas they ought first to havesearched for a law that would determine the will à priori and directly, and afterwards determine the object in accordance with the will).Now, whether they placed this object of pleasure, which was to supply thesupreme conception of goodness, in happiness, in perfection, in moral [feeling [1] ], or in the will of God, their principle in every case impliedheteronomy, and they must inevitably come upon empirical conditions of a morallaw, since their object, which was to be the immediate principle of the will,could not be called good or bad except in its immediate relation to feeling,which is always empirical. It is only a formal law—that is, one whichprescribes to reason nothing more than the form of its universal legislation asthe supreme condition of its maxims—that can be à priori adeterminingprinciple of practical reason. The ancients avowedthis error without concealment by directing all their moral inquiries to thedetermination of the notion of the summum bonum, whichthey intended afterwards to make the determining principle of the will in themoral law; whereas it is only far later, when the moral law has been firstestablished for itself, and shown to be the direct determining principle of thewill, that this object can be presented to the will, whose form is nowdetermined à priori; and this we shall undertake in theDialectic of the pure practical reason. The moderns, with whom the question ofthe summum bonum has gone out of fashion, or at leastseems to have become a secondary matter, hide the same error under vagueexpressions (as in many other cases). It shows itself, nevertheless, in theirsystems, as it always produces heteronomy of practical reason; and from thiscan never be derived a moral law giving universal commands.

Now, since the notions of good and evil,as consequences of the à priori determination of the will,imply also a pure practical principle, and therefore a causality of purereason; hence they do not originally refer to objects (so as to be, forinstance, special modes of the synthetic unity of the manifold of givenintuitions in one consciousness [1] ) like the pure concepts of the understanding or categories of reason inits theoretic employment; on the contrary, they presuppose that objects aregiven; but they are all modes ( modi ) of a single category,namely, that of causality, the determining principle of which consists in therational conception of a law, which as a law of freedom reason gives to itself,thereby à priori proving itself practical. However, as theactions on the one side come under a law which is not aphysical law, but a law of freedom, and consequently belong to the conduct ofbeings in the world of intelligence, yet on the other side as events in the world of sense they belong to phenomena; hence thedeterminations of a practical reason are only possible inreference to the latter, and therefore in accordancewith the categories of the understanding; not indeed with a view to anytheoretic employment of it, i.e. so as to bring themanifold of (sensible) intuition under one consciousness à priori; but only to subject the manifold of desires to the unity of consciousness of a practicalreason, giving it commands in the moral law, i. e. to apure will à priori.

These categories of freedom —for so we choose to callthem in contrast to those theoretic categories which are categories of physicalnature—have an obvious advantage over the latter, inasmuch as the latter areonly forms of thought which designate objects in an indefinite manner by meansof universal concepts for every possible intuition; the former, on thecontrary, refer to the determination of a free electivewill (to which indeed no exactly corresponding intuition can be assigned, but which has as its foundation a purepractical à priori law, which is not the case with anyconcepts belonging to the theoretic use of our cognitive faculties); hence,instead of the form of intuition (space and time), which does not lie in reasonitself, but has to be drawn from another source, namely, the sensibility, thesebeing elementary practical concepts have as their foundation the form of a pure will, which is given in reason, andtherefore in the thinking faculty itself. From this it happens that as allprecepts of pure practical reason have to do only with the determination of the will, not with the physical conditions(of practical ability) of the execution of one’s purpose, the practical à priori principles in relation to thesupreme principle of freedom are at once cognitions, and have not to wait forintuitions in order to acquire significance, and that for this remarkablereason, because they themselves produce the reality of that to which they refer(the intention of the will), which is not the case with theoretical concepts.Only we must be careful to observe that these categories only apply to thepractical reason; and thus they proceed in order from those which are as yetsubject to sensible conditions and morally indeterminate to those which arefree from sensible conditions, and determined merely by the moral law.

- Table of the Categoriesof Freedom relatively to the Notions of Good and Evil.

- I. —QUANTITY.
Subjective, according to maxims ( practical opinions ofthe individual).

Objective, according to principles ( precepts ).

A priori both objective and subjective principles offreedom ( laws ).

- II. —QUALITY.
Practical rules of action ( præceptivæ ).

Practical rules of omission ( prohibitivæ ).

Practical rules of exceptions ( exceptivæ ).

- III. —RELATION.
To personality.

To the condition of the person.

Reciprocal, of one person to the condition of theothers.

- IV. —MODALITY.
The permitted and the forbidden.

Duty and the contrary to duty.

Perfect and imperfectduty.

It will at once be observed that in thistable freedom is considered as a sort of causality not subject to empiricalprinciples of determination, in regard to actions possible by it, which arephenomena in the world of sense, and that consequently it is referred to thecategories which concern its physical possibility, whilst yet each category istaken so universally that the determining principle of that causality can beplaced outside the world of sense in freedom as a property of a being in theworld of intelligence; and finally the categories of modality introduce thetransition from practical principles generally to those of morality, but only problematically. These can be established dogmatically only by the moral law.

I add nothing further here in explanation of the present table, since it isintelligible enough of itself. A division of this kind based on principles isvery useful in any science, both for the sake of thoroughness andintelligibility. Thus, for instance, we know from the preceding table and itsfirst number what wemust begin from in practical inquiries, namely, fromthe maxims which everyone founds on his own inclinations; the precepts whichhold for a species of rational beings so far as they agree in certaininclinations; and finally the law which holds for all without regard to theirinclinations, c. In this way we survey the whole plan of what has to bedone, every question of practical philosophy that has to be answered, and alsothe order that is to be followed.

Of the Typic of the Pure PracticalJudgment.

It is the notions of good and evil that first determine an object of thewill. They themselves, however, are subject to a practical rule ofreason, which, if it is pure reason, determines the will àpriori relatively to its object. Now, whether an action which is possibleto us in the world of sense, comes under the rule or not, is a question to bedecided by the practical Judgment, by which what is said in the ruleuniversally ( in abstracto ) is applied to an action in concreto. But since a practical rule of pure reason in the first place as practical concerns the existence of an object, and in the secondplace as a practical rule of pure reason, impliesnecessity as regards the existence of the action, and therefore is a practicallaw, not a physical law depending on empirical principles of determination, buta law of freedom by which the will is to be determined independently onanything empirical (merely by the conception of a law and its form), whereasall instances that can occur of possible actions can only be empirical, thatis, belong to the experience of physical nature; hence, it seems absurd toexpect to find in the world of sense a case which, while as such it dependsonly on the law of nature, yet admits of the application to it of a law offreedom, and to which we can apply the supersensible idea of the morally goodwhich is to be exhibited in it in concreto. Thus, theJudgment of the pure practical reason is subject to the same difficulties asthat of the pure theoretical reason. The latter, however, had means at hand ofescaping from these difficulties, because, in regard to the theoreticalemployment, intuitions were required to which pureconcepts of the understanding could be applied, and such intuitions (thoughonly of objects of the senses) can be given à priori, andtherefore, as far as regards the union of the manifold in them, conforming tothe pure à priori concepts of the understanding as schemata. On the other hand, the morally good is somethingwhose object is supersensible; for which, therefore, nothing corresponding canbe found in any sensible intuition. Judgment depending on laws of purepractical reason seems, therefore, to be subject to special difficultiesarising from this, that a law of freedom is to be applied to actions, which areevents taking place in the world of sense, and which, so far, belong tophysical nature.

But here again is opened a favourable prospect for the pure practicalJudgment. When I subsume under a pure practical law anaction possible to me in the world of sense, I am not concerned with thepossibility of the action as an event in the world ofsense. This is a matter that belongs to the decision of reason in its theoreticuse according to the law of causality, which is a pure concept of theunderstanding, for which reason has a schema in thesensible intution. Physical causality, or the condition under which it takesplace, belongs to the physical concepts, the schema of which is sketched bytranscendental imagination. Here, however, we have to do, not with the schemaof a case that occurs according to laws, but with the schema of a law itself(if the word is allowable here), since the fact that the will (not the actionrelatively to its effect) is determined by the law alone without any otherprinciple, connects the notion of causality with quite different conditionsfrom those which constitute physical connexion.

The physical law being a law to which the objects of sensible intuition, assuch, are subject, must have a schema corresponding to it—that is, a generalprocedure of the imagination (by which it exhibits àpriori to the senses the pure concept of the understanding which the lawdetermines). But the law of freedom (that is, of a causality not subject tosensible conditions), and consequently the concept of the unconditionallygood, cannot have any intuition, nor consequentlyany schema supplied to it for the purpose of its application inconcreto. Consequently the moral law has no facultybut the understanding to aid itsapplication to physical objects (not the imagination); and the understandingfor the purposes of the Judgment can provide for an idea of the reason, not a schema of the sensibility, but a law, though only as toits form as law; such a law, however, as can be exhibited inconcreto in objects of the senses, and therefore a law of nature. We cantherefore call this law the Type of the moral law.

The rule of the Judgment according to laws of pure practical reason is this:ask yourself whether, if the action you propose were to take place by a law ofthe system of nature of which you were yourself a part, you could regard it aspossible by your own will. Everyone does, in fact, decide by this rule whetheractions are morally good or evil. Thus, people say: If everyone permitted himself to deceive, when he thought it tohis advantage; or thought himself justified in shortening his life as soon ashe was thoroughly weary of it; or looked with perfect indifference on thenecessity of others; and if you belonged to such an order of things, would youdo so with the assent of your own will? Now everyone knows well that if hesecretly allows himself to deceive, it does not follow that everyone else doesso; or if, unobserved, he is destitute of compassion, others would notnecessarily be so to him; hence, this comparison of the maxim of his actionswith a universal law of nature is not the determining principle of his will.Such a law is, nevertheless, a type of the estimation ofthe maxim on moral principles. If the maxim of the action is not such as tostand the test of the form of a universal law of nature, then it is morallyimpossible. This is the judgment even of common sense; for its ordinaryjudgments, even those of experience, are always based on the law of nature. Ithas it therefore always at hand, only that in caseswhere causality fromfreedom is to be criticised, it makes that law ofnature only the type of a law of freedom, becausewithout something which it could use as an example in a case of experience, itcould notgive the law of a pure practical reason its properuse in practice.

It is therefore allowable to use the system of the world ofsense as the type of a supersensiblesystem of things, provided I do not transfer to the latter the intuitions,and what depends on them, but merely apply to it the form of law in general (the notion of which occurs even in the[commonest] [1] use of reason, but cannot be definitely known àpriori for any other purpose than the pure practical use of reason); forlaws, as such, are so far identical, no matter from what they derive theirdetermining principles.

Further, since of all the supersensible absolutely nothing [is known] exceptfreedom (through the moral law), and this only so far as it is inseparablyimplied in that law, and moreover all supersensible objects to which reasonmight lead us, following the guidance of that law, have still no reality forus, except for the purpose of that law, and for the use of mere practicalreason; and as Reason is authorized and even compelled to use physical nature(in its pure form as an object of the understanding) as the type of theJudgment; hence, the present remark will serve to guard against reckoningamongst concepts themselves that which belongs only to the typic of concepts. This, namely, as a typic of the Judgment,guards against the empiricism of practical reason, whichfounds the practical notions of good and evil merely on experiencedconsequences (so called happiness). No doubt happiness and the infiniteadvantages which would result from a will determined by self-love, if this willat the same time erected itself into a universal law of nature, may certainly serve as a perfectlysuitable type for the morally Good, but it is not identical with it. The sametypic guards also against the mysticism of practicalreason, which turns what served only as a symbol into a schema, that is, proposes to provide for the moralconcepts actual intuitions, which, however, are not sensible (intuitions of aninvisible Kingdom of God), and thus plunges into the transcendent.What is befitting the use of the moral concepts isonly the rationalism of the Judgment, which takes from thesensible system of nature only what pure reason can also conceive of itself,that is, conformity to law, and transfers into the supersensible nothing butwhat can conversely be actually exhibited by actions in the world of senseaccording to the formal rule of a law of nature. However, the caution against empiricism of practical reason is much more important; for [1] mysticism is quite reconcilable with the purityand sublimity of the moral law, and, besides, it is not very natural oragreeable to common habits of thought to strain one’s imagination tosupersensible intuitions; and hence the danger on this side is not so general.Empiricism, on the contrary, cuts up at the roots the morality of intentions(in which, and not in actions only, consists the high worth that men can andought to give to themselves), and substitutes for duty something quitedifferent, namely, an empirical interest, with which the inclinations generallyare secretly leagued; and empiricism, moreover, being on this account alliedwith all the inclinations which (no matter what fashion they put on) degradehumanity when they are raised to the dignity of a supreme practical principle;and as these nevertheless are so favourable to everyone’s feelings, it is forthat reason much more dangerous than mysticism, which can never constitute alasting condition of any great number of persons.

CHAPTER III.: of the motives of pure practicalreason.

WHAT is essential in the moral worth ofactions is that the moral law should directly determine thewill. If the determination of the will takes place in conformity indeed tothe moral law, but only by means of a feeling, no matter of what kind, whichhas to be presupposed in order that the law may be sufficient to determine thewill, and therefore not for the sake of the law, then theaction will possess legality but not morality. Now, if we understand by motive [or spring ] ( elater animi ) thesubjective ground of determination of the will of a being whose Reason does notnecessarily conform to the objective law, by virtue of its own nature, then itwill follow, first, that no motives can be attributed to the Divine will, andthat the motives of the human will (as well as that of every created rationalbeing) can never be anything else than the moral law, and consequently that theobjective principle of determination must always and alone be also thesubjectively sufficient determining principle of the action, if this is not merely to fulfil the letter of the law, without containing its spirit. [1]

Since, then, for the purpose of giving the moral law influence over thewill, we must not seek for any other motives that might enable us to dispensewith the motive of the law itself, because that would produce mere hypocrisy,without consistency; and it is even dangerous to allowother motives (for instance, that of interest) even to co-operate along with the moral law; hence nothing is left us but todetermine carefullyin what way the moral law becomes a motive, and whateffect this has upon the faculty of desire. For as to the question how a lawcan be directly and of itself a determining principle of the will (which is theessence of morality), this is, for human reason, an insoluble problem andidentical with the question: how a free will is possible. Therefore what wehave to show à priori is, not why the moral law in itselfsupplies a motive, but what effect it, as such, produces (or, more correctlyspeaking, must produce) on the mind.

The essential point in every determination of the will by the moral law isthat being a free will it is determined simply by the moral law, not onlywithout the co-operation of sensible impulses, but even to the rejection of allsuch, and to the checking of all inclinations so far as they might be opposedto that law. So far, then, the effect of the moral law as a motive is onlynegative, and this motive can be known à priori to besuch. For all inclination and every sensible impulse is founded on feeling, andthe negative effectproduced on feeling (by the check on theinclinations) is itself feeling; consequently, we can see àpriori that the moral law, as a determining principle of the will, must bythwarting all our inclinations produce a feeling which may be called pain; andin this we have the first, perhaps the only instance, in which we are able from à priori considerations to determine the relation of acognition (in this case of pure practical reason) to the feeling of pleasure ordispleasure. All the inclinations together (which can be reduced to a tolerablesystem, in which case their satisfaction is called happiness) constitute self-regard ( solipsismus ). This iseither the self-love that consists in an excessive fondness for oneself ( philautia ), orsatisfaction with oneself ( arrogantia ). The former iscalled particularly selfishness; the latter self-conceit. Pure practical reason only checks selfishness, looking on it as natural and active in useven prior to the moral law, so far as to limit it to the condition ofagreement with this law, and then it is called rationalself-love. But self-conceit Reason strikes down altogether, since all claims to self-esteem which precede agreement with themoral law are vain and unjustifiable,for the certainty of a state of mind that coincideswith this law is the first condition of personal worth (as we shall presentlyshow more clearly), and prior to this conformity any pretension to worth isfalse and unlawful. Now the propensity to self-esteem is one of theinclinations which the moral law checks, inasmuch as that esteem rests only onmorality. Therefore the moral law breaks down self-conceit. But as this law issomething positive in itself, namely, the form of an intellectual causality,that is, of freedom, it must be an object of respect; for by opposing thesubjective antagonism of the inclinationsit weakens self-conceit; and since it even breaks down, that is,humiliates this conceit, it is an object of the highest respect, andconsequently is the foundation of a positive feeling which is not of empiricalorigin, but is known à priori. Therefore respect for themoral law is a feeling which is produced by an intellectual cause, and thisfeeling is the only one that we know quite à priori, andthe necessity of which we can perceive.

In the preceding chapter we have seen that everything that presents itselfas an object of the will prior to the moral law is by that law itself, which isthe supreme condition of practical reason, excluded from the determiningprinciples of the will which we have called the unconditionally good; and thatthe mere practical form which consists in the adaptation of the maxims touniversal legislation first determines what is good in itself and absolutely,and is the basis of the maxims of a pure will, which alone is good in everyrespect. However, we find that our nature as sensible beings is such that thematter of desire (objects of inclination, whether (of hope or fear) firstpresents itself to us; and our pathologically affected self, although it is inits maxims quite unfit for universal legislation; yet, just as if itconstituted our entire self, strives to put its pretensions forward first, andto have them acknowledged as the first and original. This propensity to makeourselves in the subjective determining principles of our choice serve as theobjective determining principle of the will generally may be called self-love; and if this pretends to be legislative as anunconditional practical principle it may be called self-conceit. Now the moral law, which alone is trulyobjective (namely, in every respect), entirely excludes the influence ofself-love on the supreme practical principle, and indefinitely checks theself-conceit that prescribes the subjective conditions of the former as laws. Now whatever checks our self-conceit inour own judgment humiliates; therefore the moral law inevitably humbles everyman when he compares with it the physical propensities of his nature. That, theidea of which as a determining principle of our will humbles us in our self-consciousness, awakes respect foritself, so far as it is itself positive, and a determining principle. Thereforethe moral law is even subjectively a cause of respect. Now since everythingthat enters into self-love belongs to inclination, and all inclination rests onfeelings, and consequently whatever checks all the feelings together inself-love has necessarily, by this very circumstance, an influence on feeling;hence we comprehend how it is possible to perceive àpriori that the moral law can produce an effect on feeling, in that itexcludes the inclinations and the propensity to make them the supreme practicalcondition, i. e. self-love, from all participation in thesupreme legislation. This effect is on one side merely negative, but on the other side, relatively to the restrictingprinciple of pure practical reason, it is positive. Nospecial kind of feeling need be assumed for this under the name of a practicalor moral feeling as antecedent to the moral law, and serving as itsfoundation.

The negative effect on feeling (unpleasantness) is pathological, like every influence on feeling, and like everyfeeling generally. But as an effect of the consciousness of the moral law, andconsequently in relation to a supersensible cause, namely, the subject of purepractical reason which is the supreme lawgiver, this feeling of a rationalbeing affected by inclinations is called humiliation (intellectualself-depreciation); but with reference to the positive source of thishumiliation, the law, it is respect for it. There is indeed no feeling for thislaw; but inasmuch as it removes theresistance out of the way, this removal of an obstacle is, in the judgment ofreasonesteemed equivalent to a positive help to itscausality. Therefore this feeling may also be called a feeling of respect forthe moral law, and for both reasons together a moralfeeling.

While the moral law, therefore, is a formal determining principle of actionby practical pure reason, and is moreover a material though only objectivedetermining principle of the objects of action as called good and evil, it isalso a subjective determining principle, that is, a motive to this action,inasmuch as it has influence on the morality of the subject, and produces afeeling conducive to the influence of the law on the will. There is here in thesubject no antecedent feeling tending to morality. Forthis is impossible, since every feeling is sensible, and the motive of moralintention must be free from all sensible conditions. On the contrary, while thesensible feeling which is at the bottom of all our inclinations is thecondition of that impression which we call respect, the cause that determinesit lies in the pure practical reason; and this impression therefore, on accountof its origin, must be called, not a pathological, but a practical effect. For by the fact that the conception of themoral law deprives self-love of its influence, and self-conceit of itsallusion, it lessons the obstacle to pure practical reason, and produces theconception of the superiority of its objective law to the impulses of thesensibility; and thus, by removing the counterpoise, it gives relativelygreater weight to the law in the judgment of reason (in the case of a willaffected by the aforesaid impulses). Thus the respect for the law is not amotive to morality, but is morality itself subjectively considered as a motive,inasmuch as pure practical reason, by rejecting all the rival pretensionsof self-love, gives authority to the law which now alone has influence. Now itis to be observed that as respect is an effect on feeling, and therefore on thesensibility, of a rational being, it presupposes this sensibility, andtherefore also the finiteness of such beings on whom the moral law imposesrespect; and that respect for the law cannot be attributedto a supreme being, or to any being free from all sensibility, and in whom,therefore, this sensibility cannot be an obstacle to practical reason.

This feeling [sentiment] (which we call the moral feeling) is thereforeproduced simply by reason. It does not serve for the estimation of actions norfor the foundation of the objective moral law itself, but merely as a motive tomake this of itself a maxim. But what name could we more suitably apply to thissingular feeling which cannot be compared to any pathological feeling? It is ofsuch a peculiar kind that it seems to be at the disposal of reason only, andthat pure practical reason.

Respect applies always to persons only—not to things.The latter may arouse inclination, and if they are animals ( e.g. horses, dogs, c.), even love or fear, like the sea, a volcano, a beast of prey; but never respect. Something that comes nearer to this feeling is admiration, and this, as an affection, astonishment, canapply to things also, e. g. lofty mountains, themagnitude, number, and distance of the heavenly bodies, the strength andswiftness of many animals, c. But all this is not respect. A man also maybe an object to me of love, fear, or admiration, even to astonishment, and yetnot be an object of respect. His jocose humour, his courage and strength, hispower from the rank he has amongst others, may inspire me with sentiments of thiskind, but still inner respect for him is wanting. Fontenelle says, “I bow before a great man, but my mind doesnot bow.” I would add, before an humble, plain man, in whom I perceiveuprightness of character in a higher degree than I am conscious of in myself, my mind bows whether I choose it or not, and though I bearmy head never so high that he may not forget my superior rank. Why is this?Because his example exhibits to me a law that humbles my self-conceit when Icompare it with my conduct: a law, the practicability ofobedience to which I see proved by fact before my eyes. Now, I may even beconscious of a like degree of uprightness, and yet the respect remains. Forsince in man all good is defective, the law made visible by an example stillhumbles my pride, my standard being furnished by a man whose imperfections,whatever they may be, are not known to me as my own are, and who thereforeappears to me in a more favourable light. Respect is a tribute which we cannot refuseto merit, whether we will or not; we may indeedoutwardly withhold it, but we cannot help feeling it inwardly.

Respect is so far from being a feeling of pleasure thatwe only reluctantly give way to it as regards a man. We try to find outsomething that may lighten the burden of it, some fault to compensate us forthe humiliation which such an example causes. Even the dead are not alwayssecure from this criticism, especially if their example appears inimitable.Even the moral law itself in its solemn majesty is exposedto this endeavour to save oneself from yielding it respect. Can it be thought that it is for anyother reason that we are so ready to reduce it to the level of our familiarinclination, or that it is for any other reason that we all take such troubleto make it out to be the chosen precept of our own interest well understood,but that we want to be free from the deterrent respect which shows us our ownunworthiness with such severity? Nevertheless, on the other hand, so little is there pain in it that ifonce one has laid aside self-conceit and allowed practical influence to thatrespect, he can never be satisfied with contemplating the majesty of this law,and the soul believes itself elevated in proportion as it sees the holy lawelevated above it and its frail nature. No doubt great talents and activityproportioned to them may also occasion respect or an analogous feeling. It isvery proper to yield it to them, and then it appears as if this sentiment werethe same thing as admiration. But if we look closer we shall observe that it isalways uncertain how much of the ability is due to native talent, and how muchto diligence in cultivating it. Reason represents it to us as probably thefruit of cultivation, and therefore as meritorious, and this notably reducesour self-conceit, and either casts a reproach on us or urges us to follow suchan example in the way that is suitable to us. This respect then which we showto such a person (properly speaking, to the law that his example exhibits) isnot mere admiration; and this is confirmed also by the fact, that when thecommon run of admirers think they have learned from any source the badness ofsuch a man’s character (for instance Voltaire’s) they give up all respect forhim; whereasthe true scholar still feels it at least with regardto his talents, because he is himself engaged in a business and a vocationwhich make imitation of such a man insome degree a law.

Respect for the moral law is therefore the only and the undoubted moralmotive, and this feeling is directed to no object, except on the ground of thislaw. The moral law first determines the will objectively and directly in thejudgment of reason; and freedom, whose causality can be determined only by thelaw, consists just in this, that it restricts all inclinations, andconsequently self-esteem, by the condition of obedience to its pure law. Thisrestriction now has an effect on feeling, and produces the impression ofdispleasure which can be known à priori from the morallaw. Since it is so far only a negative effect which,arising from the influence of pure practical reason, checks the activity of thesubject, so far as it is determined by inclinations, and hence checks theopinion of his personal worth (which, in the absence of agreement with themoral law, is reduced to nothing); hence, the effect of this law on feeling ismerely humiliation. We can, therefore, perceive this àpriori, but cannot know by it the force of the pure practical law as amotive, but only the resistance to motives of the sensibility. But since thesame law is objectively, that is, in the conception of pure reason, animmediate principle of determination of the will, and consequently thishumiliation takes place only relatively to the purity of the law; hence, thelowering of the pretensions of moral self-esteem, that is, humiliation on thesensible side, is an elevation of the moral, i. e. practical, esteem for the law itself on the intellectual side; in a word, it isrespect for the law, and therefore, as its cause is intellectual, a positivefeeling which can be known à priori. For whateverdiminishes the obstacles to an activity, furthers this activity itself. Now the recognition of the moral law isthe consciousness of an activity of practical reason from objective principles,which only fails to reveal its effect in actions because subjective(pathological) causes hinder it. Respect for the moral law then must beregarded as a positive, though indirect effect ofit on feeling, inasmuch as this respect [1] weakens the impeding influence of inclinations by humiliatingself-esteem; and hence also as a subjective principle of activity, that is, asa motive to obedience to the law, and as a principle ofthe maxims of a life conformable to it. From the notion of a motive arises thatof an interest, which can never be attributed to any beingunless it possesses reason, and which signifies a motive of the will in so far as it is conceived by the reason. Since in a morally goodwill the law itself must be the motive, the moral interest is a pure interest of practical reason alone, independent on sense. On thenotion of an interest is based that of a maxim. This,therefore, is morally good only in case it rests simply on the interest takenin obedience to the law. All three notions, however, that of a motive, of an interest, and of a maxim, can be applied only to finite beings. For they allsuppose a limitation of the nature of the being, in that the subjectivecharacter of his choice does not of itself agree with the objective law of apractical reason; they suppose that the being requires to be impelled to actionby something, because an internal obstacle opposes itself. Therefore theycannot be applied to the Divine will.

There is something so singular in the unbounded esteem for the pure morallaw, apart from all advantage, as it is presented for our obedience bypractical reason, the voice of which makes even the boldest sinner tremble, andcompels him to hide himself from it, that we cannot wonder if we find thisinfluence of a mere intellectual idea on the feelings quite incomprehensible tospeculative reason, and have to be satisfied with seeing so much of this à priori, that such a feeling is inseparably connectedwith the conception of the moral law in every finite rational being. If thisfeeling of respect were pathological, and therefore were a feeling of pleasurebased on the inner sense, it would be in vain to try todiscover a connexion of itwith any idea à priori. But [it [1] ] is a feeling that applies merely to what is practical, and depends onthe conception of a law, simply as to its form, not on account of any object,and therefore cannot be reckoned either as pleasure or pain, and yet producesan interest in obedience to the law, which we call the moral interest, just as the capacity of taking such aninterest in the law (or respect for the moral law itself) is properly the moral feeling [or sentiment ].

The consciousness of a free submission of the will tothe law, yet combined with an inevitable constraint put upon all inclinations,though only by our own reason, is respect for the law. The law that demandsthis respect and inspires it is clearly no other than the moral (for no otherprecludes all inclinations from exercising any direct influence on the will).An action which is objectively practical according to this law, to theexclusion of every determining principle of inclination, is duty, and this by reason of that exclusion includes in itsconcept practical obligation, that is, a determination toactions, however reluctantly they may be done. The feelingthat arises from the consciousness of this obligation is not pathological, aswould be a feeling produced by an object of the senses, but practical only,that is, it is made possible by a preceding(objective) determination of the willand a causality of the reason. As submission to the law,therefore, that is, as a command (announcing constraint for the sensiblyaffected subject), it contains in it no pleasure, but on the contrary, so far,pain in the action. On the other hand, however, as this constraint is exercisedmerely by the legislation of our own reason, it alsocontains something elevating, and this subjective effecton feeling, inasmuch as pure practical reason is the sole cause of it, may becalled in this respect self-approbation, since werecognize ourselves as determined thereto solely by the law without anyinterest, and are now conscious of a quite different interest subjectivelyproduced thereby, and which is purely practical and free; and our taking thisinterest in an action of duty is not suggested by any inclination, but iscommanded and actually brought about by reason through the practical law;whence this feeling obtains a special name, that of respect.

The notion of duty, therefore, requires in the action, objectively, agreement with the law, and, subjectively in itsmaxim, that respect for the law shall be the sole mode in which the will isdetermined thereby. And on this rests the distinction between the consciousnessof having acted according to duty and fromduty, that is, from respect for the law. The former ( legality ) is possible even if inclinations have been thedetermining principles of the will; but the latter ( morality ), moral worth, can be placed only in this, that theaction is done from duty, that is, simply for the sake of the law. [1]

It is of the greatest importance toattend with the utmost exactness in all moral judgments to the subjectiveprinciple of all maxims, that all the morality of actions may be placed in thenecessity of acting from duty and from respect for thelaw, not from love and inclination for that which the actions are to produce.For men and all created rational beings moral necessity is constraint, that isobligation, and every action based on it is to be conceived as a duty, not as aproceeding previously pleasing, or likely to be pleasing to us of our ownaccord. As if indeed we could ever bring it about that without respect for thelaw, which implies fear, or at least apprehension of transgression, we ofourselves, like the independent Deity, could ever come into possession of holiness of will by the coincidence of our will with thepure moral law becoming as it were part of our nature, never to be shaken (inwhich case thelaw would cease to be a command for us, as we couldnever be tempted to be untrue to it).

The moral law is in fact for the will of a perfect being a law of holiness, but for the will of every finite rational beinga law of duty, of moral constraint, and of thedetermination of its actions by respect for this law andreverence for its duty. No other subjective principle must be assumed as amotive, else while the action might chance to be such as the law prescribes,yet as it does not proceed from duty, the intention, which is the thingproperly in question in this legislation, is not moral.

It is a very beautiful thing to do goodto men from love to them and from sympathetic good will, or to be just fromlove of order; but this is not yet the true moral maxim of our conduct which issuitable to our position amongst rational beings as men, when we pretend with fanciful pride to set ourselves above the thought of duty,like volunteers, and, as if we were independent on the command, to want to doof our own good pleasure what we think we need no command to do. We stand undera discipline of reason, and in all our maxims must notforget our subjection to it, nor withdraw anything therefrom, or by anegotistic presumption diminish aught of the authority of the law (although ourown reason gives it) so as to set the determining principle of our will, eventhough the law be conformed to, anywhere else but in the law itself and inrespect for this law. Duty and obligation are the only names that we must giveto our relation to the moral law. We are indeed legislative members of a moralkingdom rendered possible by freedom, and presented to us by reason as anobject of respect; but yet we are subjects in it, not the sovereign, and tomistake our inferior position as creatures and presumptuously to reject theauthority of the moral law is already to revolt from it in spirit, even thoughthe letter of it is fulfilled.

With this agrees very well the possibility of such a command as: Love God above everything, and thy neighbour as thyself [1] . For as a command it requires respect for a lawwhich commands love and doesnot leave it to our own arbitrary choice to make this our principle. Love toGod, however, considered as an inclination (pathological love), is impossible,for He is not an object of the senses. The same affection towards men ispossible no doubt, but cannot be commanded, for it is not in the power of anyman to love anyone at command; therefore it is only practicallove that is meant in that pith of all laws. To love God means, in thissense, to like to do His commandments; to love one’s neighbour means to like topractise all duties towards him. But the command that makes this a rule cannotcommand us to have this disposition in actions conformedto duty, but only to endeavour after it. For a command tolike to do a thing is in itself contradictory, because if we already know ofourselves what we are bound to do, and if further we are conscious of liking todo it, a command would be quite needless; and if we do it not willingly, butonly out of respect for the law, a command that makes this respect the motiveof our maxim would directly counteract the disposition commanded. That law ofall laws, therefore, like all the moral precepts of the Gospel, exhibits themoral disposition in all its perfection, in which, viewed as an Ideal ofholiness, it is not attainable by any creature, but yet is the pattern which weshould strive to approach, and in an uninterrupted but infinite progress becomelike to. In fact, if a rational creature could ever reach this point, that hethoroughly likes to do all moral laws, this would meanthat there does not exist in him even the possibility of a desire that wouldtempt him to deviate from them; for to overcome such a desire always costs thesubject some sacrifice, and therefore requires self-compulsion, that is, inwardconstraint to something that one does not quite like to do; and no creature canever reach this stage of moral disposition. For, being a creature, and thereforealways dependent with respect to what he requiresfor complete satisfaction, he can never be quitefree from desires and inclinations, and as these rest on physical causes, theycan never of themselves coincide with the moral law, [1] the sources of which are quite different; and therefore they make itnecessary to found the mental disposition of one’s maxims on moral obligation,not on ready inclination, but on respect, which demands obedience to the law, even though one may not like it; not on love, whichapprehends no inward reluctance of the will towards the law. Nevertheless, thislatter, namely, love to the law (which would then cease to be a command, and then morality, which would have passedsubjectively into holiness, would cease to be virtue ),must be the constant though unattainable goal of his endeavours. For in thecase of what we highly esteem, but yet (on account of the consciousness of ourweakness) dread, the increased facility of satisfying it changes the mostreverential awe into inclination, and respect into love: at least this would bethe perfection of a disposition devoted to the law, if it were possible for acreature to attain it. [2]

This reflection is intended not so much to clear up the evangelical commandjust cited, in order to prevent religious fanaticism inregard to love of God, but to define accurately the moral disposition withregard directly to our duties towards men, and to check, or if possibleprevent, a merely moral fanaticism which infects manypersons. The stage of morality on which man (and, as far as we can see, everyrational creature) stands is respect for the moral law. The disposition that heought to have in obeying this is to obey it from duty, not from spontaneousinclination, or from an endeavour takenup from liking and unbidden; and this proper moral condition in which he canalways be is virtue, that is, moral disposition militant, and not holiness in thefancied possession of a perfect purity of the disposition of the will. It is nothing but moralfanaticism and exaggerated self-conceit that is infused into the mind byexhortation to actions as noble, sublime, and magnanimous, by which men are ledinto the delusion that it is not duty, that is, respect for the law, whose yoke(an easy yoke, indeed, because reason itself imposes it on us) they must bear, whether they like it or not, that constitutesthe determining principle of their actions, and which always humbles them whilethey obey it; fancying that those actions are expectedfrom them, not from duty, but as pure merit. For not only would they, inimitating such deeds from such a principle not have fulfilled the spirit of thelaw in the least, which consists not in the legality of the action (withoutregard to principle), but in the subjection of the mind to the law; not only dothey make the motives pathological (seated in sympathy orself-love), not moral (in the law), but they produce in this way a vainhigh-flying fantastic way of thinking, flattering themselves with a spontaneousgoodness of heart that needs neither spur nor bridle, for which no command isneeded, and thereby forgetting their obligation, which they ought to think ofrather than merit. Indeed actions of others which are done with greatsacrifice, and merely for the sake of duty, may be praised as noble and sublime, but only so far asthere are traces which suggest that they were done wholly out of respect fordutyand not from excited feelings. If these, however, are set beforeanyone as examples to be imitated, respect for duty (which is the only truemoral feeling) must be employed as the motive—this severe holy precept whichnever allows our vain self-love to dally with pathological impulses (howeveranalogous they may be to morality) and to take a pride in meritorious worth. Now if we search we shall find for allactions that are worthy of praise a law of duty which commands, and does not leave us to choose what may beagreeable to our inclinations. This is the only way of representing things thatcan give a moral training to the soul, because it alone is capable of solid andaccurately defined principles.

If fanaticism in its most general sense is a deliberateoverstepping of the limits of human reason, then moralfanaticism is such an overstepping of the bounds that practical purereason sets to mankind, in that it forbids us to place the subjectivedetermining principle of correct actions, that is, their moral motive, in anything but the law itself, or to place thedisposition which is thereby brought into the maxims in anything but respectfor this law, and hence commands us to take as the supreme vital principle of all morality in men the thought of duty,which strikes down all arrogance as well as vain self-love.

If this is so, it is not only writers of romance or sentimental educators(although they may be zealous opponents of sentimentalism), but sometimes evenphilosophers; nay, even the severest of all, the Stoics, that have brought in moral fanaticism instead of a sober but wise moraldiscipline, although the fanaticism of the latter was more heroic, that of theformer of an insipid, effeminate character; and we may, without hypocrisy, sayof the moral teaching of the Gospel, that it first, by the purity of itsmoral principle, and at the same time by its suitability to the limitations offinite beings, brought all the good conduct of men under the discipline of aduty plainly set before their eyes, which does not permit them to indulge indreams of imaginary moral perfections; and that it also set the bounds ofhumility (that is, self-knowledge) to self-conceit as well as to self-love,both which are ready to mistake their limits.

Duty! Thou sublime and mighty name that dost embracenothing charming or insinuating, but requirest submission, and yet seekest notto move the will by threatening aught that would arouse natural aversion orterror, but merely holdest forth a law which of itself finds entrance into themind, and yet gains reluctant reverence (though not always obedience), a lawbefore which all inclinations are dumb, even though they secretly counter-workit; what origin is there worthy of thee, and where is to be found the root ofthy noble descent which proudly rejects all kindred with the inclinations; aroot to be derived from which is the indispensable condition of the only worthwhich men can give themselves?

It can be nothing less than a power which elevates man above himself (as apart of the world of sense), a power which connects him with an order of thingsthat only the understanding can conceive, with a world which at the same timecommands the whole sensible world, and with it the empirically determinableexistence of man in time, as well as the sum total of all ends (which totalityalone suits such unconditional practical laws as the moral). This power isnothing but personality, that is, freedom and independenceon the mechanism of nature, yet, regarded also as a faculty of a being which issubject to special laws, namely, pure practical laws given by its own reason; so that the person as belonging to thesensible world is subject to his own personality as belonging to theintelligible [supersensible] world. It is then not to be wondered at that man,as belonging to both worlds, must regard his own nature in reference to itssecond and highest characteristic only with reverence, and its laws with thehighest respect.

On this origin are founded many expressions which designate the worth ofobjects according to moral ideas. The moral law is holy (inviolable). Man is indeed unholy enough, but he must regard humanity in his own person as holy. In all creation everything one chooses, and over which one has any power, may be used merely as means; man alone, and with him every rationalcreature, is an end in himself. By virtue of the autonomyof his freedom he is the subject of the moral law, whichis holy. Just for this reason every will, even everyperson’s own individual will, in relation to itself, is restricted to thecondition of agreement with the autonomy of the rationalbeing, that is to say, that it is not to be subject to any purpose which cannotaccord with a law which might arise from the will of the passive subjecthimself; the latter is, therefore, never to be employed merely as means, but asitself also, concurrently, an end. We justly attribute this condition even tothe Divine will, with regard to the rational beings in the world, which are Hiscreatures, since it rests on their personality, by whichalone they are ends in themselves.

This respect-inspiring idea of personality which sets before our eyes thesublimity of our nature (in its higher aspect), while at the same time it showsus the want of accord of our conduct with it, and thereby strikes downself-conceit, is even natural to the commonest reason, and easily observed. Has not every even moderatelyhonourable man sometimes found that, where by an otherwise inoffensive lie hemight either have withdrawn himself from an unpleasant business, or even haveprocured some advantages for a loved and well-deserving friend, he has avoidedit solely lest he should despise himself secretly in his own eyes? When anupright man is in the greatest distress, which he might have avoided if hecould only have disregarded duty, is he not sustained by the consciousness thathe has maintained humanity in its proper dignity in his own person and honouredit, that he has no reason to be ashamed of himself in his own sight, or todread the inward glance of self-examination? This consolation is not happiness,it is not even the smallest part of it, for no one would wish to have occasionfor it, or would, perhaps, even desire a life in such circumstances. But helives, and he cannot endure that he should be in his own eyes unworthy of life.This inward peace is therefore merely negative as regards what can make lifepleasant; it is, in fact, only the escaping the danger of sinking in personalworth, after everything else that is valuable has been lost. It is the effectof a respect for something quite different from life, something in comparisonand contrast with which life with allits enjoyment has no value. He still lives onlybecause it is his duty, not because he finds anything pleasant in life.

Such is the nature of the true motive of pure practical reason; it is noother than the pure moral law itself, inasmuch as it makes us conscious of thesublimity of our own supersensible existence, and subjectivelyproduces respect for their higher naturein men who are also conscious of their sensible existence and of the consequentdependence of their pathologically very susceptible nature. Now with thismotive may be combined so many charms and satisfactions of life, that even onthis account alone the most prudent choice of a rational Epicurean reflecting on the greatest advantage of life woulddeclare itself on the side of moral conduct, and it may even be advisable tojoin this prospect of a cheerful enjoyment of life with that supreme motivewhich is already sufficient of itself; but only as a counterpoise to theattractions which vice does not fail to exhibit on the opposite side, and notso as, even in the smallest degree, to place in this the proper moving powerwhen duty is in question. For that would be just the same as to wish to taintthe purity of the moral disposition in its source. The majesty of duty hasnothing to do with enjoyment of life; it has its special law and its specialtribunal, and though the two should be never so well shaken together to begiven well mixed, like medicine, to the sick soul, yet they will soon separateof themselves, and if they do not the former will not act; and althoughphysical life might gain somewhat in force, the moral life would fade awayirrecoverably.

CRITICAL EXAMINATION OF THE ANALYTIC OFPURE PRACTICAL REASON.

By the critical examination of a science, or of a portion of it, whichconstitutes a system by itself, I understand the inquiry and proof why it musthave this and no other systematic form, when we compare it with another systemwhich is based on a similar faculty of knowledge. Now practical and speculativereason are based on the same faculty, so far as bothare pure reason. Therefore thedifference in their systematic form must be determined by the comparison ofboth, and the ground of this must be assigned.

The Analytic of pure theoretic reason had to do with the knowledge of suchobjects as may have been given to the understanding, and was obliged thereforeto begin from intuition, and consequently (as this isalways sensible) from sensibility; and only after that could advance toconcepts (of the objects of this intuition), and could only end with principles after both these had preceded. On the contrary,since practical reason has not to do with objects so as to know them, but with its own faculty of realizing them (in accordance with the knowledge of them),that is, with a will which is a causality, inasmuch as reason contains itsdetermining principle; since consequently it has not to furnish an object ofintuition, but as practical reason has to furnish only a law (because thenotion of causality always implies the reference to a law which determines theexistence of the many in relation to one another); hence a critical examinationof the Analytic of reason, if this is to be practical reason (and this isproperly the problem), must begin with the possibility ofpractical principles à priori. Only after that can it proceed to concepts of the objects of a practical reason, namely,those of absolute good and evil, in order to assign them in accordance withthose principles (for prior to those principles they cannot possibly be givenas good and evil by any faculty of knowledge, and only then could the sectionbe concluded with the last chapter, that, namely, which treats of the relationof the pure practical reason to the sensibilityand of its necessary influence thereon,which is à priori cognisable, that is, of the moral sentiment. Thus the Analytic of the practical purereason has the whole extent of the conditions of its use in common with thetheoretical, but in reverse order. The Analytic of pure theoretic reason wasdivided into transcendental Aesthetic and transcendental Logic, that of thepractical reversely into Logic and Aesthetic of pure practical reason (if Imay, for the sake of analogy merely, use these designations, which are notquite suitable). This logic again was theredivided into the Analytic of concepts and that ofprinciples: here into that of principles and concepts. The Aesthetic also hadin the former case two parts, on account of the two kinds of sensibleintuition; here the sensibility is not considered as a capacity of intuition atall, but merely as feeling (which can be a subjective ground of desire), and inregard to it pure practical reason admits no further division.

It is also easy to see the reason why this division into two parts with itssubdivision was not actually adopted here (as one might have been induced toattempt by the example of the former critique). For since it is pure reason that is here considered in its practical use, andconsequently as proceeding from à priori principles, andnot from empirical principles of determination, hence the division of theanalytic of pure practical reason must resemble that of a syllogism, namely,proceeding from the universal in the major premiss (themoral principle), through a minor premiss containing asubsumption of possible actions (as good or evil) under the former, to the conclusion, namely, the subjective determination of thewill (an interest in the possible practical good, and in the maxim founded onit). He who has been able to convince himself of the truth of the positionsoccurring in the Analyticwill take pleasure in such comparisons;for they justly suggest the expectation that we may perhaps some day be able todiscern the unity of the whole faculty of reason (theoretical as well aspractical), and be able to derive all from one principle, which is what humanreason inevitably demands, as it finds complete satisfaction only in aperfectly systematic unity of its knowledge.

If now we consider also the contents of the knowledge that we can have of apure practical reason, and by means of it, as shown by the Analytic, we find,along with a remarkable analogy between it and the theoretical, no lessremarkable differences. As regards the theoretical, the facultyof a pure rational cognition à priori could be easily and evidently provedby examples from sciences (in which, as they put their principles to the testin so many ways by methodical use, there is not so much reason as in commonknowledge to fear a secretmixture of empirical principles of cognition). But,that pure reason without the admixture of any empirical principle is practicalof itself, this could only be shown from the commonestpractical use of reason by verifying the fact, that every man’s naturalreason acknowledges the supreme practical principle as the supreme law of hiswill, a law completely à priori, and not depending on anysensible data. It was necessary first to establish and verify the purity of itsorigin, even in the judgment of this common reason, beforescience could take it in hand to make use of it as a fact, that is, prior toall disputation about its possibility, and all the consequences that may bedrawn from it. But this circumstance may be readily explained from what hasjust been said; because practical pure reason mustnecessarily begin with principles, which therefore must be the first data, thefoundation of all science, and cannot be derived from it. It was possible toeffect this verification of moral principles as principles of a pure reasonquite well, and with sufficient certainty, by a single appeal to the judgmentof common sense, for this reason, that anything empirical which might slip intoour maxims as a determining principle of the will can be detected at once bythe feeling of pleasure or pain which necessarily attaches to it as excitingdesire; whereas pure practical reason positively refuses to admit this feeling into its principle as a condition. The heterogeneity ofthe determining principles (the empirical and rational) is clearly detected bythis resistance of a practically legislating reason against every admixture ofinclination, and by a peculiar kind of sentiment, which,however, does not precede the legislation of the practical reason, but, on thecontrary, is produced by this as a constraint, namely, by the feeling of arespect such as no man has for inclinations of whatever kind but for the lawonly; and it is detected in so marked and prominent a manner that even the mostuninstructed cannot fail to see at once in an example presented to him, thatempirical principles of volition may indeed urge him to follow theirattractions, but that he can never be expected to obey anything but the pure practical law of reason alone.

The distinction between the doctrine of happiness andthe doctrine of morality [ ethics ], in the former of which empirical principlesconstitute the entire foundation, while in the second they do not form thesmallest part of it, is the first and most important office of the analytic ofpure practical reason; and it must proceed in it with as much exactness and, so to speak, scrupulousness, as any geometer in his work. The philosopher,however, has greater difficulties to contend with here (as always in rationalcognition by means of concepts merely without construction), because he cannottake any intuition as a foundation (for a pure noumenon). He has, however, thisadvantage that, like the chemist, he can at any time make an experiment withevery man’s practical reason for the purpose of distinguishing the moral (pure)principle of determination from the empirical, namely, by adding the moral law(as a determining principle) to the empirically affected will ( e.g. that of the man who would be ready to lie because he cangain something thereby). It is as if the analyst added alkali to a solution oflime in hydrochloric acid, the acid at once forsakes the lime, combines withthe alkali, and the lime is precipitated. Just in the same way, if to a man whois otherwise honest (or who for this occasion places himself only in thought inthe position of an honest man), we present the moral law by which he recognizesthe worthlessness of the liar, his practical reason (in forming a judgment ofwhat ought to be done) at once forsakes the advantage, combines with that whichmaintains in him respect for his own person (truthfulness), and the advantageafter it has been separated and washed from every particle of reason (which isaltogether on the side of duty) is easily weighed by everyone, so that it canenter into combination with reason in other cases, only not where it could beopposed to the moral law, which reason never forsakes, but most closely unitesitself with.

But it does not follow that this distinction between the principle ofhappiness and that of morality is an opposition betweenthem, and pure practical reason does not require that we should renounce all claim to happiness, but only that the moment dutyis in question we should take no account of happiness. It may even in certain respects be aduty to provide for happiness;partly, because (including skill, wealth, riches) itcontains means for the fulfilment of our duty; partly, because the absence ofit ( e. g. poverty) implies temptations to transgress ourduty. But it can never be an immediate duty to promote our happiness, stillless can it be the principle of all duty. Now, as all determining principles ofthe will, except the law of pure practical reason alone (the moral law), areall empirical, and therefore, as such, belong to the principle of happiness,they must all be kept apart from the supreme principle of morality, and neverbe incorporated with it as a condition; since this would be to destroy allmoral worth just as much as any empirical admixture with geometrical principleswould destroy the certainty of mathematical evidence, which in Plato’s opinionis the most excellent thing in mathematics, even surpassing their utility.

Instead, however, of the Deduction of the supreme principle of purepractical reason, that is, the explanation of the possibility of such aknowledge à priori, the utmost we were able to do was toshow that if we saw the possibility of the freedom of an efficient cause, weshould also see not merely the possibility, but even the necessity of the morallaw as the supreme practical law of rational beings, to whom we attributefreedom of causality of their will; because both concepts are so inseparablyunited, that we might define practical freedom as independence of the will onanything but the moral law. But we cannot perceive the possibility of thefreedom of an efficient cause, especially in the world of sense; we arefortunate if only we can be sufficiently assured that there is no proof of itsimpossibility, and are now by the moral law which postulates it compelled, and therefore authorized to assume it.However, there are still many who think that they can explain this freedom onempirical principles, like any other physical faculty, and treat it as a psychological property, the explanation of which onlyrequires a more exact study of the nature of the soul andof the motives of the will, and not as a transcendental predicate of the causality of a being that belongs to the world of sense (whichis really the point). They thus deprive us of the grand revelation which weobtain through practical reason by means of themoral law, the revelation, namely, of asupersensible world by the realization of the otherwise transcendent concept offreedom, and by this deprive us also of the moral law itself, which admits noempirical principle of determination. Therefore it will be necessary to addsomething here as a protection against this delusion, and to exhibit empiricism in its naked superficiality.

The notion of causality as physical necessity, inopposition to the same notion as freedom, concerns onlythe existence of things so far as it is determinable intime, and, consequently, as phenomena, in opposition to their causality asthings in themselves. Now if we take the attributes of existence of things intime for attributes of things in themselves (which is the common view), then itis impossible to reconcile the necessity of the causal relation with freedom;they are contradictory. For from the former it follows that every event, andconsequently every action that takes place at a certain point of time, is anecessary result of what existed in time preceding. Now as time past is nolonger in my power, hence every action that I perform must be the necessaryresult of certain determining grounds which are not in mypower, that is, at the moment in which I am acting I am never free. Nay, even if I assume that my wholeexistence is independent on any foreign cause (for instance, God), so that thedetermining principles of my causality, and even of my whole existence, werenot outside myself, yet this would not in the least transform that physicalnecessity into freedom. For at every moment of time I am still under thenecessity of being determined to action by that which is not inmy power, and the series of events infinite a partepriori which I only continue according to a pre-determined order, andcould never begin of myself, would be a continuous physical chain, andtherefore my causality would never be freedom.

If then we would attribute freedom to a being whose existence is determinedin time, we cannot except him from the law of necessity as to all events in hisexistence, and consequently as to his actions also; for that would be to handhim over to blind chance. Now as this law inevitably applies to all thecausality of things, so far as their existence isdeterminable in time, itfollows that if this were the mode in which we hadalso to conceive the existence of these things inthemselves, freedom must be rejected as a vain and impossible conception.Consequently, if we would still save it, no other way remains but to considerthat the existence of a thing, so far as it is determinable in time, andtherefore its causality, according to the law of physical necessity, belong to appearance, and to attribute freedom tothe same being as a thing in itself. This is certainly inevitable, if wewould retain both these contradictory concepts together; but in applicationwhen we try to explain their combination in one and the same action, greatdifficulties present themselves which seem to render such a combinationimpracticable.

When I say of a man who commits a theftthat, by the physical law of causality, this deed is a necessary result of thedetermining causes in preceding time, then it was impossible that it could nothave happened; how then can the judgment, according to the moral law, make anychange, and suppose that it could have been omitted, because the law says thatit ought to have been omitted: that is, how can a man be called quite free atthe same moment, and with respect to the same action in which he is subject toan inevitable physical necessity? Some try to evade this by saying that thecauses that determine his causality are of such a kind asto agree with a comparative notion of freedom. Accordingto this, that is sometimes called a free effect, the determining physical causeof which lies within in the acting thing itself, e.g. that which a projectile performs when it is in freemotion, in which case we use the word freedom, because while it is in flight itis not urged by anything external; or as we call the motion of a clock a freemotion, because it moves its hands itself, which therefore do not require to bepushed by external force; so although the actions of man are necessarilydetermined by causes which precede in time, we yet call them free, becausethese causes are ideas produced by our own faculties, whereby desires areevoked on occasion of circumstances, and hence actions are wrought according toour own pleasure. This is a wretched subterfuge with which some persons stilllet themselves be put off, and so think they have solved,with a petty word jugglery, that difficult problem,at the solution of which centuries have laboured in vain, and which cantherefore scarcely be found so completely on the surface. In fact, in thequestion about the freedom which must be the foundation of all moral laws andthe consequent responsibility, it does not matter whether theprinciples which necessarily determine causality by a physical law reside within the subject or without him, orin the former case whether these principles are instinctive or are conceived byreason, if, as is admitted by these men themselves, these determining ideashave the ground of their existence in time and in the antecedent state, and this again in an antecedent, c.Then it matters not that these are internal; it matters not that they have apsychological and not a mechanical causality, that is, produce actions by meansof ideas, and not by bodily movements; they are still determining principles of the causality of a being whoseexistence is determinable in time, and therefore under the necessitation ofconditions of past time, which therefore, when the subject has to act, are no longer in his power. This may imply psychologicalfreedom (if we choose to apply this term to a merely internal chain of ideas inthe mind), but it involves physical necessity, and therefore leaves no room for transcendental freedom, which must be conceived asindependence on everything empirical, and, consequently, on nature generally,whether it is an object of the internal sense considered in time only, or ofthe external in time and space. Without this freedom (in the latter and truesense), which alone is practical à priori, no moral lawand no moral imputation are possible. Just for this reason the necessity ofevents in time, according to the physical law of causality, may be called the mechanism of nature, although we do not mean by this thatthings which are subject to it must be really material machines. We look here only to the necessity of the connexionof events in a timeseries as it is developed according to the physical law,whether the subject in whichthis development takes place is called automaton materiale when the mechanical being is moved bymatter, or with Leibnitz spirituale when it is impelled byideas; and if the freedom of our will were no otherthan the latter (say the psychological and comparative, not alsotranscendental, that is, absolute), then it would at bottom be nothing betterthan the freedom of a turnspit, which, when once it is wound up, accomplishesits motions of itself.

Now, in order to remove in the supposed case the apparent contradictionbetween freedom and the mechanism of nature in one and the same action, we mustremember what was said in the Critique of Pure Reason, or what followstherefrom, viz. that the necessity of nature, which cannot co-exist with thefreedom of the subject, appertains only to the attributes of the thing that issubject to time-conditions, consequently only to those [1] of the acting subject as a phenomenon; that therefore in this respectthe determining principles of every action of the same reside in what belongsto past time, and is no longer in his power (in which mustbe included his own past actions and the character that these may determine forhim in his own eyes as a phenomenon). But the very same subject being on theother side conscious of himself as a thing in himself, considers his existencealso in so far as it is not subject to time-conditions, and regards himself as only determinable by laws which he gives himself throughreason; and in this his existence nothing is antecedent to the determination ofhis will, but every action, and in general every modification of his existence,varying according to his internal sense, even the whole series of his existenceas a sensible being, is in the consciousness of his supersensible existencenothing but the result, and never to be regarded as the determining principle,of his causality as a noumenon. In this view now therational being can justly say of every unlawful action that he performs, that he could very well have left itundone; although as appearance it is sufficiently determined in the past, andin this respect is absolutely necessary; for it, with all the past whichdetermines it, belongs to the one single phenomenon of his character which hemakes for himself, in consequence of which heimputes the causality of those appearances tohimself as a cause independent on sensibility.

With this agree perfectly the judicial sentences of that wonderful facultyin us which we call conscience. [1] A man may use as much art as he likes in order to paint to himself anunlawful act that he remembers, as an unintentional error, a mere oversight,such as one can never altogether avoid, and therefore as something in which hewas carried away by the stream of physical necessity, and thus to make himselfout innocent, yet he finds that the advocate who speaks in his favour can by nomeans silence the accuser within, if only he is conscious that at the time whenhe did this wrong he was in his senses, that is, in possession of his freedom;and, nevertheless, he accounts for his error from some bad habits, which bygradual neglect of attention he has allowed to grow upon him to such a degreethat he can regard his error as its natural consequence, although this cannotprotect him from the blame and reproach which he casts upon himself. This isalso the ground of repentance for a long past action at every recollection ofit; a painful feeling produced by the moral sentiment, and which is practicallyvoid in so far as it cannot serve to undo what has been done. (Hence Priestley, as a true and consistent fatalist, declares it absurd, and he deserves to be commendedfor this candour more than those who, while they maintain the mechanism of thewill in fact, and its freedom in words only, yet wish it to be thought that theyinclude it in their system of compromise, although they do not explain thepossibility of such moral imputation.) But the pain is quite legitimate,because when the law of our intelligible [supersensible] existence (the morallaw) is in question, reason recognizes no distinction of time, and only askswhether the event belongs to me, as my act, and then always morally connectsthe same feeling with it, whether it has happened just now or long ago. For inreference to the supersensible consciousness of itsexistence ( i. e. freedom) the life ofsense isbut a single phenomenon, which, inasmuch as itcontains merely manifestations of the mental disposition with regard to themoral law ( i. e. of the character), must be judged notaccording to the physical necessity that belongs to it as phenomenon, butaccording to the absolute spontaneity of freedom. It may therefore be admittedthat if it were possible to have so profound an insight into a man’s mentalcharacter as shown by internal as well as external actions, as to know all itsmotives, even the smallest, and likewise all the external occasions that caninfluence them, we could calculate a man’s conduct for the future with as greatcertainty as a lunar or solar eclipse; and nevertheless we may maintain thatthe man is free. In fact, if we were capable of a further glance, namely, anintellectual intuition of the same subject (which indeed is not granted to us,and instead of it we have only the rational concept), then we should perceivethat this whole chain of appearances in regard to all that concerns the morallaws depends on the spontaneity of the subject as a thing in itself, of thedetermination of which no physical explanation can be given. In default of thisintuition the moral law assures us of this distinction between the relation ofour actionsas appearances to our sensible nature,and the relation of this sensible nature to the supersensible substratum in us.In this view, which is natural to our reason, though inexplicable, we can alsojustify some judgments which we passed with all conscientiousness, and whichyet at first sight seem quite opposed to all equity. There are cases in whichmen, even with the same education which has been profitable to others, yet showsuch early depravity, and so continue to progress in it to years of manhood,that they are thought to be born villains, and their character altogetherincapable of improvement; and nevertheless they are judged for what they do orleave undone, they are reproached for their faults as guilty; nay, theythemselves (the children) regard these reproaches as well founded, exactly asif in spite of the hopeless natural quality of mind ascribed to them, theyremained just as responsible as any other man. This could not happen if we didnot suppose that whatever springs from aman’s choice (as every action intentionallyperformed undoubtedly does) has as its foundation a free causality, which fromearly youth expresses its character in its manifestations ( i.e. actions). These, on account of the uniformity of conduct, exhibit anatural connexion, which however does not make the vicious quality of the willnecessary, but, on the contrary, is the consequence of the evil principlesvoluntarily adopted and unchangeable, which only make it so much the moreculpable and deserving of punishment. There still remains a difficulty in thecombination of freedom with the mechanism of nature in a being belonging to theworld of sense: a difficulty which, even after all the foregoing is admitted,threatens freedom with complete destruction. But with this danger there is also acircumstance that offers hope of an issue still favourable to freedom, namely,that the same difficulty presses much more strongly (in fact as we shallpresently see, presses only) on the system that holds the existencedeterminable in time and space to be the existence of things in themselves; itdoes not therefore oblige us to give up [1] our capital supposition of the ideality of time as a mere form ofsensible intuition, and consequently as a mere manner of representation whichis proper to the subject as belonging to the world of sense; and therefore itonly requires that this view be reconciled with this idea [of freedom].

The difficulty is as follows:—Even if it is admitted that the supersensiblesubject can be free with respect to a given action, although as a subject alsobelonging to the world of sense, he is under mechanical conditions with respectto the same action; still, as soon as we allow that God asuniversal first cause is also the cause of the existence ofsubstance (a proposition which can never be given up without at the sametime giving up the notion of God as the Being of all beings, and therewithgiving up his all sufficiency, on which everything in theology depends), itseems as if we must admit that a man’s actions have their determining principlein something which is wholly out of his power, namely, in the causalityof a Supreme Being distinct from himself, and on whom his own existence and thewhole determination of his causality are absolutely dependent. In point offact, if a man’s actions as belonging to his modifications in time were notmerely modifications of him as appearance, but as a thing in itself, freedomcould not be saved. Man would be a marionette or an automaton, likeVaucanson’s, [1] prepared and wound up by the Supreme Artist. Self-consciousness wouldindeed make him a thinking automaton; but the consciousness of his ownspontaneity would be mere delusion if this were mistaken for freedom, and it would deserve this name only ina comparative sense, since, although the proximate determining causes of itsmotion, and a long series of their determining causes are internal, yet thelast and highest is found in a foreign hand. Therefore I do not see how thosewho still insist on regarding time and space as attributes belonging to theexistence of things in themselves, can avoid admitting the fatality of actions;or if (like the otherwise acute Mendelssohn) [2] they allow them to be conditions necessarily belonging to the existenceof finite and derived beings, but not to that of the infinite Supreme Being, Ido not see on what ground they can justify such a distinction, or, indeed, howthey can avoid the contradiction that meets them, when they hold that existencein time is an attribute necessarily belonging to finite things in themselves,whereas God is the cause of this existence, but cannot be the cause of time (orspace) itself (since this must [on this hypothesis] be presupposed as anecessary à priori condition of theexistence of things); and consequently as regards the existence of these thingshis causality must be subject to conditions, and even to the condition of time;and this would inevitably bring in everything contradictory to the notions ofhis infinity and independence. On the other hand, it is quite easy for us todraw the distinction between the attribute of the divine existence of beingindependent on all time-conditions, and that of a being of the world of sense,the distinction being that between the existence of a being initself and that of a thing in appearance. Hence, ifthis ideality of time and space is not adopted, nothing remains but Spinozism, in which space and time are essentialattributes of the Supreme Being Himself, and the things dependent on Him(ourselves, therefore, included) are not substances, but merely accidentsinhering in Him; since, if these things as his effectsexist in time only,this being the condition of their existence in themselves, then the actions ofthese beings must be simply his actions which he performs in some place andtime. Thus, Spinozism, in spite of the absurdity of its fundamental idea,argues more consistently than the creation theory can, when beings assumed tobe substances, and beings in themselves existing in time, are regarded as effects of a supreme cause, and yet as not [belonging] to Himand his action, but as separate substances.

The above-mentioned difficulty is resolved briefly and clearly asfollows:—If existence in time is a mere sensible mode ofrepresentation belonging to thinking beings in the world, and consequently doesnot apply to them as things in themselves, then the creation of these beings isa creation of things in themselves, since the notion of creation does notbelong to the sensible form of representation of existence or to causality, butcan only be referred to noumena. Consequently, when I say of beings in theworld of sense that they are created, I so far regard them as noumena. As itwould be a contradiction, therefore, to say that God is a creator ofappearances, so also it is a contradiction to say that as creator He is thecause of actions in the world of sense, and therefore as appearances, althoughHeis the cause of the existence of the acting beings(which are noumena). If now it is possible to affirm freedom in spite of thenatural mechanism of actions as appearances (by regarding existence in time assomething that belongs only to appearances, not to things in themselves), thenthe circumstance that the acting beings are creatures cannot make the slightestdifference, since creation concerns their supersensible and not their sensibleexistence, and therefore cannot be regarded as the determining principle of theappearances. It would be quite different if the beings in the world as thingsin themselvesexisted in time, since in that case the creator of substance would be at the same time theauthor of the whole mechanism of this substance.

Of so great importance is the separation of time (as well as space) from theexistence of things in themselves which was effected in the Critique of thePure Speculative Reason.

It may be said that the solution here proposed involves great difficulty initself, and is scarcely susceptible of a lucid exposition. But is any othersolution that has been attempted, or that may be attempted, easier and moreintelligible? Rather might we say that the dogmatic teachers of metaphysicshave shown more shrewdness than candour in keeping this difficult point out ofsight as much as possible, in the hope that if they said nothing about it,probably no one would think of it. If science is to be advanced, alldifficulties must be laid open, and we must even searchfor those that are hidden, for every difficulty calls forth a remedy, whichcannot be discovered without science gaining either in extent or in exactness;and thus even obstacles become means of increasing the thoroughness of science.On the other hand, if the difficulties are intentionally concealed, or merelyremoved by palliatives, then sooner or later they burst out into incurablemischiefs, which bring science to ruin in an absolute scepticism.

Since it is, properly speaking, the notion of freedom alone amongst all theideas of pure speculative reason that so greatly enlarges our knowledge in thesphere of the supersensible, though only of our practical knowledge,I ask myself why it exclusively possesses so greatfertility, whereas the others only designate the vacant space for possiblebeings of the pure understanding, but are unable by any means to define theconcept of them. I presently find that as I cannot think anything without acategory, I must first look for a category for the Rational Idea of freedomwith which I am now concerned; and this is the category of causality; and although freedom, a concept ofthe reason, being a transcendent concept, cannot have any intuitioncorresponding to it, yet the concept of theunderstanding —for the synthesis of which the former [1] demands the unconditioned—(namely, the concept of causality) must havea sensible intuition given, by which first its objective reality is assured.Now, the categories are all divided into two classes—the mathematical, which concern the unity of synthesis in theconception of objects, and the dynamical, which refer tothe unity of synthesis in the conception of the existence of objects. Theformer (those of magnitude and quality) always contain a synthesis of the homogeneous, and it is not possible to find in this theunconditioned antecedent to what is given in sensible intuition as conditionedin space and time, as this would itself have to belong to space and time, andtherefore be again still conditioned. [2] Whence it resulted in the Dialectic of Pure Theoretic Reason that theopposite methods of attaining the unconditioned and the totality of theconditions were both wrong. The categories of the second class (those ofcausality and of the necessity of a thing) did not require this homogeneity (ofthe conditioned and the condition in synthesis), since here what we have toexplain is not how the intuition is compounded from amanifold in it, but only how the existence of theconditioned object corresponding to it is added to the existence of thecondition(added, namely, in the understanding asconnected therewith); and in that case it was allowable to suppose in thesupersensible world the unconditioned antecedent to the altogether conditionedin the world of sense (both as regards the causal connexion and the contingentexistence of things themselves), although this unconditioned remainedindeterminate, and to make the synthesis transcendent. Hence, it was found inthe dialectic of the pure speculative reason that the two apparently oppositemethods of obtaining for the conditioned the unconditioned were not reallycontradictory, e. g. in the synthesis of causality toconceive for the conditioned in the series of causes and effects of thesensible world, a causality which has no sensible condition, and that the sameaction which, as belonging to the world of sense, is always sensiblyconditioned, that is mechanically necessary, yet at the same time may bederived from a causality not sensibly conditioned—being the causality of theacting being as belonging to the supersensible world—and may consequently beconceived as free. Now, the only point in question was to change this may be into is; that is, that weshould be able to show in an actual case, as it were by a fact, that certainactions imply such a causality (namely, the intellectual, sensiblyunconditioned), whether they are actual or only commanded, that is, objectivelynecessary in a practical sense. We could not hope to find this connexion inactions actually given in experience as events of the sensible world, sincecausality with freedom must always be sought outside the world of sense in theworld of intelligence. But things of sense are the only things offered to ourperception and observation. Hence, nothing remained but to find aninconstestable objective principle of causality which excludes all sensibleconditions: that is, a principle in which reason does not appeal further tosomething else as a determining ground of its causality, but contains this determining grounditself by means of that principle, and in which therefore it is itself as pure reason practical. Now, this principle had not to besearched for or discovered; it had long been in thereason of all men, and incorporated in their nature, and is the principle of morality. Therefore, that unconditioned causality, withthe faculty of it, namely, freedom, is no longer merely indefinitely andproblematically thought (this speculative reason couldprove to be feasible), but is even as regards the law of itscausality definitely and assertorially known; andwith it the fact that a being (I myself) belonging to the world of sense,belongs also to the supersensible world, this is also positively known, and thus the reality of the supersensible world isestablished, and in practical respects definitely given,and this definiteness, which for theoretical purposes would be transcendent, is for practical purposes immanent. We could not, however, make a similar step asregards the second dynamical idea, namely, that of a necessarybeing. We could not rise to it from the sensible world without the aid ofthe first dynamical idea. For if we attempted to do so, we should have venturedto leave at a bound all that is given to us, and to leap to that of whichnothing is given us that can help us to effect the connexion of such asupersensible being with the world of sense (since the necessary being wouldhave to be known as given outside ourselves ). On the otherhand, it is now obvious that this connexion is quite possible in relation to our own subject, inasmuch as I know myself to be on the one side as an intelligible [supersensible] beingdetermined by the moral law (by means of freedom), and on theother side as acting in the world of sense. It is the concept of freedomalone that enables us to find the unconditioned and intelligible[supersensible] for the conditioned and sensible without going out of ourselves. For it is our own reason that by meansof the supreme and unconditional practical law knows that itself, and the beingthat is conscious of this law (our own person) belongs to the pure world ofunderstanding, and moreover defines the manner in which, as such, it can beactive. In this way it can be understood why in the whole faculty of reason itis the practical reason only that can help us to passbeyond the world of sense, and give us knowledge of a supersensible order andconnexion, which, however,for this very reason cannot be extended further thanis necessary for pure practical purposes.

Let me be permitted on this occasion to make one more remark, namely, thatevery step that we make with pure reason, even in the practical sphere where noattention is paid to subtile speculation, nevertheless accords with all thematerial points of the Critique of the Theoretical Reason as closely anddirectly as if each step had been thought out with deliberate purpose toestablish this confirmation. Such a thorough agreement, wholly unsought for,and quite obvious (as any one can convince himself, if he will only carry moralinquiries up to their principles) between the most important propositions ofpractical reason, and the often seemingly too subtile and needless remarks ofthe Critique of the Speculative Reason, occasions surprise and astonishment,and confirms the maxim already recognized and praised by others, namely, thatin every scientific inquiry we should pursue our way steadily with all possibleexactness and frankness, without caring for any objections that may be raisedfrom outside its sphere, but, as far as we can, to carry out our inquirytruthfully and completely by itself. Frequent observation has convinced me thatwhen such researches are concluded, that which in one part of them appeared tome very questionable, considered in relation to otherextraneous doctrines, when I left this doubtfulness out of sight for a time,and only attended to the business in hand until it was completed, at last wasunexpectedly found to agree perfectly with what had been discovered separatelywithout the least regard to those doctrines, and without any partiality orprejudice for them. Authors would save themselves many errors and much labourlost (because spent on a delusion), if they could only resolve to go to workwith more frankness.

BOOK II.: DIALECTIC OF PURE PRACTICAL REASON.

CHAPTER I.: of a dialectic of pure practical reasongenerally.

PURE reason always has its dialectic, whether it is consideredin its speculative or its practical employment; for it requires the absolutetotality of the conditions of what is given conditioned, and this can only befound in things in themselves. But as all conceptions of things in themselvesmust be referred to intuitions, and with us men these can never be other thansensible, and hence can never enable us to know objects as things in themselvesbut only as appearances, and since the unconditioned can never be found in thischain of appearances which consists only of conditioned and conditions; thusfrom applying this rational idea of the totality of the conditions (in otherwords of the unconditioned) to appearances there arises an inevitable illusion,as if these latter were things in themselves(for in the absence of a warningcritique they are always regarded as such). This illusion would never benoticed as delusive if it did not betray itself by a conflict of reason with itself, when it applies to appearancesits fundamental principle of presupposing the unconditioned to everythingconditioned. By this, however, reason is compelled to trace this illusion toits source, and search how it can be removed, and this can only be done by acomplete critical examination of the whole pure faculty of reason; so that theantinomy of the pure reason which is manifest in itsdialectic is in fact the most beneficial error into which human reason couldnever have fallen, since it at last drives us to search for the key to escapefrom this labyrinth; and when this key is found, it further discovers thatwhich we did not seek but yet had need of, namely, a view into a higher and animmutable order of things, in which we even now are, and in which we arethereby enabled by definite precepts to continue to live according to thehighest dictates of reason.

It may be seen in detail in the Critique of Pure Reason how in itsspeculative employment this natural dialectic is to be solved, and how theerror which arises from a very natural illusion may be guarded against. Butreason in its practical use is not a whit better off. As pure practical reason,it likewise seeks to find the unconditioned for the practically conditioned(which rests on inclinations and natural wants), and this not as thedetermining principle of the will, but even when this is given (in the morallaw) it seeks the unconditioned totality of the object ofpure practical reason under the name of the SummumBonum.

To define this idea practically, i. e. sufficiently forthe maxims of our rational conduct, is the business of practical wisdom [ Weisheitslehre ], andthis again as a science is philosophy, in the sense inwhich the word was understood by the ancients, with whom it meant instructionin the conception in which the summum bonum was to beplaced, and the conduct by which it was to be obtained. It would be well toleave this word in its ancient signification as a doctrine ofthe summum bonum, so far as reason endeavours to make this into a science. For on the one hand the restriction annexed wouldsuit the Greek expression (which signifies the love of wisdom ), and yet at the same time would be sufficient toembrace under the name of philosophy the love of science: that is to say, of all speculative rational knowledge, so far as it isserviceable to reason, both for that conception and also for the practicalprinciple determining our conduct, without letting out of sight the main end,on account of which alone it can be called a doctrine of practicalwisdom. On the other hand, it would be no harm todeter the self-conceit of one who ventures to claim the title of philosopher byholding before him in the very definition a standard of self-estimation whichwould very much lower his pretensions. For a teacher ofwisdom would mean something more than a scholar who has not come so far asto guide himself, much less to guide others, with certain expectation ofattaining so high an end: it would mean a master in theknowledge of wisdom, which implies more than a modest man would claim forhimself. Thus philosophy as well as wisdom would always remain an ideal, whichobjectively is presented complete in reason alone, while subjectively for theperson it is only the goal of his unceasing endeavours, and no one would bejustified in professing to be in possession of it so as to assume the name ofphilosopher, who could not also show its infallible effects in his own personas an example(in his self-mastery and theunquestioned interest that he takes pre-eminently in the general good), andthis the ancients also required as a condition of deserving that honourabletitle.

We have another preliminary remark to make respecting the dialectic of thepure practical reason, on the point of the definition of thesummum bonum (a successful solution of which dialectic would lead us toexpect, as in case of that of the theoretical reason, the most beneficialeffects, inasmuch as the self-contradictions of pure practical reason honestlystated, and not concealed, force us to undertake a complete critique of thisfaculty).

The moral law is the sole determining principle of a pure will. But sincethis is merely formal (viz. as prescribing only the form of the maxim asuniversally legislative), it abstracts as a determining principle from allmatter—that is to say, from every object of volition. Hence, though the summum bonum may be the whole object of a pure practical reason, i. e. a pure will, yet it isnot on that account to be regarded as its determiningprinciple; and the moral law alone must be regarded as the principle onwhich that and its realization or promotion are aimed at. This remark isimportant in so delicate a case as thedetermination of moral principles, where theslightest misinterpretation perverts men’s minds. For it will have been seenfrom the Analytic, that if we assume any object under the name of a good as adetermining principle of the will prior to the moral law, and then deduce fromit the supreme practical principle, this would always introduce heteronomy, andcrush out the moral principle.

It is, however, evident that if the notion of the summumbonum includes that of the moral lawas its supreme condition, then the summum bonum would not merely be an object, but the notion of it and the conception of itsexistence as possible by our own practical reason would likewise be the determining principle of the will, since in that case thewill is in fact determined by the moral law which is already included in thisconception, and by no other object, as the principle of autonomy requires. Thisorder of the conceptions of determination of the will must not be lost sightof, as otherwise we should misunderstand ourselves, and think we had falleninto a contradiction, while everything remains in perfect harmony.

CHAPTER II.: of the dialectic of pure reason indefining the conception of the “summum bonum.”

THE conception of the summum itself contains an ambiguity which might occasionneedless disputes if we did not attend to it. The summum may mean either the supreme ( supremum ) or the perfect ( consummatum ). The former is that condition which is itselfunconditioned, i. e. is not subordinate to any other ( originarium ); the second is that whole which is not a part ofa greater whole of the same kind ( perfectissimum ). It hasbeen shown in the Analytic that virtue (as worthiness tobe happy) is the supreme condition of all that can appearto us desirable, and consequently of all our pursuit of happiness, and istherefore the supreme good. But it does not follow that itis the whole and perfect good as the object of the desires of rational finitebeings; for this requires happiness also, and that not merely in the partialeyes of the person who makes himself an end, but even in the judgment of animpartial reason, which regards persons in general as ends in themselves. Forto need happiness, to deserve it, and yet at the same time not toparticipate in it, cannot be consistent with the perfect volition of a rationalbeing possessed at the same time of all power, if, for the sake of experiment,we conceive such a being. Now inasmuch as virtue and happiness togetherconstitute the possession of the summum bonum in a person,and the distribution of happiness in exact proportion to morality (which is theworth of the person, and his worthiness to be happy) constitutes the summum bonum of a possible world; hence this summum bonum expresses the whole, the perfect good, inwhich, however, virtue as the condition is always the supreme good, since ithas no condition above it; whereas happiness, while it is pleasant to thepossessor of it, is not of itself absolutely and in all respectsgood, but always presupposes morally right behaviouras its condition.

When two elements are necessarily united in one conceptthey must be connected as reason and consequence, and this either so that theirunity is considered as analytical (logical connexion), oras synthetical (real connexion)—the former following thelaw of identity, the latter that of causality. The connexion of virtue andhappiness may therefore be understood in two ways: either the endeavour to bevirtuous and the rational pursuit of happiness are not two distinct actions,but absolutely identical, in which case no maxim need be made the principle ofthe former, other than what serves for the latter; or the connexion consists inthis, that virtue produces happiness as something distinct from theconsciousness of virtue, as a cause produces an effect.

The ancient Greek schools were, properly speaking, only two, and indetermining the conception of the summum bonum thesefollowed in fact one and the same method, inasmuch as they did not allow virtueand happiness to be regarded as two distinct elements of the summum bonum, and consequently soughtthe unity of the principle by the ruleof identity; but they differed as to which of the two was to be taken as thefundamental notion. The Epicurean said: To be consciousthat one’s maxims lead to happiness is virtue; the Stoic said: To be conscious of one’s virtue is happiness. With the former, Prudence was equivalent to morality; with the latter, whochose a higher designation for virtue, morality alone was true wisdom.

While we must admire the men who in such early times tried all imaginableways of extending the domain of philosophy, we must at the same time lamentthat their acuteness was unfortunately misapplied in trying to trace outidentity between two extremely heterogeneous notions, those of happiness andvirtue. But it agreed with the dialectical spirit of their times (and subtleminds are even now sometimes misled in the same way) to get rid ofirreconcilable differences in principle by seeking to change them into a merecontest aboutwords, and thus apparently working out the identityof the notion under different names, and this usually occurs in cases where thecombination of heterogeneous principles lies so deep or so high, or wouldrequire so complete a transformation of the doctrines assumed in the rest ofthe philosophical system, that men are afraid to penetrate deeply into the realdifference, and prefer treating it as a difference in matters of form.

While both schools sought to trace out the identity of the practicalprinciples of virtue and happiness, they were not agreed as to the way in whichthey tried to force this identity, but were separated infinitely from oneanother, the one placing its principle on the side of sense, the other on thatof reason; the one in the consciousness of sensible wants, the other in theindependence of practical reasonon all sensible grounds ofdetermination. According to the Epicurean the notion of virtue was alreadyinvolved in the maxim: To promote one’s own happiness; according to the Stoics,on the other hand, the feeling of happiness was already contained in theconsciousness of virtue. Now whatever is contained in another notion isidentical with part of the containing notion, but not with the whole, andmoreover two wholes may be specifically distinct, although they consist of thesame parts, namely, if the parts are united into a whole in totally differentways. The Stoic maintained that virtue was the whole summumbonum, and happiness only the consciousness of possessing it, as makingpart of the state of the subject. The Epicurean maintained that happiness wasthe whole summum bonum, and virtue only the form of themaxim for its pursuit, viz. the rational use of the means for attaining it.

Now it is clear from the Analytic that the maxims of virtue and those ofprivate happiness are quite heterogeneous as to their supreme practicalprinciple; and although they belong to one summum bonum which together they make possible, yet they are so far from coinciding thatthey restrict and check one another very much in the same subject. Thus thequestion, How is the summum bonum practically possible?still remains an unsolved problem, notwithstanding all the attempts at coalition that have hitherto been made. The Analytic has,however, shown what it is that makes the problem difficult to solve; namely,that happiness and morality are two specifically distinctelements of the summum bonum, and therefore their combination cannot be analytically cognised (asif the man that seeks his own happiness should find by mere analysis of hisconception that in so acting he is virtuous, or as if the man that followsvirtue should in the consciousness of such conduct find that he is alreadyhappy ipso facto ), but must be a synthesis of concepts. Now since this combination isrecognised as à priori, and therefore as practicallynecessary, and consequently not as derived from experience, so that thepossibility of the summum bonum does not rest on anyempirical principle, it follows that the deduction [legitimation] of this concept must be transcendental. Itis à priori (morally) necessary to producethe summum bonum by freedom of will: therefore the condition of itspossibility must rest solely on à priori principles ofcognition.

I.: — The Antinomy of PracticalReason.

In the summum bonum which is practical for us, i. e. to be realised by our will, virtue and happiness arethought as necessarily combined, so that the one cannot be assumed by purepractical reason without the other also being attached to it. Now thiscombination (like every other) is either analytical or synthetical. It has been shown that it cannot beanalytical; it must then be synthetical, and, more particularly, must beconceived as the connexion of cause and effect, since it concerns a practicalgood, i. e. one that is possible by means of action;consequently either the desire of happiness must be the motive to maxims ofvirtue, or the maxim of virtue must be the efficient cause of happiness. Thefirst is absolutely impossible, because (as was proved inthe Analytic) maxims which place the determining principleof the will in the desire of personalhappiness are not moral at all, and no virtue can be founded on them. But thesecond is also impossible, because the practical connexionof causes and effects in the world, as the result of the determination of thewill, does notdepend upon the moral dispositions of the will, buton the knowledge of the laws of nature and the physical power to use them forone’s purposes; consequently we cannot expect in the world by the mostpunctilious observance of the moral laws any necessary connexion of happinesswith virtue adequate to the summum bonum. Now as thepromotion of this summum bonum, the conception of whichcontains this connexion, is à priori a necessary object ofour will, and inseparably attached to the moral law, the impossibility of theformer must prove the falsity of the latter. If then the supreme good is notpossible by practical rules, then the moral law also which commands us topromote it is directed to vain imaginary ends, and must consequently befalse.

II.: — Critical Solution of the Antinomyof Practical Reason.

The antinomy of pure speculative reason exhibits a similar conflict betweenfreedom and physical necessity in the causality of events in the world. It wassolved by showing that there is no real contradiction when the events and eventhe world in which they occur are regarded (as they ought to be) merely asappearances; since one and the same acting being, as anappearance (even to his own inner sense)has a causality in the world of sensethat always conforms to the mechanism of nature, but with respect to the sameevents, so far as the acting person regards himself at the same time as anoumenon (as pure intelligence in an existence not dependent on the conditionof time), he can contain a principle by which that causality acting accordingto laws of nature is determined, but which is itself free from all laws ofnature.

It is just the same with the foregoing antinomy of pure practical reason.The first of the two propositions—That the endeavour after happiness produces avirtuous mind, is absolutely false; but the second, That avirtuous mind necessarily produces happiness, is notabsolutely false, but only in so far as virtue is considered as a form ofcausality in the sensible world, and consequently only if I suppose existencein it to be the onlysort of existence of a rational being; it is thenonly conditionally false. But as I am not only justifiedin thinking that I exist also as a noumenon in a world of the understanding,but even have in the moral law a purely intellectual determining principle ofmy causality (in the sensible world), it is not impossible that morality ofmind should have a connexion as cause with happiness (as an effect in thesensible world) if not immediate yet mediate (viz.: through an intelligentauthor of nature), and moreover necessary; while in a system of nature which ismerely an object of the senses this combination could never occur exceptcontingently, and therefore could not suffice for the summumbonum.

Thus, notwithstanding this seeming conflict of practical reason with itself,the summum bonum, which is the necessary supreme end of awill morally determined, is a true object thereof; for it is practicallypossible, and the maxims of the will which as regards their matter refer to it,have objective reality, which at first was threatened by the antinomy thatappeared in the connexionof morality with happiness by a generallaw; but this was merely from a misconception, because the relation betweenappearances was taken for a relation of the things in themselves to theseappearances.

When we find ourselves obliged to go so far, namely, to the connexion withan intelligible world, to find the possibility of the summumbonum, which reason points out to all rational beings as the goal of alltheir moral wishes, it must seem strange that, nevertheless, the philosophersboth of ancient and modern times have been able to find happiness in accurateproportion to virtue even in this life (in the sensibleworld), or have persuaded themselves that they were conscious thereof. ForEpicurus as well as the Stoics extolled above everything the happiness thatsprings from the consciousness of living virtuously; and the former was not sobase in his practical precepts as one might infer from the principles of histheory, which he used for explanation and not for action, or as they wereinterpreted by many who were misled by his using the term pleasure forcontentment; on the contrary, he reckoned the most disinterestedpractice of good amongst the ways of enjoying themost intimate delight, and his scheme of pleasure (by which he meant constantcheerfulness of mind) included the moderation and control of the inclinations,such as the strictest moral philosopher might require. He differed from theStoics chiefly in making this pleasure the motive, which they very rightlyrefused to do. For, on the one hand, the virtuous Epicurus, like manywell-intentioned men of this day, who do not reflect deeply enough on theirprinciples, fell into the error of pre-supposing the virtuous disposition in the persons for whom he wished to provide thesprings to virtue (and indeed the upright man cannot be happyif he is not first conscious of hisuprightness; since with such a character the reproach that his habit of thoughtwould oblige him to make against himself in case of transgression, and hismoral self-condemnation would rob him of all enjoyment of the pleasantnesswhich his condition might otherwise contain). But the question is, How is sucha disposition possible in the first instance, and such a habit of thought inestimating the worth of one’s existence, since prior to it there can be in thesubject no feeling at all for moral worth? If a man is virtuous without beingconscious of his integrity in every action, he will certainly not enjoy life,however favourable fortune may be to him in its physical circumstances; but canwe make him virtuous in the first instance, in other words, before he esteemsthe moral worth of his existence so highly, by praising to him the peace ofmind that would result from the consciousness of an integrity for which he hasno sense?

On the other hand, however, there is here an occasion of a vitium subreptionis, and as it were of an optical illusion, inthe self-consciousness of what one does as distinguishedfrom what one feels, an illusion which even the mostexperienced cannot altogether avoid. The moral disposition of mind isnecessarily combined with a consciousness that the will is determined directly by the law. Now the consciousness of adetermination of the faculty of desire is always the source of a satisfactionin the resulting action; but this pleasure, this satisfaction in oneself, isnot the determining principle of the action; on the contrary,the determination of the will directly by reason isthe source of the feeling of pleasure, and this remains a pure practical notsensible determination of the faculty of desire. Now as this determination hasexactly the same effect withinin impelling to activity, that a feelingof the pleasure to be expected from the desired action would have had, weeasily look on what we ourselves do as something which we merely passivelyfeel, and take the moral spring for a sensible impulse, just as it happens inthe so-called illusion of the senses (in this case the inner sense). It is asublime thing in human nature to be determined to actions immediately by apurely rational law; sublime even is the illusion that regards the subjectiveside of this capacity of intellectual determination as something sensible, andthe effect of a special sensible feeling (for an intellectual feeling would bea contradiction). It is also of great importance to attend to this property ofour personality, and as much as possible to cultivate the effect of reason onthis feeling. But we must beware lest by falsely extolling this moraldetermining principle as a spring, making its source lie in particular feelingsof pleasure (which are in fact only results), we degrade and disfigure the truegenuine spring, the law itself, by putting as it were a false foil upon it.Respect, not pleasure or enjoyment of happiness, is something for which it isnot possible that reason should have any antecedent feeling as its foundation (for this would always be sensible and pathological);[and] [1] consciousness of immediate obligation of the will by the law is by nomeans analogous to the feeling of pleasure, although in relation to the facultyof desire it produces the same effect, but from different sources: it is onlyby this mode of conception, however, that we can attain what we are seeking,namely, that actions be done not merely in accordance with duty (as a result ofpleasant feelings), but from duty, which must be the true end of all moralcultivation.

Have we not, however, a word which does not express enjoyment, as happinessdoes, but indicates a satisfaction in one’sexistence, an analogue of the happiness which must necessarily accompany theconsciousness of virtue? Yes! this word is self-contentment, which in its proper signification alwaysdesignates only a negative satisfaction in one’s existence, in which one isconscious of needing nothing. Freedom and the consciousness of it as a facultyof following the moral law with unyielding resolution is independence on inclinations, at least as motives determining(though not as affecting ) our desire, and so far as I amconscious of this freedom in following my moral maxims, it is the only sourceof an unaltered contentment which is necessarily connected with it and rests onno special feeling. This may be called intellectual contentment. The sensiblecontentment (improperly so-called) which rests on the satisfaction of theinclinations, however delicate they may be imagined to be, can never beadequate to the conception of it. For the inclinations change, they grow withthe indulgence shown them, and always leave behind a still greater void than wehad thought to fill. Hence they are always burdensome to arational being, and although he cannot lay them aside, they wrest from him thewish to be rid of them. Even an inclination to what is right ( e. g. to beneficence), though it may much facilitate theefficacy of the moral maxims, cannot produce any. For inthese all must be directed to the conception of the law as a determiningprinciple, if the action is to contain morality and notmerely legality. Inclination is blind and slavish whetherit be of a good sort or not, and when morality is in question, reason must notplay the part merely of guardian to inclination, but, disregarding italtogether, must attend simply to its own interest as pure practical reason. This very feeling of compassion andtender sympathy, if it precedes the deliberation on the question of duty andbecomes a determining principle, is even annoying to right-thinking persons,brings their deliberate maxims into confusion, and makes them wish to bedelivered from it and to be subject to law-giving reason alone.

From this we can understand how the consciousness of thisfaculty of a pure practical reason produces byaction (virtue) a consciousness of mastery over one’s inclinations, andtherefore of independence on them, and consequently also on the discontent thatalways accompanies them, and thus a negative satisfaction with one’s state, i.e. contentment, which is primarily contentment with one’sown person. Freedom itself becomes in this way (namely indirectly) capable ofan enjoyment which cannot be called happiness, because it does not depend onthe positive concurrence of a feeling, nor is it, strictly speaking, bliss, since it does not include complete independence oninclinations and wants, but it resembles bliss in so far as the determinationof one’s will at least can hold itself free from their influence; and thus, atleast in its origin, this enjoyment is analogous to the self-sufficiency whichwe can ascribe only to the Supreme Being.

From this solution of the antinomy of pure practical reason it follows thatin practical principles we may at least conceive as possible a natural andnecessary connexion between the consciousness of morality and the expectationof a proportionate happiness as its result, though it does not follow that wecan know or perceive this connexion; that, on the other hand, principles of thepursuit of happiness cannot possibly produce morality; that, therefore,morality is the supreme good (as the first condition ofthe summum bonum ), while happiness constitutes its secondelement, but only in such a way that it is the morally conditioned, butnecessary consequence of the former. Only with this subordination is the summum bonum the whole object of pure practical reason,which must necessarily conceive it as possible, since it commands us tocontribute to the utmost of our power to its realization. But since thepossibility of such connexion of the conditioned with its condition belongswholly to the supersensual relation of things, and cannot be given according tothe laws of the world of sense, although the practical consequences of the ideabelong to the world of sense, namely, the actions that aim at realizing the summum bonum; we will therefore endeavour to set forth thegrounds of that possibility, first in respect of what is immediatelyin our power, and then secondly in that which is notin our power, but which reason presents to us as the supplement of ourimpotence, for the realization of the summum bonum (whichby practical principles is necessary).

III.: — Of the Primacy of Pure PracticalReason in its Union with the Speculative Reason.

By primacy between two or more things connected by reason, I understand theprerogative belonging to one, of being the first determining principle in theconnexion with all the rest. In a narrower practical sense it means theprerogative of the interest of one in so far as the interest of the other issubordinated to it, while it is not postponed to any other. To every faculty ofthe mind we can attribute an interest, that is a principle that contains thecondition on which alone the former is called into exercise. Reason, as thefaculty of principles, determinesthe interest of all the powers of themind, and is determined by its own. The interest of its speculative employmentconsists in the cognition of the object pushed to thehighest à priori principles: that of its practicalemployment, in the determination of the will in respect ofthe final and complete end. As to what is necessary for the possibility of anyemployment of reason at all, namely, that its principles and affirmationsshould not contradict one another, this constitutes no part of its interest,but is the condition of having reason at all; it is only its development, notmere consistency with itself, that is reckoned as its interest.

If practical reason could not assume or think as given, anything furtherthan what speculative reason of itself could offer it from its own insight, thelatter would have the primacy. But supposing that it had of itself original à priori principles with which certain theoreticalpositions were inseparably connected, while these were withdrawn from anypossible insight of speculative reason (which, however, they must notcontradict); then the question is, which interest is the superior (not whichmust give way, for they are not necessarily conflicting),whether speculative reason, which knows nothing ofall that the practical offers for its acceptance, should take up thesepropositions, and (although they transcend it) try to unite them with its ownconcepts as a foreign possession handed over to it, or whether it is justifiedin obstinately following its own separate interest, and according to thecanonic of Epicurus rejecting as vain subtlety everything that cannot accreditits objective reality by manifest examples to be shown in experience, eventhough it should be never so much interwoven with the interest of the practical(pure) use of reason, and in itself not contradictory to the theoretical,merely because it infringes on the interest of the speculative reason to thisextent, that it removes the bounds which thislatter had set to itself, and gives it up to every nonsense or delusion ofimagination?

In fact, so far as practical reason is taken as dependent on pathologicalconditions, that is, as merely regulating the inclinations under the sensibleprinciple of happiness, we could not require speculative reason to take itsprinciples from such a source. Mohammed’s paradise, or theabsorption into the Deity of the theosophists and mystics, would press their monstrosities on the reasonaccording to the taste of each, and one might as well have no reason assurrender it in such fashion to all sorts of dreams. But if pure reason ofitself can be practical and is actually so, as the consciousness of the morallaw proves, then it is still only one and the same reason which, whether in atheoretical or a practical point of view, judges according to àpriori principles; and then it is clear that although it is in the firstpoint of view incompetent to establish certain propositions positively, which,however, do not contradict it, then as soon as these propositions are inseparably attached to the practicalinterest of pure reason, then it must accept them, though it be assomething offered to it from a foreign source, something that has not grown onits own ground, but yet is sufficiently authenticated; and it must try tocompare and connect them with everything that it has in its power asspeculative reason. It must remember, however, that these are not additions toits insight, but yet are extensions of its employment in another,namely, a practical aspect; and this is not in theleast opposed to its interest, which consists in the restriction of wildspeculation.

Thus, when pure speculative and pure practical reason are combined in onecognition, the latter has the primacy, provided namely,that this combination is not contingent and arbitrary, butfounded à priori on reason itself and therefore necessary . For without this subordination therewould arise a conflict of reason with itself; since if they were merelyco-ordinate, the former would close its boundaries strictly and admit nothingfrom the latter into its domain, while the latter would extend its bounds overeverything, and when its needs required would seek to embrace the former withinthem. Nor could we reverse the order, and require pure practical reason to besubordinate to the speculative, since all interest is ultimately practical, andeven that of speculative reason is conditional, and it is only in the practicalemployment of reason that it is complete.

IV.: — The Immortality of the Soul as aPostulate of Pure Practical Reason.

The realization of the summum bonum in the world is thenecessary object of a will determinable by the moral law. But in this will the perfect accordance of the mind with the moral law is thesupreme condition of the summum bonum. This then must bepossible, as well as its object, since it is contained in the command topromote the latter. Now, the perfect accordance of the will with the moral lawis holiness, a perfection of which no rational being ofthe sensible world is capable at any moment of his existence. Since,nevertheless, it is required as practically necessary, it can only be found ina progress in infinitum towards that perfect accordance,and on the principles of pure practical reason it is necessaryto assume such a practical progress asthe real object of our will.

Now, this endless progress is only possible on the supposition of an endless duration of the existence andpersonality of the same rational being (which is called the immortality of thesoul). The summum bonum, then,practically is only possible on the supposition of the immortality of the soul;consequently this immortality, being inseparably connected with the moral law,is a postulate of pure practical reason) by which I mean a theoretical proposition, not demonstrable as such, but whichis an inseparable result of an unconditional à prioripractical law). [1]

This principle of the moral destination of our nature, namely, that it isonly in an endless progress that we can attain perfect accordance with themoral law, is of the greatest use, not merely for the present purpose ofsupplementing the impotence of speculative reason, but also with respect toreligion. In default of it, either the moral law is quite degraded from its holiness, being made out to be indulgent, and conformable to our convenience, or else menstrain their notions of their vocation and their expectation to an unattainablegoal, hoping to acquire complete holiness of will, and so they lose themselvesin fanatical theosophic dreams, which wholly contradictself-knowledge. In both cases the unceasing effort to obeypunctually and thoroughly a strict and inflexible command of reason, which yetis not ideal but real, is only hindered. For a rational but finite being, theonly thing possible is an endless progress from the lower to higher degrees ofmoral perfection. The Infinite Being, to whom thecondition of time is nothing, sees in this to us endless succession awhole of accordance with the moral law; and the holiness which His commandinexorably requires, in order to be true to His justice in the share which Heassigns to each in the summum bonum, is to be found in asingle intellectual intuition of the whole existence of rational beings. Allthat can be expected of the creature in respect of the hope of thisparticipation would be the consciousness of his tried character, by which, fromthe progress he has hitherto made from the worse to the morally better, and theimmutability of purpose which has thus become known to him, he may hope for afurther unbroken continuance of thesame, however long his existence may last, evenbeyond this life, [1] and thus he may hope, not indeed here, nor at any imaginable point ofhis future existence, but only in the endlessness of his duration (which Godalone can survey)to be perfectly adequate to his will(without indulgence or excuse, which do not harmonize with justice).

V.: — The Existence of God as a Postulateof Pure Practical Reason.

In the foregoing analysis the moral law led to a practical problem which isprescribed by pure reason alone, without the aid of any sensible motives,namely, that of the necessary completeness of the first and principal elementof the summum bonum, viz. Morality; and as this can beperfectly solved only in eternity, to the postulate of immortality. The same law must also lead us to affirm thepossibility of the second element of the summum bonum, viz. Happiness proportioned to that morality, and this on grounds asdisinterested as before, andsolely from impartial reason; that is, it must leadto the supposition of the existence of a cause adequate to this effect; inother words, it must postulate the existence of God, asthe necessary condition of the possibility of the summumbonum (an object of the will which is necessarily connected with the morallegislation of pure reason). We proceed to exhibit this connexion in aconvincing manner.

Happiness is the condition of a rational being in theworld with whom everything goes according to his wish andwill; it rests, therefore, on the harmony of physical nature with hiswhole end, and likewise with the essential determining principle of his will.Now the moral law as a law of freedom commands by determining principles, which ought to be quite independent onnature and on its harmony with our faculty of desire (as springs). But theacting rational being in the world is not the cause of the world and of natureitself. There is not the least ground, therefore, in the moral law for anecessary connexion between morality and proportionate happiness in a beingthat belongs to the world as part of it, and therefore dependent on it, andwhich for that reason cannot by his will be a cause of this nature, nor by hisown power make it thoroughly harmonize, as far as his happiness is concerned,with his practical principles. Nevertheless, in the practical problem of purereason, i.e. the necessary pursuit of the summum bonum, such a connexion is postulated as necessary: weought to endeavour to promote the summum bonum, which,therefore, must be possible. Accordingly, the existence of a cause of allnature, distinct from nature itself and containing the principle of thisconnexion, namely, of the exact harmony of happiness with morality, is also postulated. Now, this supreme cause must contain theprinciple of the harmony of nature, not merely with a law of the will ofrational beings, but with the conception of this law, inso far as they make it the supreme determining principle of thewill, and consequently not merely with the form of morals, but with theirmorality as their motive, that is, with their moral character. Therefore, the summum bonum is possiblein the world only on the supposition of a supremeBeing [1] having a causality corresponding to moral character. Now a being thatis capable of acting on the conception of laws is an intelligence (a rational being), and the causality of such abeing according to this conception of laws is his will; therefore the supreme cause of nature, which must be presupposed as a conditionof the summum bonum , is a being which is the cause of natureby intelligence and will, consequently its author, that is God. It follows that the postulate of thepossibility of the highest derived good (the best world)is likewise the postulate of the reality of a highest originalgood, that is to say, of the existence of God. Now it was seen to be aduty for us to promote the summum bonum; consequently itis not merely allowable, but it is a necessity connected with duty as arequisite, that we should presuppose the possibility of this summum bonum; and as this is possible only on condition of theexistence of God, it inseparably connects the supposition of this with duty;that is, it is morally necessary to assume the existence of God.

It must be remarked here that this moral necessity is subjective, that is, it is a want, and not objective, that is, itself a duty, for there cannot be a dutyto suppose the existence of anything (since this concerns only the theoreticalemployment of reason). Moreover it is not meant by this that it is necessary tosuppose the existence of God as a basis of all obligation ingeneral (for this rests, as has been sufficiently proved, simply on theautonomy of reason itself). What belongs to duty here is only the endeavour torealize and promote the summum bonum in the world, thepossibility of which can therefore be postulated; and as our reason finds itnot conceivable except on the supposition of a supreme intelligence, theadmission of this existence is therefore connected with the consciousness ofourduty, although the admission itself belongs to thedomain of speculative reason. Considered in respect of this alone, as aprinciple of explanation, it may be called a hypothesis, but in reference to the intelligibility of an object given us by the moral law(the summum bonum ), and consequently of a requirement forpractical purposes, it may be called faith, that is to saya pure rational faith, since pure reason(both in its theoretical and itspractical use) is the sole source from which it springs.

From this deduction it is now intelligible why the Greek schools could never attain the solution of theirproblem of the practical possibility of the summum bonum, because they made the rule of the use which the will of man makes of hisfreedom the sole and sufficient ground of this possibility, thinking that theyhad no need for that purpose of the existence of God. No doubt they were so farright that they established the principle of morals of itself independently onthis postulate, from the relation of reason only to the will, and consequentlymade it the supreme practical condition of the summum bonum; but it was not therefore the whole condition of its possibility. The Epicureans had indeed assumed as the supreme principle ofmorality a wholly false one, namely that of happiness, and had substituted fora law a maxim of arbitrary choice according to every man’s inclination; theyproceeded, however, consistently enough in this, that theydegraded their summum bonum likewise just in proportion tothe meanness of their fundamental principle, and looked for no greaterhappiness than can be attained by human prudence (including temperance andmoderation of the inclinations), and this as we know would be scanty enough andwould be very different according to circumstances; not to mention theexceptions that their maxims must perpetually admit and which make themincapable of being laws. The Stoics, on the contrary, hadchosen their supreme practical principle quite rightly, making virtue thecondition of the summum bonum; but when they representedthe degree of virtue required by its pure law as fully attainable in this life,they not only strained the moral powers of the man whomthey called the wise beyond all the limits of his nature, and assumeda thing that contradicts all ourknowledge of men, but also and principally they would not allow the second element of the summum bonum, namely,happiness, to be properly a special object of human desire, but made their wise man, like a divinity in his consciousness of theexcellence of his person, wholly independent on nature (as regards his owncontentment); they exposed him indeed to the evils of life, but made him notsubject to them (at the same time representing him also as free from moralevil). They thus in fact left out the second element of the summum bonum, namely, personal happiness, placing it solely inaction and satisfaction with one’s own personal worth, thus including it in theconsciousness of being morally minded, in which they might have beensufficiently refuted by the voice of their own nature.

The doctrine of Christianity, [1] even if we do not yet consider it as a religious doctrine, gives,touching this point, a conception of the summum bonum (the kingdom of God), which alone satisfies thestrictest demand of practical reason. The moral law is holy (unyielding) anddemands holiness of morals,although all the moral perfection to which man canattain is still only virtue, that is, a rightful disposition arising from respect for the law, implying consciousness of a constantpropensity to transgression, or at least a want of purity, that is, a mixtureof many spurious (not moral) motives of obedience to the law, consequently aself-esteem combined with humility. In respect then of the holiness which theChristian law requires, this leaves the creature nothing but a progress in infinitum, but for that very reason it justifies him inhoping for an endless duration of his existence. The worth of a character perfectly accordant with the moral law isinfinite, sincethe only restriction on all possiblehappiness in the judgment of a wise and all-powerful distributor of it is theabsence of conformity of rational beings to their duty. But the moral law ofitself does not promise any happiness, for according toour conceptions of an order of nature in general, this is not necessarilyconnected with obedience to the law. Now Christian morality supplies thisdefect (of the second indispensable element of the summumbonum ) by representing the world, in which rational beings devotethemselves with all their soul to the moral law, as a kingdomof God, in which nature and morality are brought intoa harmony foreign to each of itself, by a holyAuthor who makes the derived summum bonum possible. Holiness of life is prescribed to them as a rule even inthis life, while the welfare proportioned to it, namely, bliss, is represented as attainable only in an eternity;because the former must always be the pattern of theirconduct in every state, and progress towards it is already possible andnecessary in this life; while the latter, under the nameof happiness, cannot be attained at all in this world (so far as our own poweris concerned), and therefore is made simply an object of hope. Nevertheless,the Christian principle of morality itself is nottheological (so as to be heteronomy) but is autonomy of pure practical reason,since it does not make the knowledge of God and his will the foundation ofthese laws, but only of the attainment of the summumbonum, on condition of following these laws, and it does not even placethe proper spring of this obedience in the desiredresults, but solely in the conception of duty, as that of which the faithfulobservance alone constitutes the worthiness to obtain those happyconsequences.

In this manner the moral laws lead through the conception of the summum bonum as the object and final end of pure practicalreason to religion , that is, to the recognition of all duties as divine commands, not assanctions, [1] that is to say, arbitrary ordinances of a foreign willand contingent in themselves, but as essential laws of every free will in itself, which, nevertheless, must be regarded as commandsof the Supreme Being, because it is only from a morally perfect (holy and good)and at the same time all-powerful will, and consequently only through harmonywith this will that we can hope to attain the summum bonum which the moral law makes it our duty to take as the object of our endeavours.Here again, then, all remains disinterested and founded merely on duty; neitherfear nor hope being made the fundamental springs, which if taken as principleswould destroy the whole moral worth of actions. Themoral law commands me to make the highest possible good in a world the ultimateobject of all my conduct. But I cannot hope to effect this otherwise than bythe harmony of my will with that of a holy and good Author of the world; andalthough the conception of the summum bonum as a whole, inwhich the greatest happiness is conceived as combined in the most exactproportion with the highest degree of moral perfection (possible in creatures),includes my own happiness, yet it is not this that is thedetermining principle of the will which is enjoined to promote the summum bonum, but the moral law, which on the contrarylimits by strict conditions my unbounded desire of happiness.

Hence also morality is not properly the doctrine how we should make ourselves happy, but how we should become worthy of happiness. It is only when religion is addedthat there also comes in the hope of participating some day in happiness inproportion as we have endeavoured to be not unworthy of it.

A man is worthy topossess a thing or a state when his possession of it is in harmony with the summum bonum. We can now easily see that all worthinessdepends on moral conduct, since in the conception of the summumbonum this constitutes the condition of the rest (which belongs to one’sstate), namely, the participation of happiness. Now it follows from this that morality should never be treated as a doctrine of happiness, that is, an instruction how to becomehappy; for it has to do simply with the rational condition ( conditio sine qua non ) of happiness, not with the means ofattaining it. But when morality has been completely expounded (which merelyimposes duties instead of providing rules for selfish desires), then, first,after the moral desire to promote the summum bonum (tobring the kingdom of God to us) has been awakened, a desire founded on a law,and which could not previously arise in any selfish mind, and when for thebehoof of this desire the step to religion has been taken, then this ethicaldoctrine may be also called a doctrine of happiness, because the hope of happiness first begins with religion only.

We can also see from this that, when we ask what is God’sultimate end in creating the world, we must not name the happiness of the rational beings in it, but the summum bonum, which adds a further condition to that wishof such beings, namely, the condition of being worthy of happiness, that is,the morality of these same rational beings, a conditionwhich alone contains the rule by which only they can hope to share in theformer at the hand of a wise Author. For as wisdom theoretically considered signifies the knowledge of the summum bonum, and practically the accordance of the will with the summum bonum, wecannot attribute to a supreme independent wisdom an end based merely on goodness . For we cannot conceive the action ofthis goodness (in respect of the happiness of rational beings) as suitable tothe highest original good, except under the restrictive conditions of harmonywith the holiness [1] of his will. Therefore those who placed the end of creation in theglory of God (provided that this is not conceived anthropomorphically as adesire to be praised) have perhaps hit upon the best expression. For nothingglorifies God more than that which is the most estimable thing in the world,respect for His command, the observance of the holy duty that His law imposeson us, when there is added thereto His glorious plan of crowning such abeautiful order of things with corresponding happiness. If the latter (to speakhumanly) makes Him worthy oflove, by the former He is anobject of adoration. Even men can never acquire respect by benevolence alone,though they may gain love, so that the greatest beneficence only procures themhonour when it is regulated by worthiness.

That in the order of ends, man (and with him every rational being) is an end in himself, that is, that he can never be usedmerely as a means by any(not even by God) without being at thesame time an end also himself, that therefore humanity inour person must be holy to ourselves, this follows now ofitself because he is the subject [1] of the moral law, in other words, of that which isholy in itself, and on account of which and in agreement with which alone cananything be termed holy. For this moral law is founded on the autonomy of hiswill, as a free will which by its universal laws must necessarily be able toagree with that to which it is to submit itself.

VI.: — Of the Postulates of Pure PracticalReason in General.

They all proceed from the principle of morality, which is not a postulatebut a law, by which reason determines the will directly, which will, because itis so determined as a pure will, requires these necessary conditions ofobedience to its precept. These postulates are not theoretical dogmas, butsuppositions practically necessary; while then they do [not] [2] extend our speculative knowledge, they give objective reality to theideas of speculative reason in general (by means of their reference to what ispractical), and give it a right to concepts, the possibility even of which itcould not otherwise venture to affirm.

These postulates are those of immortality, freedom positively considered (as the causality of a being so far as he belongs tothe intelligible world), and the existence of God. The first results fromthe practically necessary condition of a durationadequate to the complete fulfilment ofthe moral law; the second from the necessary suppositionof independence on the sensible world, and of the faculty of determining one’swill according to the law of an intelligible world, that is, of freedom; the third from the necessary condition of the existence of the summum bonum in such an intelligible world, by thesupposition of the supreme independent good, that is, the existence of God.

Thus the fact that respect for the moral law necessarily makes the summum bonum an object of our endeavours, and thesupposition thence resulting of its objective reality, lead through thepostulates of practical reason to conceptions which speculative reason mightindeed present as problems, but could never solve. Thus it leads—1. To that onein the solution of which the latter could do nothing but commit paralogisms (namely, that of immortality), because it couldnot lay hold of the character of permanence, by which to complete thepsychological conception of an ultimate subject necessarily ascribed to thesoul in self-consciousness, so as to make it the real conception of asubstance, a character which practical reason furnishes by the postulate of aduration required for accordance with the moral law in the summum bonum, which is the whole end of practical reason. 2.It leads to that of which speculative reason contained nothing but antinomy, the solution of which it could only found on anotion problematically conceivable indeed, but whose objective reality it couldnot prove or determine, namely, the cosmological idea ofan intelligible world and the consciousness of our existence in it, by means ofthe postulate of freedom (the reality of which it lays down by virtue of themoral law), and with it likewise the law of an intelligible world, to whichspeculative reason could only point, but could not define its conception. 3.What speculative reason was able to think, but was obliged to leaveundetermined as a mere transcendental ideal , viz. the theological conception of the first Being, to this it givessignificance (in a practical view, that is, as a conditionof the possibility of the object of a willdetermined by that law), namely, as the supreme principle of the summum bonum in an intelligible world, by means of morallegislation in it invested with sovereign power.

Is our knowledge, however, actually extended in this way by pure practicalreason, and is that immanent in practical reason which forthe speculative was only transcendent ? Certainly, but only in a practical point of view. For we do not therebytake knowledge of the nature of our souls, nor of the intelligible world, norof the Supreme Being, with respect to what they are in themselves, but we havemerely combined the conceptions of them in the practical concept of the summum bonum as the object of our will, andthis altogether à priori, but only by means of the morallaw, and merely in reference to it, in respect of the object which it commands.But how freedom is possible, and how we are to conceive this kind of causalitytheoretically and positively, is not thereby discovered; but only that there issuch a causality is postulated by the moral law and in its behoof. It is thesame with the remaining ideas, the possibility of which no human intelligencewill ever fathom, but the truth of which, on the other hand, no sophistry willever wrest from the conviction even of the commonest man.

VII.: — How is it possible to conceive anextension of Pure Reason in a Practical point of view, without its Knowledge asSpeculative being enlarged at the same time?

In order not to be too abstract, we will answer this question at once in itsapplication to the present case. In order to extend a pure cognition practically, there must be an à prioripurpose given, that is, an end as object (of the will), whichindependently on all theological principle is presented as practicallynecessary by an imperative which determines the will directly (a categoricalimperative), and in this case that is the summum bonum. This, however, is not possible without presupposing three theoreticalconceptions (for which, because they are mere conceptions of pure reason, nocorresponding intuitioncan be found, nor consequently by the path of theoryany objective reality); namely, freedom, immortality, and God. Thus by thepractical law which commands the existence of the highest good possible in aworld, the possibility of those objects of pure speculative reason ispostulated, and the objective reality which the latter could not assure them.By this the theoretical knowledge of pure reason does indeed obtain anaccession; but it consists only in this, that those concepts which otherwise ithad to look upon as problematical (merely thinkable) concepts, are now shownassertorially to be such as actually have objects; because practical reasonindispensably requires their existence for the possibility of its object, the summum bonum, which practically is absolutely necessary,and this justifies theoretical reason in assuming them. But this extension oftheoretical reasonis no extension of speculative, that is,we cannot make any positive use of it in a theoretical point ofview. For as nothing is accomplished in this by practical reason, furtherthan that these concepts are real and actually have their (possible) objects,and nothing in the way of intuition of them is given thereby (which indeedcould not be demanded), hence the admission of this reality does not render anysynthetical proposition possible. Consequently this discovery does not in theleast help us to extend this knowledge of ours in a speculative point of view,although it does in respect of the practical employment of pure reason. Theabove three ideas of speculative reason are still in themselves not cognitions;they are however (transcendent) thoughts, in which thereis nothing impossible. Now, by help of an apodictic practical law, beingnecessary conditions of that which it commands to be made anobject, they acquire objective reality: that is, we learn from it that they have objects, without being able to point outhow the conception of them is related to an object, and this, too, is still nota cognition of these objects; for we cannot thereby formany synthetical judgment about them, nor determine their applicationtheoretically; consequently we can make no theoretical rational use of them atall, in which use all speculative knowledge of reason consists. Nevertheless,thetheoretical knowledge, not indeed ofthese objects, but of reason generally, is so far enlarged by this, thatby the practical postulates objects were given to thoseideas, a merely problematical thought having by this means first acquiredobjective reality. There is therefore no extension of the knowledge of given supersensible objects, but an extension oftheoretical reason and of its knowledge in respect of the supersensiblegenerally; inasmuch as it is compelled to admit that there aresuch objects , although it is not able to define themmore closely, so as itself to extend this knowledge of the objects (which havenow been given it on practical grounds, and only for practical use). For thisaccession, then, pure theoretical reason, for which all those ideas aretranscendent and without object, has simply to thank its practical faculty. Inthis they become immanent and constitutive, being thesource of the possibility of realizing the necessaryobject of pure practical reason (the summum bonum );whereas apart from this they are transcendent, and merely regulative principles of speculative reason, which do notrequire it to assume a new object beyond experience, but only to bring its usein experience nearer to completeness. But when once reason is in possession ofthis accession, it will go to work with these ideas as speculative reason(properly only to assure the certainty of its practical use) in a negativemanner: that is, not extending but clearing up its knowledge so as on one sideto keep off anthropomorphism, as the source of superstition, or seeming extension of these conceptions bysupposed experience; and on the other side fanaticism, which promises the same by means of supersensible intuition or feelings of thelike kind. All these are hindrances to the practical use of pure reason, sothat the removal of them may certainly be considered an extension of ourknowledge in a practical point of view, without contradicting the admissionthat for speculative purposes reason has not in the least gained by this.

Every employment of reason in respect of an object requires pure concepts ofthe understanding ( categories ), without which no objectcan be conceived. These can be applied to the theoretical employment of reason, i. e. to that kind of knowledge,only in case an intuition (which is always sensible)is taken as a basis, and therefore merely in orderto conceive by means of them an objectof possible experience. Now here what have to be thought by means of thecategories, in order to be known, are ideas of reason,which cannot be given in any experience. Only we are not here concerned withthe theoretical knowledge of the objects of these ideas, but only with this,whether they have objects at all. This reality is supplied by pure practicalreason, and theoretical reason has nothing further to do in this but to think those objects by means of categories. This, as wehave elsewhere clearly shown, can be done well enough without needing anyintuition (either sensible or supersensible), because the categories have theirseat and origin in the pure understanding, simply as the faculty of thought,before and independently on any intuition, and they always only signify anobject in general, no matter in what way it may be given tous. Now when the categories are to be applied to these ideas, it is notpossible to give them any object in intuition; but that such anobject actually exists, and consequently that the category as a mere formof thought is here not empty but has significance, this is sufficiently assuredthem by an object which practical reason presents beyond doubt in the conceptof the summum bonum, namely, the realityof the conceptions which are required for the possibility of the summum bonum, without, however, effecting by thisaccession the least extension of our knowledge on theoretical principles.

When these ideas of God, of an intelligible world (the kingdom of God), andof immortality are further determined by predicates taken from our own nature,we must not regard this determination as a sensualizing ofthose pure rational ideas(anthropomorphism), nor as atranscendent knowledge of supersensible objects; for thesepredicates are no others than understanding and will, considered too in therelation to each other in which they must be conceived in the moral law, andtherefore only so far as a pure practical use is made of them. As to all therest that belongs to these conceptions psychologically,that is, so far as we observe these faculties ofours empirically in their exercise ( e.g. that the understanding of man is discursive, and itsnotions therefore not intuitions but thoughts, that these follow one another intime, that his will has its satisfaction always dependent on the existence ofits object, c., which cannot be the case in the Supreme Being), from allthis we abstract in that case, and then there remains of the notions by whichwe conceive a pure intelligence nothing more than just what is required for thepossibility of conceiving a moral law. There is then a knowledge of God indeed,but only for practical purposes, and if we attempt to extend it to atheoretical knowledge we find an understanding that has intuitions, not thoughts, a will that is directed to objectson the existence of which its satisfaction does not in the least depend (not tomention the transcendental predicates, as, for example, a magnitude ofexistence, that is duration, which, however, is not in time, the only possiblemeans we have of conceiving existence as magnitude). Now these are allattributes of which we can form no conception that would help to the knowledge of the object, and we learn from this that theycan never be used for a theory of supersensible beings, sothat on this side they are quite incapable of being the foundation of aspeculative knowledge, and their use is limited simply to the practice of themoral law.

This last is so obvious, and can beproved so clearly by fact, that we may confidently challenge all pretended natural theologians (a singular name) [1] to specify (over and above themerely ontological predicates) one single attribute,whether of the understanding or of the will, determining this object of theirs,of which we could not show incontrovertibly that if we abstract from iteverything anthropomorphic, nothing would remain to us but the mere word,without our being able to connect with it the smallest notion by which we couldhope for an extension of theoretical knowledge. But as to the practical, therestill remains to us of the attributes of understanding and will the conceptionof a relation to which objective reality is given by the practical law (whichdetermines à priori precisely this relation of theunderstanding to the will). When once this is done, then reality is given tothe conception of the object of a will morally determined (the conception ofthe summum bonum ), and with it to the conditions of itspossibility, the ideas of God, freedom, and immortality, but always onlyrelatively to the practice of the moral law (and not for any speculativepurpose).

According to these remarks it is now easy to find the answer to the weightyquestion: whether the notion of God is one belonging toPhysics (and therefore also to Metaphysics, which contains the pure à priori principles of the former in their universal import) or to morals. If we have recourse to God as the Author ofall things, in order to explain the arrangements of natureor its changes, this is at least not a physical explanation, and is a completeconfession that our philosophy has come to an end, since we are obliged toassume something of which in itself we have otherwise no conception, in orderto be able to frame a conception of the possibility of what we see before oureyes. Metaphysics, however, cannot enable us to attain bycertain inference from the knowledge of this world tothe conception of God and to the proof of his existence, for this reason, thatin order to say that this world could be produced only by a God (according tothe conception implied by this word) we should know this world as the mostperfect whole possible; and for this purpose should also know all possibleworlds (in order to be able to compare them with this); in other words, weshould be omniscient. It is absolutely impossible, however, to know theexistenceof this Being from mere concepts, because everyexistential proposition, that is every proposition that affirms the existenceof a being of which I frame a concept, is a synthetic proposition, that is, oneby which I go beyond that conception and affirm of it more than was thought inthe conception itself, namely, that this concept in theunderstanding has an object corresponding to it outsidethe understanding, and this it is obviously impossible to elicit by anyreasoning. There remains, therefore, only one single process possible forreason to attain this knowledge, namely, to start from the supreme principle ofits pure practical use (which in every case is directed simply to the existence of something as a consequence of reason), andthus determine its object. Then its inevitable problem, namely, the necessarydirection of the will to the summum bonum, discovers to usnot only the necessity of assuming such a First Beingin reference to the possibility of thisgood in the world, but what is most remarkable, something which reason in itsprogress on the path of physical nature altogether failed to find, namely, anaccurately defined conception of this First Being. As we can know only a smallpart of this world, and can still less compare it with all possible worlds, wemay indeed from its order, design, and greatness, infer a wise, good, powerful,c., Author of it, but not that He is all-wise, all-good, all-powerful,c. It may indeed, very well be granted that we should be justified insupplying this inevitable defect by a legitimate and reasonable hypothesis,namely, that when wisdom, goodness, c., are displayed in all the partsthat offer themselves to our nearer knowledge, it is just the same in all therest, and that it would therefore be reasonable to ascribe all possibleperfections to the Author of the world, but these are not strict logical inferences in which we can pride ourselves on ourinsight, but only permitted conclusions in which we may be indulged, and whichrequire further recommendation before we can make use of them. On the path ofempirical inquiry then (physics) the conception of God remains always aconception of the perfection of the First Being not accurately enoughdetermined to be held adequate to the conception of Deity. (With metaphysicin its transcendental part nothing whatever can beaccomplished).

When I now try to test this conception by reference to the object ofpractical reason, I find that the moral principle admits as possible only theconception of an Author of the world possessed of the highestperfection. He must be omniscient, in order to knowmy conduct up to the inmost root of my mental state in all possible cases andinto all future time; omnipotent, in order to allot to itits fitting consequences; similarly He must be omnipresent,eternal, c. Thus the moral law, by means of the conception of the summum bonum as the object of a pure practicalreason, determines the concept of the First Being as theSupreme Being; a thing which the physical (and in its higher developmentthe metaphysical); in other words, the whole speculative course of reason, wasunable to effect. The conception of God, then, is one that belongs originallynot to physics, i. e. to speculative reason, but tomorals. The same may be said of the other conceptions of reason of which wehave treated above as postulates of it in its practical use.

In the history of Grecian philosophy we find no distinct traces of a purerational theology earlier than Anaxagoras, but this is notbecause the older philosophers had not intelligence or penetration enough toraise themselves to it by the path of speculation, at least with the aid of athoroughly reasonable hypothesis. What could have been easier, what morenatural, than the thought which of itself occurs to every one, to assumeinstead of several causes of the world, instead of an indeterminate degree ofperfection, a single rational cause having all perfection? But the evils in the world seemed to them to be much too serious objections toallow them to feel themselves justified in such a hypothesis. They showedintelligence and penetration then in this very point, that they did not allowthemselves to adopt it, but on the contrary looked about amongst natural causesto see if they could not find in them the qualities and power required for aFirst Being. But when this acute people had advanced so far in theirinvestigations of nature as to treat even moral questions philosophically, onwhich other nations had neverdone anything but talk, then first they found a newand practical want, which did not fail to give definiteness to their conceptionof the First Being: and in this the speculative reason played the part ofspectator, or at best had the merit of embellishing a conception that had notgrown on its own ground, and of applying a series of confirmationsfrom the study of nature now broughtforward for the first time, not indeed to strengthen the authority of thisconception (which was already established), but rather to make a show with asupposed discovery of theoretical reason.

From these remarks the reader of the Critique of Pure Speculative Reasonwill be thoroughly convinced how highly necessary that laborious deduction of the categories was, and how fruitful fortheology and morals. For if, on the one hand, we place them in the pureunderstanding, it is by this deduction alone that we can be prevented fromregarding them, with Plato, as innate, and founding onthem extravagant pretensions to theories of the supersensible, to which we cansee no end, and by which we should make theology a magic lantern of chimera: onthe other hand, if we regard them as acquired, this deduction saves us fromrestricting, with Epicurus, all and every use of them,even for practical purposes, to the objects and motives of the senses. But nowthat the Critique has shown by that deduction, first, thatthey are not of empirical origin, but have their seat and source à priori in the pure understanding; secondly, that as they refer to objects ingeneral independently on the intuition of them, hence, although theycannot effect theoretical knowledge, except in applicationto empirical objects, yet when applied to an object givenby pure practical reason they enable us to conceive thesupersensible definitely, only so far, however, as it is defined by suchpredicates as are necessarily connected with the pure practicalpurpose given à priori and with its possibility. Thespeculative restriction of pure reason and its practical extension bring itinto that relation ofequality in which reason in general can be employed suitably to its end,and this example proves better than any other that the path to wisdom, if it is to be made sure and not to be impassable ormisleading, must with us men inevitably pass through science; but it is nottill this is completed that we can be convinced that it leads to this goal.

VIII.: — Of Belief from a Requirement ofPure Reason.

A want or requirement of pure reason in its speculative use leads only to a hypothesis; that of pure practical reason to a postulate; for in the former case I ascend from the resultas high as I please in the series of causes, not in order to give objectivereality to the result ( e. g. the causal connexion ofthings and changes in the world), but in order thoroughly to satisfy myinquiring reason in respect of it. Thus I see before me order and design innature, and need not resort to speculation to assure myself of their reality, but to explain them I have to pre-suppose a Deity as their cause; and then since theinference from an effect to a definite cause is always uncertain and doubtful,especially to a cause so precise and so perfectly defined as we have toconceive in God, hence the highest degree of certainty to which thispre-supposition can be brought is, that it is the most rational opinion for usmen [1] . On the other hand, a requirement ofpure practical reason is based on a duty, that of making something (the summumbonum ) the object of my will so as to promote it with all my powers; inwhich case I must suppose its possibility, and consequently also the conditionsnecessarythereto, namely, God, freedom, and immortality;since I cannot prove these by my speculative reason, although neither can Irefute them. This duty is founded on something that is indeed quite independenton these suppositions, and is of itself apodictically certain, namely, themoral law; and so far it needs no further support by theoretical views as tothe inner constitution of things, the secret final aim of the order of theworld, or a presiding ruler thereof, in order to bind me in the most perfectmanner to act in unconditional conformity to the law. But the subjective effectof this law, namely, the mental disposition conformed toit and made necessary by it, to promote the practically possible summum bonum, this pre-supposes at least that the latteris possible, for it would be practically impossible tostrive after the object of a conception which at bottom was empty and had noobject. Now the above-mentioned postulates concern only the physical ormetaphysical conditions of the possibility of the summum bonum ; in a word, those which lie in thenature of things; not, however, for the sake of an arbitrary speculativepurpose, but of a practically necessary end of a pure rational will, which inthis case does not choose, but obeys an inexorable command of reason, the foundation of which is objective, in the constitution of things as they must beuniversally judged by pure reason, and is not based on inclination; for we are in nowise justified in assuming, onaccount of what we wish on merely subjective grounds, that the means thereto are possible orthat its object is real. This then is an absolutely necessary requirement, andwhat it pre-supposes is not merely justified as an allowable hypothesis, but asa postulate in a practical point of view; and admitting that the pure moral lawinexorably binds every man as a command (not as a rule of prudence), therighteous man may say: I will that there be a God, that myexistence in this world be also an existence outside the chain of physicalcauses, and in a pure world of the understanding, and lastly, that my durationbe endless; I firmly abide by this, and will not let this faith be taken fromme; for in this instance alone my interest, because I must not relax anything of it, inevitably determines my judgment, without regardingsophistries, however unable Imay be to answer them or to oppose them with othersmore plausible. [1]

In order to prevent misconception in theuse of a notion as yet so unusual as that of a faith of pure practical reason,let me be permitted to add one more remark. It might almost seem as if thisrational faith were here announced as itself a command, namely, that we should assume the summum bonum aspossible. But a faith that is commanded is nonsense. Let the precedinganalysis, however, be remembered of what is required to be supposed in theconception of the summum bonum, and it will be seen thatit cannot be commanded to assume this possibility, and no practical dispositionof mind is required to admit it; but that speculativereason must concede it without being asked, for no one can affirm that it is impossible in itself that rational beings in the worldshould at the same time be worthy of happiness in conformity with the morallaw, and also possess this happiness proportionately. Now in respect of thefirst element of the summum bonum, namely, that whichconcerns morality, themoral law gives merely a command, and to doubt thepossibility of that element would be the same as to call in question the morallaw itself. But as regards the second element ofthat object, namely, happiness perfectly proportioned to that worthiness, it istrue that there is no need of a command to admit its possibility in general,for theoretical reason has nothing to say against it; but themanner in which we have to conceive this harmony of the laws of naturewith those of freedom has in it something in respect of which we have a choice, because theoretical reason decides nothing withapodictic certainty about it, and in respect of this there may be a moralinterest which turns the scale.

I had said above that in a mere course of nature in the world an accuratecorrespondence between happiness and moral worth is not to be expected, andmust be regarded as impossible, and that therefore the possibility of the summum bonum cannot be admitted from this side except onthe supposition of a moral Author of the world. I purposely reserved therestriction of this judgment to the subjective conditionsof our reason, in order not to make use of it until the manner of this beliefshould be defined more precisely. The fact is that the impossibility referredto is merely subjective, that is, our reason finds it impossible for it to render conceivable in the way of amere course of nature a connexion so exactly proportioned and so thoroughlyadapted to an end, between two sets of events happening according to suchdistinct laws; although, as with everything else in nature that is adapted toan end, it cannot prove, that is, show by sufficient objective reasons, that itis not possible by universal laws of nature.

Now, however, a deciding principle of a different kind comes into play toturn the scale in this uncertainty of speculative reason. The command topromote the summum bonum is established on an objectivebasis (in practical reason); the possibility of the same in general is likewiseestablished on an objective basis(in theoretical reason, which hasnothing to say against it). But reason cannot decide objectively in what way weare to conceive this possibility; whether by universallaws of nature without a wise Author presiding overnature, or only on supposition of such an Author. Now here there comes in a subjective condition of reason; the only way theoreticallypossible for it, of conceiving the exact harmony of the kingdom of nature withthe kingdom of morals, which is the condition of the possibility of the summum bonum; and at the same time the only one conduciveto morality (which depends on an objective law of reason). Now since thepromotion of this summum bonum, and therefore thesupposition of its possibility, are objectively necessary(though only as a result of practical reason), while at the same time themanner in which we would conceive it rests with our own choice, and in thischoice a free interest of pure practical reason decides for the assumption of awise Author of the world; it is clear that the principle that herein determinesour judgment, though as a want it is subjective, yet atthe same time being the means of promoting what is objectively (practically) necessary, is the foundation of a maxim of belief in a moral point of view, that is, a faith of pure practical reason. This, then, is notcommanded, but being a voluntary determination of our judgment, conducive tothe moral (commanded) purpose, and moreover harmonizing with the theoreticalrequirement of reason, to assume that existence and to make it the foundationof our further employment of reason, it has itself sprung from the moraldisposition of mind; it may therefore at times waver even in the well-disposed,but can never be reduced to unbelief.

IX.: — Of the Wise Adaptation of Man’sCognitive Faculties to his Practical Destination.

If human nature is destined to endeavour after the summumbonum, we must suppose also that the measure of its cognitive faculties,and particularly their relation to one another, is suitable to this end. Nowthe Critique of Pure Speculative Reason proves that thisis incapable of solving satisfactorily the most weighty problems that areproposed to it, although it does not ignore the natural and important hintsreceived from the same reason, nor the great steps that it can make to approachto this great goalthat is set before it, which, however, it can neverreach of itself, even with the help of the greatest knowledge of nature. Naturethen seems here to have provided us only in astep-motherly fashion with the faculty required for our end.

Suppose now that in this matter nature had conformed to our wish, and hadgiven us that capacity of discernment or that enlightenment which we wouldgladly possess, or which some imagine they actuallypossess, what would in all probability be the consequence? Unless our wholenature were at the same time changed, our inclinations, which always have thefirst word, would first of all demand their own satisfaction, and, joined withrational reflection, the greatest possible and most lasting satisfaction, underthe name of happiness; the moral lawwould afterwards speak, in order to keepthem within their proper bounds, and even to subject them all to a higher end,which has no regard to inclination. But instead of the conflict that the moraldisposition has now to carry on with the inclinations, in which, though aftersome defeats, moral strength of mind may be gradually acquired, God and eternity with their awful majesty would stand unceasingly before our eyes (for what we can prove perfectly is to us ascertain as that of which we are assured by the sight of our eyes).Transgression of the law would, no doubt, be avoided; what is commanded wouldbe done; but the mental disposition, from which actionsought to proceed, cannot be infused by any command, and in this case the spurof action is ever active and external, so that reason hasno need to exert itself in order to gather strength to resist the inclinationsby a lively representation of the dignity of the law: hence most of the actionsthat conformed to the law would be done from fear, a few only from hope, andnone at all from duty, and the moral worth of actions, on which alone in theeyes of supreme wisdom the worth of the person and even that of the worlddepends, would cease to exist. As long as the nature of man remains what it is,his conduct would thus be changed into mere mechanism, in which, as in a puppetshow, everything would gesticulate well, but there wouldbe no life in the figures. Now, when it is quite otherwisewithus, when with all the effort of our reason we haveonly a very obscure and doubtful view into the future, when the Governor of theworld allows us only to conjecture his existence and his majesty, not to beholdthem or prove them clearly; and on the other hand, the moral law within us,without promising or threatening anything with certainty, demands of usdisinterested respect; and only when this respect has become activeand dominant does it allow us by meansof it a prospect into the world of the supersensible, and then only with weakglances: all this being so, there is room for true moral disposition,immediately devoted to the law, and a rational creature can become worthy ofsharing in the summum bonum that corresponds to the worthof his person and not merely to his actions. Thus what the study of nature andof man teaches us sufficiently elsewhere may well be true here also; that theunsearchable wisdom by which we exist is not less worthy of admiration in whatit has denied than in what it has granted.

PART SECOND.: METHODOLOGY OF PURE PRACTICAL REASON.

METHODOLOGY OF PURE PRACTICALREASON.

BY the methodology of pure practical reason we are not to understand the mode ofproceeding with pure practical principles (whether in study or in exposition),with a view to a scientific knowledge of them, which alone is what is properlycalled method elsewhere in theoretical philosophy (forpopular knowledge requires a manner, science a method, i. e. a process according toprinciples of reason by which alone the manifold of any branch ofknowledge can become a system ). On the contrary, by thismethodology is understood the mode in which [1] we can give the laws of pure practical reason access to the human mind, and influence on its maxims, that is, by which we can make the objectively practical reason subjectively practical also.

Now it is clear enough that those determining principles of the will whichalone make maxims properly moral and give them a moral worth, namely, thedirect conception of the law and the objective necessity of obeying it as ourduty, must be regarded as the proper springs of actions, since otherwise legality of actions might be produced, but not morality of character. But it is not so clear: on thecontrary, it must at first sight seem to everyone very improbable that, evensubjectively, that exhibition of pure virtue can have morepower over the human mind,and supply a far stronger spring even for effectingthat legality of actions, and can produce more powerful resolutionsto prefer the law, from pure respect forit, to every other consideration, than all the deceptive allurements ofpleasure or of all that may be reckoned as happiness, or even than allthreatenings of pain and misfortune. Nevertheless, this is actually the case,and if human nature were not so constituted, no mode of presenting the law byroundabout ways and indirect recommendations would ever produce morality ofcharacter. All would be simple hypocrisy; the law would be hated, or at leastdespised, while it was followed for the sake of one’s own advantage. The letterof the law (legality) would be found in our actions, but not the spirit of itin our minds (morality); and as with all our efforts we could not quite freeourselves from reason in our judgment, we must inevitably appear in our owneyes worthless, depraved men, even though we should seek to compensateourselves for this mortification before the inner tribunal, by enjoying thepleasure that a supposed natural or divine law might be imagined to haveconnected with a sort of police machinery, regulating its operations by whatwas done without troubling itself about the motives for doing it.

It cannot indeed be denied that in order to bring an uncultivated ordegraded mind into the track of moral goodness some preparatory guidance isnecessary, to attract it by a view of its own advantage, or to alarm it by fearof loss; but as soon as this mechanical work, these leading-strings, haveproduced some effect, then we must bring before the mind the pure moral motive,which, not only because it is the only one that can be the foundation of acharacter (a practically consistent habit of mind with unchangeable maxims), but also because it teaches a man tofeel his own dignity, gives the mind a power unexpected even by himself, totear himself from all sensible attachments so far as they would fain have therule, and to find a rich compensation for the sacrifice he offers, in theindependence of his rational nature and the greatness of soul to which he seesthat he is destined. We will therefore show, by such observations as every onecan make, that this property of our minds, this receptivityfor a pure moral interest, and consequently themoving force of the pure conception of virtue, when it is properly applied tothe human heart, is the most powerful spring, and, when a continued andpunctual observance of moral maxims is in question, the only spring of goodconduct. It must, however, be remembered that if these observations only provethe reality of such a feeling, but do not show any moral improvement broughtabout by it, this is no argument against the only method that exists of makingthe objectively practical laws of pure reason subjectively practical, throughthe mere force of the conception of duty; nor does it prove that this method isa vain delusion. For as it has never yet come into vogue, experience can saynothing of its results; one can only ask for proofs of the receptivity for suchsprings, and these I will now briefly present, and then sketch the method offounding and cultivating genuine moral dispositions.

When we attend to the course of conversation in mixed companies, consistingnot merely of learned persons and subtle reasoners, but also of men of businessor of women, we observe that, besides story-telling and jesting, another kindof entertainment finds a place in them, namely, argument; for stories, if theyare to have novelty and interest, are soon exhausted, and jesting is likely tobecome insipid. Now of all argument there is none inwhich persons are more ready to join who find any other subtle discussiontedious, none that brings more liveliness into the company, than that whichconcerns the moral worth of this or that action by whichthe character of some person is to be made out. Persons, to whom in other casesanything subtle and speculative in theoretical questions is dry and irksome,presently join in when the question is to make out the moral import of a goodor bad action that has been related, and they display an exactness, arefinement, a subtlety, in excogitating everything that can lessen the purityof purpose, and consequently the degree of virtue in it, which we do not expectfrom them in any other kind of speculation. In these criticisms persons who arepassing judgment on others often reveal their own character: some, inexercising their judicial office, especiallyupon the dead, seem inclined chiefly to defend thegoodness that is related of this or that deed against all injurious charges ofinsincerity, and ultimately to defend the whole moral worth of the personagainst the reproach of dissimulation and secret wickedness; others, on thecontrary, turn their thoughts more upon attacking this worth by accusation andfault-finding. We cannot always, however, attribute to these latter theintention of arguing away virtue altogether out of all human examples in orderto make it an empty name; often, on the contrary, it is only well-meantstrictness in determining the true moral import of actions according to anuncompromising law. Comparison with such a law, instead of with examples,lowers self-conceit in moral matters very much, and not merely teacheshumility, but makes everyone feel it when he examines himself closely.Nevertheless, we can for the most part observe in those who defend the purityof purpose in giving examples, that where there is the presumption ofuprightnessthey are anxious to remove even theleast spot, lest, if all examples had their truthfulness disputed, and if thepurity of all human virtue were denied, it might in the end be regarded as amere phantom, and so all effort to attain it be made light of as vainaffectation and delusive conceit.

I do not know why the educators of youth have not long since made use ofthis propensity of reason to enter with pleasure upon the most subtleexamination of the practical questions that are thrown up; and why they havenot, after first laying the foundation of a purely moral catechism, searchedthrough the biographies of ancient and modern times with the view of having athand instances of the duties laid down, in which, especially by comparison ofsimilar actions under different circumstances, they might exercise the criticaljudgment of their scholars in remarking their greater or less moralsignificance. This is a thing in which they would find that even early youth,which is still unripe for speculation of other kinds, would soon become veryacute and not a little interested, because it feels the progress of its facultyof judgment; and what is most important, they could hope with confidence thatthe frequent practice of knowing and approvinggood conduct in all its purity, and on the otherhand of remarking with regret or contempt the least deviation from it, althoughit may be pursued only as a sport in which children may compete with oneanother, yet will leave a lasting impression of esteem on the one hand anddisgust on the other; and so, by the mere habit of looking on such actions asdeserving approval or blame, a good foundation would be laid for uprightness inthe future course of life. Only I wish they would spare them theexample of so-called noble (super-meritorious) actions inwhich our sentimental books so much abound, and would refer all to duty merely,and to the worth that a man can and must give himself in his own eyes by theconsciousness of not having transgressed it, since whatever runs up into emptywishes and longings after inaccessible perfection produces mere heroes ofromance, who, while they pique themselves on their feeling for transcendentgreatness, release themselves in return from the observance of common andevery-day obligations, which then seem to them petty and insignificant. [1]

But if it is asked, what then is really pure morality,by which as a touchstone we must test the moral significance of every action,then I must admit that it is only philosophers that can make the decision ofthis question doubtful, for to common sense it has been decided long ago, notindeed by abstract general formulæ, but by habitual use, like the distinctionbetween the right and left hand. We will then point out the criterion of purevirtue in an example first, and imagining that it is setbefore a boy of, say ten years old, for hisjudgment, we will see whetherhe would necessarily judge so of himselfwithout being guided by his teacher. Tell him the history of an honest man whommen want to persuade to join the calumniators of an innocent and powerlessperson (say Anne Boleyn, accused by Henry VIII. of England). He is offeredadvantages, great gifts, or high rank; he rejects them. This will excite mereapprobation and applause in the mind of the hearer. Now begins the threateningof loss. Amongst these traducers are his best friends, who now renounce hisfriendship; near kinsfolk, who threaten to disinherit him (he being withoutfortune); powerful persons, who can persecute and harass him in all places andcircumstances; a prince who threatens him with loss of freedom, yea, loss oflife. Then to fill the measure of suffering, and that he may feel the pain thatonly the morally good heart can feel very deeply, let us conceive his familythreatened with extreme distress and want, entreating him toyield; conceive himself, though upright, yet with feelings not hard orinsensible either to compassion or to his own distress; conceive him, I say, atthe moment when he wishes that he had never lived to see the day that exposedhim to such unutterable anguish, yet remaining true to his uprightness ofpurpose, without wavering or even doubting; then will my youthful hearer beraised gradually from mere approval to admiration, from that to amazement, andfinally to the greatest veneration, and a lively wish that he himself could besuch a man (though certainly not in such circumstances). Yet virtue is hereworth so much only because it costs so much, not because it brings any profit.All the admiration, and even the endeavour to resemble this character, restwholly on the purity of the moral principle, which can only be strikingly shownby removing from the springs of actioneverything that men may regard as part of happiness. Morality then must havethe more power over the human heart the more purely it is exhibited. Whence itfollows that if the law of morality and the image of holiness and virtue are toexercise any influence at all on our souls, they can do so only so far as theyare laid to heart in their purity as motives,unmixed with any view to prosperity, for it is insuffering that they display themselves most nobly. Now that whose removalstrengthens the effect of a moving force must have been a hindrance,consequently every admixture of motives taken from our own happiness is ahindrance to the influence of the moral law on the heart. I affirm further,that even in that admired action, if the motive from which it was done was ahigh regard for duty, then it is just this respect for the law that has thegreatest influence on the mind of the spectator, not any pretension to asupposed inward greatness of mind or noble meritorious sentiments; consequentlyduty, not merit, must have not only the most definite, but, when it isrepresented in the true light of its inviolability, the most penetratinginfluence on the mind.

It is more necessary than ever to direct attention to this method in ourtimes, when men hope to produce more effect on the mind with soft, tenderfeelings, or high-flown, puffing-up pretensions, which rather wither the heartthan strengthen it, than by a plain and earnest representation of duty, whichis more suited to human imperfection and to progress in goodness. To set beforechildren, as a pattern, actions that are called noble, magnanimous,meritorious, with the notion of captivating them by infusing an enthusiam forsuch actions, is to defeat our end. For as they are still so backward inthe observance of the commonest duty, and even in the correct estimation of it,this means simply to make them fantastical romancers betimes. But, even withthe instructed and experienced part of mankind, this supposed spring has, ifnot an injurious, at least no genuine moral effect on the heart, which,however, is what it was desired to produce.

All feelings, especially those that are to produceunwonted exertions, must accomplish their effect at the moment they are attheir height, and before they calm down; otherwise they effect nothing; for asthere was nothing to strengthen the heart, but only to excite it, it naturallyreturns to its normal moderate tone, and thus falls back into its previouslanguor. Principles must be built on conceptions; on anyother basis there can only be paroxysms, which can give the person no moralworth, nay,not even confidence in himself, without which thehighest good in man, consciousness of the morality of his mind and character,cannot exist. Now if these conceptions are to become subjectively practical, wemust not rest satisfied with admiring the objective law of morality, andesteeming it highly in reference to humanity, but we must consider theconception of it in relation to man as an individual, and then this law appearsin a form indeed that is highly deserving of respect, but not so pleasant as ifit belonged to the element to which he is naturally accustomed, but on thecontrary as often compelling him to quit this element, not without self-denial,and to betake himself to a higher, in which he can only maintain himself withtrouble and with unceasing apprehension of a relapse. In a word, the moral lawdemandsobedience, from duty not frompredilection, which cannot and ought not to be pre-supposed at all.

Let us now see in an example whether the conception of an action as a nobleand magnanimous one, has more subjective moving power than if the action isconceived merely as duty in relation to the solemn law of morality. The actionby which a man endeavours at the greatest peril of life to rescue people fromshipwreck, at last losing his life in the attempt, is reckoned on one side asduty, but on the other and for the most part as a meritorious action, but ouresteem for it is much weakened by the notion of duty tohimself, which seems in this case to be somewhat infringed. More decisiveis the magnanimous sacrifice of life for the safety of one’s country; and yetthere still remains some scruple whether it is a perfect duty to devote one’sself to this purpose spontaneously and unbidden, and the action has not initself the full force of a pattern and impulse to imitation. But if anindispensable duty be in question, the transgression of which violates themoral law itself, and without regard to the welfare of mankind, and as it weretramples on its holiness (such as are usually called duties to God, because inHim we conceive the ideal of holiness in substance), then we give our mostperfect esteem to the pursuit of it at the sacrifice of all that can have anyvalue for the dearest inclinations, and we find our soul strengthened andelevated by such an example, when we convinceourselves by contemplation of it that human natureis capable of so great an elevation above every motive that nature can opposeto it. Juvenal describes such an example in a climax which makes the readerfeel vividly the force of the spring that is contained in the pure law of duty,as duty:

- Esto bonus miles, tutor bonus, arbiteridem

- Integer; ambiguae si quando citabere testis

- Incertaeque rei, Phalaris licet imperet ut sis

- Falsus, et admoto dictet periuria tauro,

- Summum crede nefas animam præferre pudori,

- Et propter vitam vivendi perdere causas.

When we can bring any flattering thought of merit into our action, then themotive is already somewhat alloyed with self-love, and has therefore someassistance from the side of the sensibility. But to postpone everything to theholiness of duty alone, and to be conscious that we can because our own reason recognises this as its command and says that we ought to do it, this is, as it were, to raise ourselvesaltogether above the world of sense, and there is inseparably involved in thesame a consciousness of the law, as a spring of a faculty thatcontrols the sensibility; and although this is not always attended witheffect, yet frequent engagement with this spring, and the at first minorattempts at using it, give hope that this effect may be wrought, and that bydegrees the greatest, and that a purely moral interest in it may be produced inus.

The method then takes the following course. At first we are only concernedto make the judging of actions by moral laws a natural employment accompanyingall our own free actions, as well as the observation of those of others, and tomake it, as it were, a habit, and to sharpen this judgment, asking firstwhether the action conforms objectively tothe moral law, and to what law; and we distinguish the law that merelyfurnishes a principle of obligation from that which isreally obligatory ( leges obligandi alegibus obligantibus ); as for instance the law of what men’s wants require from me, as contrasted with that which their rights demand, the latter of which prescribesessential, the former only non-essentialduties; and thus we teach how to distinguish different kinds of duties whichmeet in the same action. The other point to which attention must be directed isthe question whether the action was also (subjectively) done for the sake of the moral law, so that it not only is morallycorrect as a deed, but also by the maxim from which it is done has moral worthas a disposition. Now there is no doubt that this practice, and the resultingculture of our reason in judging merely of the practical, must graduallyproduce a certain interest even in the law of reason, and consequently inmorally good actions. For we ultimately take a liking for a thing, thecontemplation of which makes us feel that the use of our cognitive faculties isextended, and this extension is especially furthered by that in which we findmoral correctness, since it is only in such an order of things that reason,with its faculty of determining à priori on principle whatought to be done, can find satisfaction. An observer of nature takes liking atlast to objects that at first offended his senses, when he discovers in themthe great adaptation of their organization to design, so that his reason findsfood in its contemplation. So Leibnitz spared an insect that he had carefullyexamined with the microscope, and replaced it on its leaf, because he had foundhimself instructed by the view of it, and had as it were received a benefitfrom it.

But this employment of the faculty of judgment, which makes us feel our owncognitive powers, is not yet the interest in actions and in their moralityitself. It merely causes us to take pleasure in engaging in such criticism, andit gives to virtue or the disposition that conforms to moral laws a form ofbeauty, which is admired, but not on that account sought after ( laudatur et alget ); as everything the contemplation of whichproduces a consciousness of the harmonyof our powers of conception, and inwhich we feel the whole of our faculty of knowledge (understanding andimagination) strengthened, produces a satisfaction, which may also becommunicated to others, while nevertheless the existence of the object remainsindifferent to us, being only regarded as the occasion of our becoming awareof the capacities in us which are elevated abovemere animal nature. Now, however, the second exercisecomes in, the living exhibition of morality of character by examples, in whichattention is directed to purity of will, first only as a negative perfection,in so far as in an action done from duty no motives of inclination have anyinfluence in determining it. By this the pupil’s attention is fixed upon theconsciousness of his freedom, and although thisrenunciation at first excites a feeling of pain, nevertheless, by itswithdrawing the pupil from the constraint of even real wants, there isproclaimed to him at the same time a deliverance from the manifolddissatisfaction in which all these wants entangle him, and the mind is madecapable of receiving the sensation of satisfaction from other sources. Theheart is freed and lightened of a burden that always secretly presses on it,when instances of pure moral resolutions reveal to the man an inner faculty ofwhich otherwise he has no right knowledge, the inwardfreedom to release himself from the boisterous importunity ofinclinations, to such a degree that none of them, not even the dearest, shallhave any influence on a resolution, for which we are now to employ our reason.Suppose a case where I alone know that the wrong is on myside, and although a free confession of it and the offer of satisfaction are sostrongly opposed by vanity, selfishness, and even an otherwise not illegitimateantipathy to the man whose rights are impaired by me, I am nevertheless able todiscard all these considerations; in this there is implied aconsciousness of independence on inclinations and circumstances, and of thepossibility of being sufficient for myself, which is salutary to me in generalfor other purposes also. And now the law of duty, in consequence of thepositive worth which obedience to it makes us feel, finds easier access throughthe respect for ourselves in the consciousness of ourfreedom. When this is well established, when a man dreads nothing more than tofind himself, on self-examination, worthless and contemptible in his own eyes,then every good moral disposition can be grafted on it, because this is thebest, nay, the only guard that can keep off from the mind the pressure ofignoble and corrupting motives.

I have only intended to point out the most general maxims of the methodologyof moral cultivation and exercise. As the manifold variety of duties requiresspecial rules for each kind, and this would be a prolix affair, I shall bereadily excused if in a work like this, which is only preliminary, I contentmyself with these outlines.

CONCLUSION.

Two things fill the mind with ever new and increasing admiration and awe,the oftener and the more steadily we reflect on them: thestarry heavens above and the moral law within. I have not to search forthem and conjecture them as though they were veiled in darkness or were in thetranscendent region beyond my horizon; I see them before me and connect themdirectly with the consciousness of my existence. The former begins from theplace I occupy in the external world of sense, and enlargesmy connexion therein to an unboundedextent with worlds upon worlds and systems of systems, and moreover intolimitless times of their periodic motion, its beginning and continuance. Thesecond begins from my invisible self, my personality, and exhibits me in aworld which has true infinity, but which is traceable only by theunderstanding, and with which I discern that I am not in a merely contingentbut in a universal and necessary connexion, as I am also thereby with all thosevisible worlds. The former view of a countless multitude of worlds annihilates,as it were, my importance as an animal creature, whichafter it has been for a short time provided with vital power, one knows nothow, must again give back the matter of which it was formed to the planet itinhabits (a mere speck in the universe). The second, on the contrary,infinitely elevates my worth as an intelligence by mypersonality, in which the moral law reveals to me a life independent onanimality and even on the whole sensible world—at least so far as may beinferred from the destination assigned to my existence by this law, adestination not restricted to conditions and limits of this life, but reachinginto the infinite.

But though admiration and respect may excite to inquiry, they cannot supplythe want of it. What, then, is to be done in order to enter on this in a usefulmanner and one adapted to the loftiness of the subject? Examples may serve inthis as a warning, and also for imitation. The contemplation of the world beganfrom the noblest spectacle that the human senses present to us, and that ourunderstanding can bear to follow in their vast reach; and it ended—inastrology. Morality began with the noblest attribute of human nature, thedevelopment and cultivation of which give a prospect of infinite utility; andended—in fanaticism or superstition. So it is with all crude attempts wherethe principal part of the business depends on the use of reason, a use whichdoes not come of itself, like the use of the feet, by frequent exercise,especially when attributes are in question which cannot be directly exhibitedin common experience. But after the maxim had come into vogue, though late, toexamine carefully beforehand all the steps that reason purposes to take, andnot to let it proceed otherwise than in the track of a previouslywell-considered method, then the study of the structure of the universe tookquite a different direction, and thereby attained an incomparably happierresult. The fall of a stone, the motion of a sling, resolved into theirelements and the forces that are manifested in them, and treatedmathematically, produced at last that clear and henceforward unchangeableinsight into the system of the world, which as observation is continued mayhope always to extend itself, but need never fear to be compelled toretreat.

This example may suggest to us to enter on the same path in treating of themoral capacities of our nature, and may give us hope of a like good result. Wehave at hand the instances of the moral judgment of reason. By analysing theseinto their elementary conceptions, and in default of mathematics adopting a process similar to that of chemistry, the separation of theempirical from the rational elements that may be found in them, by repeatedexperiments on common sense, we may exhibit both pure, andlearn with certainty what each part can accomplish of itself, so as to preventon the one hand the errors of astill crude untrained judgment,and on the other hand (what is far more necessary) the extravagances of genius, by which, as by the adepts of thephilosopher’s stone, without any methodical study or knowledge of nature,visionary treasures are promisedand the true are thrown away. In oneword, science (critically undertaken and methodically directed) is the narrowgate that leads to the true doctrine of practical wisdom, [1] if we understand by this not merely what one ought to do, but what ought to serve teachers as aguide to construct well and clearly the road to wisdom which everyone shouldtravel, and to secure others from going astray. Philosophy must always continueto be the guardian of this science; and although the public does not take anyinterest in its subtle investigations, it must take an interest in theresulting doctrines, which such an examination first putsin a clear light.

INTRODUCTION TO THE METAPHYSIC OFMORALS; AND PREFACE TO THE METAPHYSICALELEMENTS OF ETHICS.

INTRODUCTION TO THE METAPHYSIC OFMORALS.

I.: of the relation of the faculties of thehuman mind to the moral laws.

THE appetitive faculty is the faculty ofbeing by means of one’s ideas the cause of the objects of these ideas. [1] The faculty which a being has of acting according to its ideas is Life. Firstly—Desire or aversion has always connected withit pleasure or displeasure, thesusceptibility to which is called feeling. But the converse doesnot always hold; for a pleasure may exist which is not connected with anydesire of the object, but with the mere idea which one frames to one’s self ofan object, no matter whether its object exists or not. Secondly—The pleasure ordispleasure in the object of the desire does not always precede the desire, andcannot always be regarded as its cause, but must sometimes be looked on as theeffect thereof.

Now, the capability of having pleasure or displeasure in an idea is called feeling, because both contain what is merely subjective in relation to our idea, and have no relation to an object so asto contribute to the possible cognition of it [1] (not even the cognition of our own state); whereas in other casessensations, apart from the quality which belongs to them in consequence of thenature of the subject ( ex. gr. red, sweet, etc.), may yethave relation to an object, and constitute part of our knowledge; but pleasureor displeasure (in the red or sweet) expresses absolutely nothing in theobject, but simply a relation to the subject. Pleasure and displeasure cannotbe more closely defined, for the reason just given. We can only specify whatconsequences they have in certain circumstances so as to make them cognizablein practice. The pleasure which is necessarily connected with the desire of theobject whose idea affects feeling may be called practical pleasure, whether it is cause or effect of the desire. On the contrary, thepleasure which is not necessarilyconnected with the desire of the object, and which,therefore, is at bottom not a pleasure in the existence of the object of theidea, but clings to the idea only, may be called mere contemplative pleasure or passive satisfaction . The feeling of the latter kind ofpleasure we call taste. Accordingly, in a practicalphilosophy we can treat this only episodically, not as anotion properly belonging to that philosophy. But as regards the practicalpleasure, the determination of the appetitive faculty which is caused, andtherefore necessarily preceded by this pleasure, is called appetite in the strict sense, and habitual appetite iscalled inclination. The connexion of pleasure with theappetitive faculty, in so far as this connexion is judged by the understandingto hold good by a general rule (though only for the subject), is called interest, and hence in this case the practical pleasure isan interest of inclination. On the other hand, if the pleasure can only followan antecedent determination of the appetitive faculty, it is an intellectualpleasure, and the interest in the object must be called an interest of reason.For if the interest were one of sense, and not merely founded on pureprinciples of reason, sensation must be joined with pleasure, and thus be ableto determine the appetitive faculty. Although where a merely pure interest ofreason must be assumed, no interest of inclination can be substituted for it,yet in order to accommodate ourselves to common speech, we may admit aninclination even to that which can only be the object of an intellectualpleasure—that is to say, a habitual desire from a pure interest of reason.This, however, would not be the cause but the effect of the latter interest,and we might call it the sense-free inclination ( propensio intellectualis ). Further, concupiscence is to be distinguished from the desire itself asbeing the stimulus to its determination. It is always a sensible state of mind,but one which has not yet arrived at an act of the appetitive faculty.

The appetitive faculty which depends on concepts, in so far as the ground ofits determination to action is found in itself, not in the object, is called a faculty of doing or forbearing as we please. In so far as it iscombined with the consciousness ofthe power of its action to produce its object, it iscalled “elective will” [ Willkühr = arbitrium ]; if not socombined, its act is called a wish. [1] The appetitive faculty, whose inner determining principle, and,consequently, even its “good pleasure” ( Belieben ), isfound in the reason of the subject, is called the RationalWill [Wille]. Accordingly the Rational Will is the appetitive faculty, not(like the elective will) in relation to the action, but rather in relation towhat determines the elective will [Willkühr] to the action; and it has properlyitself no determining ground; but in so far as it can determine the electivewill, it is practical reason itself.

Under the will may be included the elective will [Willkühr], and even merewish, inasmuch as reason can determine the appetitive faculty; and the electivewill, which can be determined by pure reason, is called free elective will.That which is determinable only by inclination would be animal elective will( arbitrium brutum ). Human elective will, on the contrary,is one which is affected but not determined by impulses. It is accordingly in itself (apartfrom acquired practice of reason) not pure; but it can be determined to actionsby the pure will. Freedom of the elective will is justthat independence of its determination on sensibleimpulses: this is the negative concept of it. The positive is: the power ofpure reason to beof itself practical. Now this is possible only bythe subordination of the maxim of every action to the condition of fitness foruniversal law. For being pure reason it is directed to the elective will,irrespective of the object of this will. Now it is the faculty of principles(in this case practical principles, so that it is a legislative faculty); and since it is not provided with thematter of the law, there is nothing which it can make the supreme law anddetermining ground of the elective will except the form, consisting in thefitness of the maxim of the elective will to be a universal law. And since fromsubjective causes the maxims of men do not of themselves coincide with thoseobjective maxims, it can only prescribe this law as an imperative of command orprohibition.

These laws of freedom are called, in contradistinction to physical laws, moral laws. In so far as they are directed to mereexternal actions and their lawfulness, they are called judicial; but when they demand that these laws themselvesshall be the determining ground of the actions, they are ethical, and in this case we say—the agreement with the formerconstitutes the legality, agreement with the latter the morality of the action. The freedom to which the formerlaws relate can only be freedom in its external exercise; but the freedom towhich the latter refer is freedom both in the internal and external exercise ofthe elective will in as far, namely, as this elective will is determined bylaws of reason. Similarly, in theoretic philosophy we say, that only theobjects of the outer senses are in space, while the objects both of theexternal and of the internal sense are in time; because the ideas of both arestill ideas, and for this reason all belong to the inner sense. Just so,whether we regard freedom in the external or the internal exercise of theelective will, in either case its laws, being pure practical laws of reasongoverning free elective will generally, must be also its internal grounds ofdetermination; although they need not always be considered in this point ofview.

II.: of the conception and the necessity of ametaphysic of ethics.

It has been shown elsewhere that forphysical science which has to do with the objects of the external senses wemust have à priori principles; and that it ispossible—nay, even necessary—to prefix a system of these principles under thename of metaphysical principles of natural philosophy to physics, which isnatural philosophy applied to special phenomena of experience. The latter,however (at least when the question is to guard its propositions from error),may assume many principles as universal on the testimony of experience,although the former, if it is to be in the strict sense universal, must bededuced from à priori grounds; just as Newton adopted theprinciple of the equality of action and reaction as based on experience, andyet extended it to all material nature. The chemists go still further, and basetheir most universal laws of combination and dissociation of substances bytheir own forces entirely on experience, and yet they have such confidence intheir universality and necessity that, in the experiments they make with them,they have no apprehension of error.

It is otherwise with the moral laws. These are valid as laws only so far asthey have an à priori basis and can be seen to be necessary; nay, the concepts and judgments aboutourselves and our actions and omissions have no moral significance at all, ifthey contain only what can be learned from experience; and should one be somisled as to make into a moral principle anything derived from this source, hewould be in danger of the grossest and most pernicious errors.

If the science of morals were nothing but the science of happiness, it wouldbe unsuitable to look out for à priori principles on whichto rest it. For however plausible it may sound to say that reason coulddiscern, even before experience, by what means one might attain a lastingenjoyment of the true pleasures of life, yet everything which is taught on thissubject à priori is either tautologicalor assumed without any foundation. It is experience alone that can teach uswhat gives us pleasure. The natural impulses to nutrition, to thepropagation of the species, the desire of rest, of motion, and (in thedevelopment of our natural capacities) the desire of honour, of knowledge,c., can alone teach, and moreover teach each individual in his own specialway, in what to place those pleasures; and it is thesealso that can teach him the means by which he must seek them. All plausible à priori reasoning is here at bottomnothing but experience raised to generality by induction: a generality, too, someagre that everyone must be allowed many exceptions, in order to make thechoice of his mode of life suitable to his special inclination and hissusceptibility for pleasure; so that after all he must become wise only by hisown or others’ loss. It is not so with the doctrines of morality. They areimperative for everyone without regard to his inclinations, solely because andso far as he is free, and has practical reason. Instruction in its laws is notdrawn from observation of himself and his animal part; not from perception ofthe course of the world, from that which happens and from the way in which menact (although the German word “sitten,” like the Latin mores, signifies only manners and mode of life); but reasoncommands how men should act, even although no instance of such action could befound; moreover, it pays no regard to the advantage which we may hereby attain,which certainly can only be learned by experience. For although it allows us toseek our advantage in every way that we can; and in addition, pointing to thetestimony of experience, can promise us, probably and on the whole, greateradvantages from following its commands than from transgression of them,especially if obedience is accompanied by prudence, yet the authority of itsprecepts as commands does not rest on this. Reason uses such facts only (by way ofcounsel) as a counterpoise to the temptations to the opposite, in order, firstof all, to compensate the error of an unfair balance, so that it may thenassure a due preponderance to the à priori grounds of apure practical reason.

If, therefore, we give the name Metaphysic to a systemof à priori knowledge derived from mere concepts, then apractical philosophy, which has for its object not nature but freedom ofchoice, will presuppose and require a metaphysic of morals: that is, to have it is itself a duty, and,moreover, every man has it in himself, though commonly only in an obscure way;for without à priori principles how could he believe thathe has in him a universal law-giving? Moreover, just as in the metaphysic ofnatural philosophy there must be principles touching the application to objectsof experience of those supreme universal laws of a physical system generally:so also a metaphysic of morals cannot dispense with similar principles; and weshall often have to take the special nature of man, whichcan only be known by experience, as our object, in order to exhibit in it the consequences of the universal moralprinciples; but this will not detract from the purity of the latter nor castany doubt on their à priori origin—that is to say, aMetaphysic of Morals cannot be founded on anthropology, but may be applied toit.

The counterpart of a metaphysic of morals, namely, the second subdivision ofpractical philosophy generally, would be moral anthropology, which wouldcontain the subjective conditions favourable and unfavourable to carrying out the laws of the power in human nature. Itwould treat of the production, the propagation, and strengthening of moralprinciples (in education, school and popular instruction), and other like doctrines and preceptsbased on experience, which cannot be dispensed with, but which must not comebefore the metaphysic, nor be mixed with it. For to do so would be to run therisk of eliciting false, or at least indulgent moral laws, which wouldrepresent that as unattainable which has only not been attained because the lawhas not been discerned and proclaimed in its purity (the very thing in whichits strength consists); or else because men make use of spurious or mixedmotives to what is itself good and dutiful, and these allow no certain moralprinciples to remain; but this anthropology is not to be used as a standard ofjudgment, nor as a discipline of the mind in itsobedience to duty; for the precept of duty must begiven solely by pure reason à priori.

Now with respect to the division to which that just mentioned issubordinate, namely, the division of philosophy into theoretical and practical,I have explained myself sufficiently elsewhere (in the Critical Examination ofthe Faculty of Judgment), [1] and have shown that the latter branch can be nothing else than moralphilosophy. Everything practical which concerns what is possible according tophysical laws (the proper business of Art) depends for its precept on thetheory of physical nature; that only which is practical in accordance with lawsof freedom can have principles that do not depend on any theory; for there canbe no theory of that which transcends the properties of physical nature. Henceby the practical part ofphilosophy (co-ordinate with its theoretical part)we are to understand not any technical doctrine, but a morally practical doctrine; and if the habit of choice,according to laws of freedom, in contrast to physical laws, is here also to becalled art, we must understand thereby such an art aswould make a system of freedom like a system of nature possible; truly a divineart, were we in a condition to fulfil by means of reason the precepts ofreason, and to carry its Ideal into actuality.

III.: OF THE SUBDIVISION OF A METAPHYSIC OFMORALS. [1]

All legislation (whether it prescribes internal or external actions, andthese either à priori by pure reason or by the will ofanother) involves two things: first, a law, which objectively presents theaction that is to be done as necessary, i. e. makes it aduty; secondly, a spring, which subjectively connects with the idea of the law the motivedetermining the elective will to this action; hence, the second element isthis, that the law makes duty the spring. By the former the action is presentedas duty, and this is a mere theoretical knowledge of the possible determinationof the elective will, i. e. of practical rules; by thelatter, the obligation so to act is connected with a motive which determinesthe elective will generally in the agent.

Accordingly, all legislation may be divided into two classes in respect ofthe springs employed (and this whether theactions prescribed are the same or not: as, forinstance, the actions might be in all cases external). That legislation which at once makes anaction a duty, and makes this duty the spring, is ethical. That which does not include the latter in the law, and therefore admits aspring different from the idea of duty itself, is juridical. As regards the latter, it is easily seen that thisspring, which is distinct from the idea of duty, must be derived from thepathological motives of choice, namely, the inclinations and aversions, andamongst these from the latter, since it is a legislation, which must beconstraining, not an invitation, which is persuasive.

The mere agreement or disagreement of an action with the law, without regardto the motive from which the action springs, is called legality; but when the idea of duty arising from the law isalso the motive of the action, the agreement is called the morality of the action.

Duties arising from forensic legislation can only be external duties,because this legislation does not require that the idea of this duty, which isinternal, shall be of itself the motive of the elective will of the agent; andas it, nevertheless, requires a suitable spring, it can only connect externalsprings with the law. On the other hand, ethical legislation, while it makesinternal actions duties, does not exclude external actions, but appliesgenerally to everything that is duty. But just because ethical legislationincludes in its law the inner spring of the action (the idea of duty), aproperty which cannot belong to the external legislation; hence ethicallegislation cannot be external (not even that of a divine will), although itmay adopt duties which rest on external legislation, and take them regarded as duties into its own legislation as springs ofaction.

From hence we may see that all dutiesbelong to Ethics, simply because they are duties; but it does not follow that their legislation is always included in Ethics: in thecase of many duties it is quite outside Ethics. Thus Ethics requires that Ishould fulfil my pledged word, even though the other party could not compel meto do so; but the law ( pacta sunt servanda ) and thecorresponding duty are taken by Ethics fromjurisprudence. Accordingly, it is not in Ethics butin Jus that the legislation is contained which enjoinsthat promises be kept. Ethics teaches only that even if the spring were absentwhich is connected by forensic legislation with that duty, namely, externalcompulsion, yet the idea of duty would alone be sufficient as a spring. For ifthis were not so, and if the legislation itself were not forensic, and the dutyarising from it not properly a legal duty (in contrast to a moral duty), thenfaithfulness to one’s engagements would be put in the same class as actions ofbenevolence and the obligation to them, which cannot be admitted. It is not anethical duty to keep one’s promise, but a legal duty, one that we can becompelled to perform. Nevertheless, it is a virtuous action (a proof of virtue)to do so, even where no compulsion is to be apprehended. Law and morals, therefore, are distinguished not so much by the diversity oftheir duties, but rather by the diversity of the legislation which connectsthis or that motive with the law.

Ethical legislation is that which cannot be external(although the duties may be external); forensic legislation is that which canbe external. Thus to keep one’s contract is an external duty; but the commandto do this merely because it is a duty,without regard to any other motive, belongs only to the internal legislation. Accordingly, the obligation is reckonedas belonging to Ethics, not as being a special kind of duty (a special kind ofactions to which one is bound)—for in Ethics as well as in law we have externalduties—but because in the supposed case the legislation is an internal one, andcan have no external lawgiver. For the same reason duties of benevolence,although they are external duties (obligations to external actions), are yetreckoned as belonging to Ethics because the legislation imposing them can onlybe internal. No doubt Ethics has also duties peculiar to itself ( ex. gr. duties to ourselves), but it also has duties in commonwith law, only the kind of obligation is different. For itis the peculiarity of ethical legislation to perform actions solely becausethey are duties, and to make the principle of duty itself the adequate springof the will, no matter whence the duty may be derived.Hence, while there are many directlyethical duties, the internal legislation makes all others indirectlyethical.

IV.: PRELIMINARY NOTIONS BELONGING TO THEMETAPHYSIC OF MORALS. ( Philosophia practicauniversalis. )

The concept of Freedom is a pure concept of the reason,and on this account it is as regards theoretical philosophy transcendent, thatis, a concept for which there is no corresponding example in any possibleexperience, which therefore forms no object of any theoretic knowledge possibleto us, and is valid not as a constitutive, but simply as a regulative principleof pure speculative reason, and that a negative one; but in the practicalexercise of reason it proves its reality by practical principles, which, being laws of a causality of purereason, determine the elective will independently on all empirical conditions(sensible conditions generally), and prove the existence of a pure will in usin which the moral concepts and laws have their origin.

On this concept of freedom, which (in a practical aspect) is positive, arefounded unconditional practical laws which are called moral, and these, inrespect of us, whose elective will is sensibly affected, and therefore does notof itself correspond with the pure will, but often opposes it, are imperatives (commands or prohibitions), and, moreover, arecategorical (unconditional) imperatives, by which they are distinguished fromtechnical imperatives (precepts of art), which always give only conditionalcommands. By these imperatives certain actions are permitted or not permitted, that is, aremorally possible or impossible; some, however, or their opposites, are morallynecessary, that is, obligatory. Hence arises the notion of a duty, the obeyingor transgressing of which is, indeed, connected with a pleasure or displeasureof a peculiar kind (thatof a moral feeling ), of which,however, we can take no account in the practical laws of reason, since they donot concern the foundation of the practical laws, but onlythe subjective effect in the mind when our elective willis determined by these; and they may be very different in different personswithout adding to or taking from the validity or influence of these laws objectively, that is, in the judgment of the reason.

The following notions are common to both parts of the Metaphysic ofMorals:—

Obligation is the necessity of a free action under acategorical imperative of reason. The Imperative is apractical rule by which an action in itself contingent is made necessary; it isdistinguished from a practical law by this, that while the latter exhibits thenecessity of the action, it takes no account of the consideration whether thisalready inheres by an internal necessity in the agent(say, a holy being), or whether, as in man, it is contingent; for where theformer is the case there is no imperative. Accordingly, the imperative is arule, the conception of which makes necessary an actionthat is subjectively contingent, and hence represents the subject as one whomust be constrained (necessitated) to agreement with thisrule. The categorical (unconditional) imperative is one that does not commandindirectly through the idea of an end that can be attainedby the action, but immediately, through the mere conception of this actionitself (its form), thinks it as objectively necessary and makes itnecessary.

No example of an imperative of this kind can be supplied by any otherpractical doctrine but that which prescribes obligation (the doctrine ofmorals). All other imperatives are technical andconditioned. The ground of the possibility of categorical imperatives lies inthis, that they refer to no other property of the elective will (by which anypurpose could be ascribed to it), but only to its freedom. An action is allowed ( licitum ) which is not contrary toobligation; and this freedom which is not limited by any opposed imperative iscalled right of action ( facultas moralis ) [Befugniss].Hence it is obvious what is meant by disallowed ( illicitum ).

Duty is the action to which a person is bound. It istherefore the matter of obligation, and it may be one and the same duty (as tothe action), although the obligation to it may be of different kinds.

The categorical imperative, since it expresses an obligation in respect ofcertain actions, is a moral practical law. But sinceobligation contains not only practical necessity(which law in general expresses), but also constraint, the imperative mentioned is either a law ofcommand or of prohibition, according as the performance or omission isrepresented as duty. An action which is neither commanded nor forbidden ismerely allowed, because in respect of it there is no lawlimiting freedom (right of action), and therefore also no duty. Such an actionis called morally indifferent ( indifferens, adiaphoron, resmeræ facultatis ). It may be asked: are there any such, and if there are,then in order that one may be free to do or forbear a thing as he pleases, mustthere be, besides the law of command ( lex præceptiva, lexmandati ) and the law of prohibition ( lex prohibitiva, lexvetiti ), also a law of permission ( lex permissiva )?If this is the case, then the right of action would not be concerned with anindifferent action ( adiaphoron ); for if such an action isconsidered according to moral laws, it could not require any special law.

An action is called a deed, in so far as it comes underlaws of obligation, and, consequently, in so far as the subject is regarded init according to the freedom of his elective will, the agent is regarded as bysuch an act the author of the effect, and this, along withthe action itself, may be imputed to him if he ispreviously acquainted with the law by virtue of which an obligation rests onhim.

A Person is the subject whose actions are capable of imputation. Hence moral personalityis nothing but the freedom of a rational being under moral laws (whereaspsychological personality is merely the power of being conscious to oneself ofthe identity of one’s existence in different circumstances). Hence it followsthat a person is subject to no other laws than those which he (either alone orjointly with others) gives to himself.

That which is not capable of anyimputation is called a Thing. Every object of freeelective will which is not itself possessed of freedom is, therefore, called athing ( res corporalis ).

A deed is Right or Wrong ingeneral ( rectum aut minus rectum ), according as it isconsistent or inconsistent with duty ( factum licitum autillicitum ), no matter what the content or the origin of the duty may be. Adeed inconsistent with duty is called transgression ( reatus ).

An unintentional transgression, which, however, may be imputed, is calledmere fault ( culpa ). An intentionaltransgression (that is, one which is accompanied by the consciousness that itis transgression) is called crime ( dolus ). That which is right according to external laws iscalled just ( justum ); what is not sois unjust ( injustum ).

A conflict of duties ( collisioofficiorum seu obligationum ) would be such a relation between them thatone would wholly or partially abolish the other. Now as duty and obligation arenotions which express the objective practical necessity ofcertain actions, and as two opposite rules cannot be necessary at the sametime, but if it is a duty to act according to one of them, it is then not onlynot a duty but inconsistent with duty to act according to the other; it followsthat a conflict of duties and obligations is inconceivable( obligationes non colliduntur ). It may, however, very wellhappen, that in the same subject and the rule which he prescribes to himselfthere are conjoined two grounds of obligation ( rationes obligandi ), of which, however, one or the other isinadequate to oblige ( rationes obligandi non obligantes ),and then one of them is not a duty. When two such grounds are in conflict,practical philosophy does not say that the stronger obligation prevails ( fortior obligatio vincit ), but the stronger ground of obligation prevails ( fortiorobligandi ratio vincit ).

Binding laws, for which an externallawgiving is possible, are called in general external laws( leges externæ ). Amongst these the laws, the obligation towhich can be recognized by reason à priori even withoutexternal legislation, are natural though external laws;those on the contrary which,without actual external legislation, would not bindat all (and, therefore, would not be laws), are called positive laws. It is possible, therefore, to conceive anexternal legislation which would only contain [positive] [1] laws; but then a natural law must precede, which should supply theground of the authority of the lawgiver (that is, his right to bind others byhis mere will).

The principle which makes certain actions a duty is a practical law. Therule which the agent adopts from subjective grounds as his principle is calledhis Maxim; hence with the same laws the maxims of theagents may be very different.

The categorical imperative, which only expresses in general what obligationis, is this: Act according to a maxim which can at the same time hold good as auniversal law. You must, therefore, examine your actions in the first place asto their subjective principle; but whether this principle is also objectivelyvalid can only be recognized by this, that when your reason puts it to the testof conceiving yourself as giving therein a universal law, it is found to beadapted to this universal legislation.

The simplicity of this law, compared with the great and manifoldrequirements which can be drawn from it, must at first appear surprising, asmust also the authoritative dignity it presents, without carrying with itperceptibly any motive.

But when, in this astonishment at thepower of our reason to determine choice by the mere idea of the fitness of amaxim for the universality of a practical law, we learn that it is just thesepractical (moral) laws that first make known a property of the will whichspeculative reason could never have arrived at, either from àpriori grounds or from experience—and if it did arrive at it could by nomeans prove its possibility, whereas those practical laws incontestably provethis property, namely, freedom—then we shall be less surprised to find theselaws, like mathematical axioms, undemonstrable and yet apodictic, and at the same time to see a whole field ofpractical cognitionsopened before us, in which reason in its theoreticexercise, with the same idea of freedom, nay, with any other of itssupersensible ideas, must find everything absolutely closed to it. Theagreement of an action with the law of duty is its legality ( legalitas ); that of the maximwith the law is its morality ( moralitas ). Maxim is the subjective principle of action, which the subject makes a ruleto itself (namely, how he chooses to act). On the contrary, the principle ofduty is that which Reason commands him absolutely and therefore objectively(how he ought to act). The supreme principle of the orderis therefore: Act on a maxim which can also hold good as a universal law. Everymaxim which is not capable of being so is contrary to morality.

Laws proceed from the Rational Will; maxims from the elective will. Thelatter is in man a free elective will. The Rational Will, which is directed tonothing but the law only, cannot be called either free or unfree, because it isnot directed to actions, but immediately to the legislation for the maxims ofactions (and is therefore practical reason itself). Consequently it isabsolutely necessary, and is even incapable of constraint.It is therefore only the elective will that can be called free.

Freedom of elective will, however, cannot be defined as the power ofchoosing to act for or against the law ( libertasindifferentiæ ) as some have attempted to define it; although the electivewill as a phenomenon gives many examples of this inexperience. For freedom (as it becomes known to us first through the moral law)is known to us only as a negative property in us, namely,the property of not being constrained to action by anysensible motives. Considered as a noumenon, however, thatis, as to the faculty of man merely as an intelligence, we are quite unable toexplain theoretically how it has a constraining power in respect of the sensible electivewill—that is, we cannot explain it in its positive character. Only this we canvery readily understand: that although experience tells us that man as an object in the sensible world shows a power of choosing notonly according to the law but also inopposition to it, nevertheless his freedom as a being inthe intelligible world cannot be thus defined, sincephenomenacan never enable us to comprehend any supersensibleobject (such as free elective will is). We can see also that freedom can neverbe placed in this, that the rational subject is able to choose in opposition tohis (legislative) reason, even though experience proves often enough that thisdoes happen (a thing, however, the possibility of which we cannot comprehend).For it is one thing to admit a fact (of experience); it is another to make itthe principle of a definition (in the present case, of theconcept of free elective will) and the universal criterion between this and arbitrium brutum seu servum; since in the former case wedo not assert that the mark necessarily belongs to theconcept, which we must do in the latter case. Freedom in relation to the innerlegislation of the reason is alone properly a power; the possibility ofdeviating from this is an impotence. How then can the former be defined fromthe latter?A definition which over and above thepractical concept adds the exercise of it as learned fromexperience is a bastard definition ( definitio hybrida ) which puts the notion in a false light.

A Law (a moral practical law) is a proposition whichcontains a categorical imperative (a command). He who gives commands by a law( imperans ) is the lawgiver ( legislator ). He is the author ( auctor ) ofthe obligation imposed by the law, but not always author of the law. If he wereso, the law would be positive (contingent) and arbitrary. The law which bindsus à priori and unconditionally by our own reason may alsobe expressed as proceeding from the will of a Supreme Lawgiver, that is of onewho has only rights and no duties (namely, from the Divine Will). But this onlyinvolves the idea of a moral being whose will is law for all, without his beingconceived as the author of it.

Imputation ( imputatio ) in themoral sense is the judgment by which any one is regarded as the author ( causa libera ) of an action, which is then called a deed ( factum ), and to which laws areapplicable; and if this judgment brings with it the legal consequences of thisdeed it is a judicial imputation ( imputatio judiciaria s.valida ), otherwise it is only discriminating imputation( imputatio dijudicatoria ). Theperson (whether physical or moral (who has right to exercise judicialimputation is called the judge or the court ( judex s. forum ).

What anyone does in accordance with duty beyond what hecan be compelled to by the law is meritorious ( meritum );what he does only just in accordance with the law is dutyowed ( debitum ); lastly, what he does less than the law demands is moral demerit ( demeritum ). The legal effect of demerit is punishment ( pæna ); that of a meritorious act, reward ( præmium ), provided that this, promised in the law,was the motive). Conduct which agrees with duty owed hasno legal effect. Fair recompense ( remuneratio s. repensio benefica ) stands in no legal relationto the deed.

The good or bad consequences of an obligatory action, or the consequences ofomitting a meritorious action, cannot be imputed to the agent ( modus imputationis tollens ).

The good consequences of a meritorious action, and the bad consequences ofan unlawful action, can be imputed ( modus imputationisponens ).

Subjectively considered, the degree of imputability ( imputabilitas ) of actionsmust be estimated by the greatness of the hindrances which have to be overcome.The greater the natural hindrances (of sensibility) and the less the moralhindrance (of duty), the higher the imputation of merit in a good deed. For example, if at a considerable sacrifice Irescue from great necessity one who is a complete stranger to myself.

On the other hand, the less the natural hindrance, and the greater thehindrance from reasons of duty, so much the more is transgression imputed (asill desert). Hence the state of mind of the agent, whether he acted in theexcitement of passion or with cool deliberation, makes an important differencein imputation.

PREFACE TO THE METAPHYSICALELEMENTS OF ETHICS.

IF there exists on any subject a philosophy (that is, a system of rational knowledge based on concepts), then there mustalso be for this philosophy a system of pure rational concepts, independent onany condition of intuition—in other words, a Metaphysic. It may be asked whether metaphysical elements are requiredalso for every practical philosophy, which is the doctrineof duties [deontology], and therefore also for Ethics, in order to be able topresent it as a true science (systematically), not merely as an aggregate ofseparate doctrines (fragmentarily). As regards pure jurisprudence no one willquestion this requirement; for it concerns only what is formal in the elective will, which has to be limited in itsexternal relations according to laws of freedom; without regarding any end which is the matter of this will. Here, therefore,deontology is a mere scientific doctrine ( doctrina scientiæ ). [1]

Now in this philosophy (of Ethics) itseems contrary to the idea of it that we should go back to metaphysical elements in order to make the notion of dutypurified from everything empirical (from every feeling) a motive of action. Forwhat sort of notion can we form of the mighty power and herculean strengthwhich would be sufficient to overcome the vice-breeding inclinations, if Virtueis to borrow her “arms from the armoury of metaphysics,” which is a matter ofspeculation that only few men can handle. Hence all ethical teaching inlecture-rooms, pulpits, and popular books, when it is decked out with fragmentsof metaphysics, becomes ridiculous. But it is not, therefore, useless, muchless ridiculous, to trace in metaphysics the first principles of Ethics; for itis only as a philosopher than any one can reach the first principles of thisconception of duty, otherwise we could not look for either certainty or purityin the ethical teaching. To rely for this reason on a certain feeling [orsense], which on account of the effect expected from it is called moral, may, perhaps, even satisfy the popular teacher,provided he desires as the criterion of a moral duty to consider the problem:“if everyone in every case made your maxim the universal law, how could thislaw be consistent with itself?”But if it were merely feeling that madeit our duty to take this principle as a criterion, then this would not bedictated by reason, but only adopted instinctively, and therefore blindly.

But in fact, whatever men imagine, no moral principle is based on any feeling, but such a principle is really nothing else thanan obscurely conceived metaphysic which inheres in everyman’s reasoning faculty; as the teacher will easily find who tries to catechizehis pupil in the Socratic method about theimperative of duty and its application to the moraljudgment of his actions. The mode of stating it need not be alwaysmetaphysical, and the language need not necessarily be scholastic, unless thepupil is to be trained to be a philosopher. But the thought must go back to the elements of metaphysics, withoutwhich we cannot expect any certainty or purity, or even motive power inEthics.

If we deviate from this principle and begin from pathological, or purelysensitive, or even moral feeling (from what issubjectively practical instead of what is objective), that is, from the matterof the will, the End, not from its form, that is the law, in order from thence to determine duties; then,certainly, there are no metaphysical elements of Ethics,for feeling by whatever it may be excited is always physical. But then ethicalteaching, whether in schools, or lecture-rooms, c., is corrupted in itssource. For it is not a matter of indifference by what motives or means one isled to a good purpose (the obedience to duty). However disgusting, then, metaphysics may appear to those pretended philosophers whodogmatize oracularly, or even brilliantly, about thedoctrine of duty, it is, nevertheless, an indispensable duty for those whooppose it to go back to its principles, even in Ethics, and to begin by goingto school on its benches.

We may fairly wonder how, after allprevious explanations of the principles of duty, so far as it is derived frompure reason, it was still possible to reduce it again to a doctrine of Happiness —in such a way, however, that a certain moral happiness not resting on empirical causes wasultimately arrived at, a self-contradictory nonentity. In fact, when thethinking man has conquered the temptations to vice, and is conscious of havingdone his (often hard) duty, he finds himself in a state of peace andsatisfaction which may well be called happiness, in which Virtue is her ownreward. Now, says the Eudaemonist, this delight, thishappiness, is the real motive of his acting virtuously. The notion of duty,says he, does not immediately determine his will; it isonly by means of the happiness in prospectthat he is moved to do his duty. Now, on the otherhand, since he can promise himself this reward of virtue only from theconsciousness of having done his duty, it is clear that the latter must havepreceded: that is, he must feel himself bound to do his duty before he thinks,and without thinking, that happiness will be the consequence of obedience toduty. He is thus involved in a circle in his assignment of cause and effect. He can only hope to be happy if he is conscious of his obedience to duty; [1] and he can only be moved to obedience to duty if he foresees that hewill thereby become happy. But in this reasoning there is also a contradiction. For, on the one side, he must obey hisduty, without asking what effect this will have on his happiness, consequently,from a moral principle; on the other side, he can onlyrecognize something as his duty when he can reckon on happiness which willaccrue to him thereby, and consequently on a pathological principle, which is the direct opposite of the former.

I have in another place (the Berlin “Monatsschrift” [2] ),reduced, as I believe, to the simplest expressionsthe distinction between pathological and moral pleasure. The pleasure, namely, whichmust precede the obedience to the law in order that one may act accordingto the law, is pathological, and the process follows the physical order of nature; that which must be preceded by the law in order that it may be felt is in the moral order. If this distinction is not observed; if eudaemonism (the principle of happiness) is adopted as theprinciple instead of eleutheronomy (the principle offreedom of the inner legislation), the consequence is the euthanasia (quiet death) of all morality.

The cause of these mistakes is no other than the following: Those who areaccustomed only to physiological explanations will not admit into their headsthe categorical imperative from which these laws dictatorially proceed,notwithstanding that they feel themselves irresistibly forced by it.Dissatisfied at not being able to explain what lies whollybeyond that sphere, namely, freedom of the elective will,elevating as is this privilege that man has of being capable of such an idea, they are stirred up by the proud claims ofspeculative reason, which feels its power so strongly in other fields, just asif they were allies leagued in defence of the omnipotence of theoreticalreason, and roused by a general call to arms to resist that idea; and thus atpresent, and perhaps for a long time to come, though ultimately in vain, toattack the moral concept of freedom, and if possible render it doubtful.

INTRODUCTION TO ETHICS.

Ethics in ancient times signified moral philosophy ( philosophia moralis ) [ sittenlehre ]generally, which was also called the doctrine of duties [deontology]. Subsequently it was found advisable to confine this name to apart of moral philosophy, namely, to the doctrine of duties which are notsubject to external laws (for which in German the name Tugendlehre was found suitable). Thus the system of generaldeontology is divided into that of Jurisprudence ( Jurisprudentia ), which iscapable of external laws, and of Ethics, which is not thus capable, and we maylet this division stand.

I.: — Exposition of the Conception ofEthics.

The notion of duty is in itself already the notion of a constraint of the free elective will by the law; whetherthis constraint be an external one or be self-constraint. The moral imperative, byits categorical (the unconditional “ought”), announces this constraint, whichtherefore does not apply to all rational beings (for there may also be holy beings), but applies to men as rational physical beings who are unholy enough to be seduced bypleasure to the transgression of the moral law, although they themselvesrecognize its authority; and when they do obey it, to obey it unwillingly (with resistance of their inclination); and it isin this that the constraint properly consists. [1] Now, as man is a free (moral) being, the notion ofduty can contain only self-constraint (by the idea of thelaw itself), when we look to the internal determination of the will (thespring), for thus only is it possible to combine that constraint (even if it were external) with the freedom of theelective will. The notion of duty then must be an ethical one.

The impulses of nature then contain hindrances to thefulfilment of duty in the mind of man, and resisting forces, some of thempowerful; and he must judge himself able to combat these and to conquer them bymeans of reason, not in the future, but in the present, simultaneously with thethought; he must judge that he can do what the lawunconditionally commands that he ought.

Now the power and resolved purpose to resist a strong but unjust opponent iscalled fortitude ( fortitudo ), and when concerned with the opponent ofthe moral character within us, it is virtue ( virtus, fortitudo moralis ).Accordingly, general deontology, in that part which brings not external, butinternal, freedom under laws, is the doctrine of virtue [ ethics ].

Jurisprudence had to do only with the formal conditionof external freedom (the condition of consistency with itself, if its maximbecame a universal law), that is, with law. Ethics, on thecontrary, supplies us with a matter (an object of the freeelective will), an end of pure reason which is at the sametime conceived as an objectively necessary end, i. e. asduty for all men. For, as the sensible inclinations mislead us to ends (whichare the matter of the elective will) that may contradict duty, the legislatingreason cannot otherwise guard against their influence than by an opposite moralend, which therefore must be given à priori independentlyon inclination.

An end is an object of the elective will (of a rationalbeing), by the idea of which this will is determined to an action for theproduction of this object. Now I may be forced by others to actions which aredirected to an end as means, but I cannot be forced to have anend; I can only make something an end to myself. If,however, I am also bound to make something which lies in the notions ofpractical reason an end to myself, and therefore besides the formal determiningprinciple of the elective will (as contained in law) to have also a materialprinciple, an end which can be opposed to the end derived from sensibleimpulses; then this gives the notion of an end which is initself a duty. The doctrine of this cannot belong to jurisprudence, but toEthics, since this alone includes in its conception self-constraint according to moral laws.

For this reason Ethics may also bedefined as the system of the Ends of the pure practicalreason. The two parts of moral philosophy are distinguished as treatingrespectively of Ends and of Duties of Constraint. That Ethics contains dutiesto the observance of which one cannot be (physically) forced by others ismerely the consequence of this, that it is a doctrine of Ends, since to be forced to have ends or to set them before one’s self is acontradiction.

Now that Ethics is a doctrine of virtue ( doctrina officiorum virtutis ) follows from the definition ofvirtue given above compared with the obligation, the peculiarity of which hasjust been shown. There is in fact no other determination of the elective will,except that to an end, which in the very notion of itimplies that I cannot even physically be forced to it bythe elective will of others. Another may indeed force me to do something which is not my end (but onlymeans to the end of another), but he cannot force me to make itmy own end, and yet I can have no end except of my own making. The lattersupposition would be a contradiction—an act of freedom which yet at the sametime would not be free. But there is no contradiction in setting before one’sself an end which is also a duty; for in this case I constrain myself, and thisis quite consistent with freedom. [1] But how is such an end possible? That is now the question.For the possibility of the notion of thething (viz., that it is not self-contradictory) is not enough to prove thepossibility of the thing itself (the objective reality of the notion).

II.: — Exposition of the Notion of an Endwhich is also a Duty.

We can conceive the relation of end to duty in two ways; either startingfrom the end to find the maxim of the dutiful actions; orconversely, setting out from this to find the end which is also duty.Jurisprudence proceeds in the former way. It is left to every one’s freeelective will what end he will choose for his action. But its maxim isdetermined à priori; namely, that the freedom of the agentmust be consistent with the freedom of every other according to a universallaw.

Ethics, however, proceeds in the opposite way. It cannot start from the endswhich the man may propose to himself, and hence give directions as to themaxims he should adopt, that is, as to his duty; for that would be to takeempirical principles of maxims, and these could not give any notion of duty;since this, the categorical “ought,” has its root in pure reason alone. Indeed,if the maxims were to be adopted in accordance with those ends (which are allselfish) we could not properly speak of the notion of duty at all. Hence inEthics the notion of duty must lead to ends, and must onmoral principles give the foundation of maxims withrespect to the ends which we ought to propose toourselves.

Setting aside the question what sort of end that is which is in itself aduty, and how such an end is possible, it is here only necessary to show thata duty of this kind is called a duty of virtue, and why itis so called.

To every duty corresponds a right of action ( facultasmoralis generatim ), but all duties do not imply a corresponding right ( facultas juridica ) of anotherto compel any one, but only the duties called legalduties. Similarly to all ethical obligation corresponds the notion of virtue, but it does not follow that all ethicalduties are duties of virtue. Those, in fact, are not so which do not concern somuch a certain end (matter, object of the elective will), but merely that whichis formal in the moral determination of the will ( ex. gr. that the dutiful action must also be done from duty ). It is only an end which isalso duty that can be called a duty of virtue. Hencethere are several of the latter kind (and thus there are distinct virtues); onthe contrary, there is only one duty of the former kind, but it is one which isvalid for all actions (only one virtuous disposition).

The duty of virtue is essentially distinguished from the duty of justice inthis respect; that it is morally possible to be externally compelled to thelatter, whereas the former rests on free self-constraint only. For finite holy beings (which cannot even be tempted to the violationof duty) there is no doctrine of virtue, but only moral philosophy, the latterbeing an autonomy of practical reason, whereas the former is also an autocracy of it.That is, it includes a consciousness—not indeedimmediately perceived, but rightly concluded from the moral categoricalimperative—of the power to become master of one’sinclinations which resist the law; so that human morality in its highest stagecan yet be nothing more than virtue; even if it were quite pure (perfectly freefrom the influence of a spring foreign to duty),a state which is poetically personifiedunder the name of the wise man (as an ideal to which oneshould continually approximate).

Virtue, however, is not to be defined and esteemed merely as habit, and (as it is expressed in the prize essay of Cochius) [1] as a long custom acquired by practice of morallygood actions. For, if this is not an effect of well resolved and firmprinciples ever more and more purified, then, like any other mechanicalarrangement brought about by technical practical reason, it is neither armedfor all circumstances, nor adequately secured against the change that may bewrought by new allurements.

REMARK.

To virtue = + a is opposed as its logical contradictory ( contradictorieoppositum ) the negative lack of virtue (moralweakness) = 0: but vice = - a is its contrary ( contrarie s. realiteroppositum ); and it is not merely a needless question but an offensive oneto ask whether great crimes do not perhaps demand morestrength of mind than great virtues. For by strength of mind we understand thestrength of purpose of a man, as a being endowed with freedom, and consequentlyso far as he is master of himself (in his senses) and therefore in a healthy condition of mind. But great crimes are paroxysms,the very sight of which makes the man of healthy mind shudder. The questionwould therefore be something like this: whether a man in a fit of madness canhave more physical strength than if he is in his senses; and we may admit this,without on that account ascribing to him more strength of mind, if by mind weunderstand the vitalprinciple of man in the free use of his powers. Forsince those crimes have their ground merely in the power of the inclinationsthat weaken reason, which does not prove strength of mind,this question would be nearly the same as the question whether a manin a fit of illness can show morestrength than in a healthy condition; and this may be directly denied, sincethe want of health, which consists in the proper balance of all the bodilyforces of the man, is a weakness in the system of these forces, by which systemalone we can estimate absolute health.

III.: — Of the Reason for conceiving an Endwhich is also a Duty.

An end is an object of the freeelective will, the idea of which determines this will to an action by which theobject is produced. Accordingly every action has its end, and as no one canhave an end without himself making the object of hiselective will his end, hence to have some end of actions is an act of the freedom of the agent, not an effect of physical nature. Now, since this act which determines an endis a practical principle which commands not the means (therefore notconditionally) but the end itself (therefore unconditionally), hence it is acategorical imperative of pure practical reason, and one therefore whichcombines a concept of duty with that of an end ingeneral.

Now there must be such an end and a categorical imperative corresponding toit. For since there are free actions, there must also be ends to which as anobject those actions are directed. Amongst these ends there must also be somewhich are at the same time (that is, by their very notion) duties. For if therewere none such, then since no actions can be without an end, all ends whichpractical reason might have would be valid only as means to other ends, and a categorical imperative would be impossible; a suppositionwhich destroys all moral philosophy.

Here, therefore, we treat not of endswhich man actually makes to himself in accordance with thesensible impulses of his nature, but of objects of the free elective will underits own laws, objects which he ought to make his end. Wemay call the former technical (subjective), properly pragmatical, includingthe rules of prudence in the choice of its ends; butthe latter we must call the moral (objective) doctrine of ends. Thisdistinction is, however, superfluous here, since moral philosophy already byits very notion is clearly separated from the doctrine of physical nature (inthe present instance, anthropology); the latter resting on empiricalprinciples, whereas the moral doctrine of ends which treats of duties rests onprinciples given à priori in pure practical reason.

IV.: — What are the Ends which are alsoDuties?

They are— Our own Perfection; The Happiness ofOthers.

We cannot invert these, and make on one side our own happiness, and on theother the perfection of others, ends which should be in themselves duties forthe same person.

For one’s own happiness is, no doubt, an end that allmen have (by virtue of the impulse of their nature), but this end cannotwithout contradiction be regarded as a duty. What a man of himself inevitablywills does not come under the notion of duty, for this isa constraint to an end reluctantly adopted. It is,therefore, a contradiction to say that a man is in dutybound to advance his own happiness with all his power.

It is likewise a contradiction to make the perfection of another my end, and to regard myself as in duty bound to promote it. For it is just in this that the perfection of another man as a person consists, namely,that he is able of himself to set before him his own endaccording to his own notions of duty; and it is a contradiction to require (tomake it a duty for me) that I should do something which no other but himselfcan do.

V.: — Explanation of these twoNotions.

(A.): —Our own Perfection.

The word Perfection is liable to many misconceptions.It is sometimes understood as a notion belonging to transcendental philosophy;viz., the notion of the totality of the manifoldwhich taken together constitutes a Thing; sometimes,again, it is understood as belonging to teleology, so thatit signifies the correspondence of the properties of a thing to an end. Perfection in the former sense might be called quantitative (material), in the latter qualitative (formal) perfection. The former can be one only,for the whole of what belongs to the one thing is one. But of the latter theremay be several in one thing; and it is of the latter property that we heretreat.

When it is said of the perfection that belongs to man generally (properlyspeaking, to humanity), that it is in itself a duty to make this our end, itmust be placed in that which may be the effect of one’s deed, not in that which is merely an endowment for which wehave to thank nature; for otherwise it would not be duty. Consequently, it canbe nothing else than the cultivation of one’s power (or natural capacity) and also of one’s will [ Wille ] (moral disposition) tosatisfy the requirement of duty in general. The supreme element in the former(the power) is the Understanding, it being the faculty of concepts, and,therefore, also of those concepts which refer to duty.First it is his duty to labour to raisehimself out of the rudeness of his nature, out of his animal nature more andmore to humanity, by which alone he is capable of setting before him ends, tosupply the defects of his ignorance by instruction, and to correct his errors;he is not merely counselled to do this by reason astechnically practical, with a view to his purposes of other kinds (as art), butreason, as morally practical, absolutely commands him todo it, and makes this end his duty, in order that he may be worthy of thehumanity that dwells in him. Secondly, to carry the cultivation of his will up to the purest virtuous disposition, that, namely,in which the law is also the spring of his dutifulactions, and to obey it from duty, for this is internal morally practicalperfection. This is called the moral sense (as it were aspecial sense, sensus moralis ), because it is a feeling ofthe effect which the legislative will within himself exercises on the facultyof acting accordingly. This is, indeed, often misused fanatically, as though(like the genius of Socrates) it preceded reason, or even could dispense withjudgment of reason; but still it is a moralperfection, making every special end, which is also a duty, one’s own end. [1]

(B.): —Happiness of Others.

It is inevitable for human nature that a man should wish and seek forhappiness, that is, satisfaction with his condition, with certainty of thecontinuance of this satisfaction. But for this very reason it is not an endthat is also a duty. Some writers still make a distinction between moral andphysical happiness (the former consisting in satisfaction with one’s personand moral behaviour, that is, with whatone does; the other in satisfaction with that which natureconfers, consequently with what one enjoys as a foreigngift). Without at present censuring the misuse of the word (which even involvesa contradiction), it must be observed that the feeling of the former belongssolely to the preceding head, namely, perfection. For he who is to feel himselfhappy in the mere consciousness of his uprightness already possesses thatperfection which in the previous section was defined as that end which is alsoduty.

If happiness, then, is in question, which it is to be my duty to promote asmy end, it must be the happiness of other men whose (permitted) end I hereby make alsomine. It still remains left to themselves to decide what they shall reckonas belonging to their happiness; only that it is in my power to decline manythings which they so reckon, but which I do not so regard,supposing that they have no right to demand it from me as their own. Aplausible objection often advanced against the division of duties above adoptedconsists in setting over against that end a supposed obligation to study my own (physical) happiness, and thus making this, which ismy natural and merely subjective end, my duty (and objective end). Thisrequires to be cleared up.

Adversity, pain and want, are great temptations to transgression of one’sduty; accordingly it would seem that strength,health, a competence, and welfare generally, whichare opposed to that influence, may also be regarded as ends that are alsoduties; that is, that it is a duty to promote our own happiness, not merely to make that of others our end. But in that case the endis not happiness but the morality of the agent; and happiness is only the meansof removing the hindrances to morality; permitted means, since no one has a right to demand fromme the sacrifice of my not immoral ends. It is not directly a duty to seek acompetence for one’s self; but indirectly it may be so; namely, in order toguard against poverty, which is a great temptation to vice. But then it is notmy happiness but my morality, to maintain which in its integrity is at once myaim and my duty.

VI.: — Ethics does not supply Laws forActions ( which is done by Jurisprudence ), but only for the Maxims of Action.

The notion of duty stands in immediate relation to a law (even though I abstract from every end which is the matterof the law), as is shown by the formal principle of duty in the categoricalimperative: “Act so that the maxims of thy action might become a universal law. ” But in Ethics this is conceived as the law of thy own will, not of will in general,which might be that of others; for in the latter case it would give rise to ajudicial duty which does not belong to the domain of Ethics. In Ethics, maximsare regarded as those subjective laws which merely have the specific characterof universal legislation, which is only a negative principle (not to contradicta law in general). How, then, can there be further a law for the maxims ofactions?

It is the notion of an end which is also a duty, anotion peculiar to Ethics, that alone is the foundation of a law for the maximsof actions; by making the subjective end (that which every one has) subordinateto the objective end (that which every one ought to make his own). Theimperative: “Thou shalt make this or that thy end ( ex. gr. the happiness of others)”applies to the matter of the electivewill (an object). Now since no free action is possible, without the agenthaving in view in it someend (as matter of his elective will), it followsthat if there is an end which is also a duty, the maxims of actions, which aremeans to ends, must contain only the condition of fitness for a possibleuniversal legislation; on the other hand, the end which is also a duty can makeit a law that we should have such a maxim, whilst for the maxim itself thepossibility of agreeing with a universal legislation is sufficient.

For maxims of actions may be arbitrary, and are onlylimited by the condition of fitness for a universal legislation, which is theformal principle of actions. But a law abolishes thearbitrary character of actions, and is by this distinguished from recommendation (in which one only desires to know the bestmeans to an end).

VII.: — Ethical Duties are ofindeterminate, Juridical Duties of strict, Obligation.

This proposition is a consequence of the foregoing; for if the law can onlycommand the maxim of the actions, not the actions themselves, this is a signthat it leaves in the observance of it a latitude ( latitudo ) for the elective will; that is, it cannot definitelyassign how and how much we should do by the action towards the end which isalso duty. But by an indeterminate duty is not meant a permission to makeexceptions from the maxim of the actions, but only the permission to limit onemaxim of duty by another( ex. gr. thegeneral love of our neighbour by the love of parents); and this in factenlarges the field for the practice of virtue. The more indeterminate the duty,and the more imperfect accordingly the obligation of the man to the action, andthe closer he nevertheless brings this maxim of obedience thereto (in his ownmind) to the strict duty (of justice) [ desRechts ], so much the more perfect is his virtuous action.

Hence it is only imperfect duties that are duties ofvirtue. The fulfilment of them is merit ( meritum ) = + a; but their transgressionis not necessarily demerit ( demeritum ) = - a, but only moral unworth = 0, unless the agent made it a principle not toconform to those duties. The strength of purpose in the former case is aloneproperly called Virtue [ Tugend ] ( virtus ); the weaknessin the latter case is not vice ( vitium ), but rather only lack ofvirtue [ Untugend ], a want of moral strength ( defectusmoralis ). (As the word ‘Tugend’ is derived from ‘taugen’ [to be good forsomething], ‘Untugend’ by its etymology signifies good for nothing). [1] Every action contrary to duty is called transgression ( peccatum ). Deliberatetransgression which has become a principle is what properly constitutes what iscalled vice ( vitium ).

Although the conformity of actions to justice [ Recht ]( i. e. to be an upright [ rechtlicher ]man) is nothing meritorious, yet the conformity of the maxim of such actionsregarded as duties, that is, Reverence for justice, is meritorious. For by this the man makes the right ofhumanity or of men his own end, and thereby enlarges hisnotion of duty beyond that of indebtedness ( officium debiti ), since although another man by virtue of hisrights can demand that my actions shall conform to the law, he cannot demandthat the law shall also contain the spring of these actions. The same thing istrue of the general ethical command, “Act dutifully from a sense of duty.” Tofix this disposition firmly in one’s mind and to quicken it is, as in theformer case, meritorious , because it goes beyond the law of dutyin actions, and makes the law in itself the spring.

But just for this reason those duties also must be reckoned as ofindeterminate obligation, in respect of which there exists a subjectiveprinciple which ethically rewards them; or to bring themas near as possible to the notion of a strict obligation, a principle ofsusceptibility of this reward according to the law of virtue; namely, a moralpleasure which goes beyond mere satisfaction with one’s self (which may bemerely negative), and of which it is proudly said that in this consciousnessvirtue is its own reward.

When this merit is a merit of the man in respect of other men of promotingtheir natural ends, which are recognized as such by all men (making theirhappiness his own), we might call it the sweet merit, theconsciousness of which creates a moralenjoyment in which men are by sympathy inclined to rerel; whereas the bitter merit ofpromoting the true welfare of other men, even though they should not recognizeit as such (in the case of the unthankful and ungrateful), has commonly no suchreaction, but only produces a satisfaction with one’sself, although in the latter case this would be even greater.

VIII.: — Exposition of the Duties of Virtueas Indeterminate Duties.

(1): Our own Perfection as an endwhich is also a duty.

( a ) Physical perfection; that is, cultivation of all our faculties generally for the promotionof the ends set before us by reason. That this is a duty, and therefore an endin itself, and that the effort to effect this even without regardto the advantage that it secures us, isbased, not on a conditional (pragmatic), but an unconditional (moral)imperative, may be seen from the following consideration. The power ofproposing to ourselves an end is the characteristic of humanity (asdistinguished from the brutes). With the end of humanity in our own person istherefore combined the rational will [Vernunftwille], and consequently the dutyof deserving well of humanity by culture generally, by acquiring or advancingthe power to carry out all sorts of possible ends, so faras this power is to be found in man; that is, it is a duty to cultivate thecrude capacities of our nature, since it is by that cultivation that the animalis raised to man, therefore it is a duty in itself.

This duty, however, is merely ethical, that is, of indeterminate obligation.No principle of reason prescribes how far one must go in this effort (inenlarging or correcting his faculty of understanding, that is, in acquisitionof knowledge or technical capacity); and besides the difference in thecircumstances into which men may come makes the choice of the kind ofemployment for which he should cultivate his talent very arbitrary. Here,therefore, there is no law of reason for actions, but only for the maxim ofactions, viz.: “Cultivate thy faculties of mind and body so as to be effectivefor all ends that may come in thy way, uncertain which of them may become thyown.”

( b ) Cultivation of Morality inourselves. The greatest moral perfection of man is to do his duty, and that from duty (that the law be not only the rule but also thespring of his actions). Now at first sight this seems to be a strict obligation, and as if the principle of duty commandednot merely the legality of every action, but also the morality, i. e. the mental disposition, with the exactnessand strictness of a law; but in fact the law commands even here only the maxim of the action , namely, that we should seek the groundof obligation, not in the sensible impulses (advantage or disadvantage), butwholly in the law; so that the action itself is not commanded. For it is notpossible to man to see so far into the depth of his own heart that he couldever be thoroughly certain of the purity of his moral purpose and the sincerityof his mind even in one single action, although he has nodoubt about the legality of it. Nay, often the weakness which deters a man fromthe risk of a crime is regarded by him as virtue (which gives the notion ofstrength). And how many there are who may have led a long blameless life, whoare only fortunate in having escaped so many temptations.How much of the element of pure morality in their mental disposition may havebelonged to each deed remains hidden even from themselves.

Accordingly, this duty to estimate the worth of one’s actions not merely bytheir legality, but also by their morality (mental disposition), is only of indeterminate obligation; the law does not command thisinternal action in the human mind itself, but only the maxim of the action,namely, that we should strive with all our power that for all dutiful actionsthe thought of duty should be of itself an adequate spring.

(2): Happiness of Others as an endwhich is also a duty.

( a ) Physical Welfare.—Benevolentwishes may be unlimited, for they do not imply doing anything. But thecase is more difficult with benevolent action, especiallywhen this is to be done, not from friendly inclination (love) to others, butfrom duty, at the expense of the sacrifice and mortification of many of ourappetites. That this beneficence is a duty results fromthis: that since our self-love cannot be separatedfrom the need to be loved by others (to obtain help from them in case ofnecessity), we therefore make ourselves an end forothers; and this maxim can never be obligatory except by having the specificcharacter of a universal law, and consequently by means of a will that weshould also make others our ends. Hence the happiness of others is an end thatis also a duty. [1]

I am only bound then to sacrifice to others a part of my welfare withouthope of recompense; because it is my duty, and it is impossible to assigndefinite limits how far that may go. Much depends on what would be the truewant of each according to his own feelings, and it must be left to each todetermine this for himself. For that one should sacrifice his own happiness,his true wants, in order to promote that of others, would be aself-contradictory maxim if made a universal law. This duty, therefore, is only indeterminate; it has a certain latitude within which onemay do more or less without our being able to assign its limits definitely. Thelaw holds only for the maxims, not for definiteactions.

( b ) Moral well-being of others( salus moralis ) also belongs to the happiness of others,which it is our duty to promote, but only a negative duty. The pain that a manfeels from remorse of conscience, although its origin is moral, is yet in itsoperation physical, like grief, fear, and every other diseased condition. Totake care that he should not be deservedly smitten by this inward reproach isnot indeed my duty but his business;nevertheless, it is my duty to do nothing which by the nature of man mightseduce him to that for which his conscience may hereafter torment him, that is,it is my duty not to give him occasion of stumbling [Skandal]. But there are no definite limits within which this care for themoral satisfaction of others must be kept; therefore it involves only anindeterminate obligation.

IX.: — What is a Duty ofVirtue?

Virtue is the strength of the man’s maxim in hisobedience to duty. All strength is known only by the obstacles that it canovercome; and in the case of virtue the obstacles are the natural inclinationswhich may come into conflict with the moral purpose; and as it is the man whohimself puts these obstacles in the way of his maxims, hence virtue is notmerely a self-constraint (for that might be an effort of one inclination toconstrain another), but is also a constraint according to a principle of inwardfreedom, and therefore by the mere idea of duty, according to its formal law. [1]

All duties involve a notion of necessitation by thelaw, and ethical duties involve a necessitation for whichonly an internal legislation is possible; juridical duties, on the other hand,one for which external legislation also is possible. Both, therefore, includethe notion of constraint, either self-constraint or constraint by others. Themoral power of the former is virtue, and the action springing from such adisposition (from reverence for the law) may be called a virtuous action(ethical), although the law expresses a juridical duty. For it is the doctrineof virtue that commands us to regard the rights of men as holy.

But it does not follow that everything the doing of which is virtue is,properly speaking, a duty of virtue. The former mayconcern merely the form of the maxims; the latter appliesto the matter of them, namely, to an end which is also conceived as duty. Now, as the ethicalobligation to ends, of which there may be many, is only indeterminate, because it contains only a law for the maxim ofactions, and the end is the matter (object) ofelective will; hence there are many duties, differingaccording to the difference of lawful ends, whichmay be called duties of virtue ( officiahonestatis ), just because they are subject only to free self-constraint,not to the constraint of other men, and determine the end which is also aduty.

Virtue being a coincidence of the rational will, with every duty firmlysettled in the character, is, like everything formal, onlyone and the same. But, as regards the end of actions,which is also duty, that is, as regards the matter which one ought to make an end, there may beseveral virtues; and as the obligation to its maxim is called a duty of virtue,it follows that there are also several duties of virtue.

The supreme principle of Ethics (the doctrine of virtue) is: “Act on amaxim, the ends of which are such as it might be auniversal law for everyone to have.” On this principle a man is an end tohimself as well as others, and it is not enough that he is not permitted to useeither himself or others merely as means (which would imply that he might beindifferent to them), but it is in itself a duty of every man to make mankindin general his end.

This principle of Ethics being a categorical imperative does not admit ofproof, but it admits of a justification [Deduction] [1] from principles of pure practical reason. Whatever in relation tomankind, to one’s self, and others can be an end, that is an end for pure practical reason; for this is a facultyof assigning ends in general; and to be indifferent to them, that is, to takeno interest in them, is a contradiction; since in that case it would notdetermine the maxims of actions (which always involve an end), and consequentlywould cease to be practical reason. Pure reason, however, cannot commandany ends à priori, except so far as it declares the sameto be also a duty, which duty is then called a duty of virtue.

X.: — The Supreme Principle ofJurisprudence was Analytical; that of Ethics is Synthetical.

That external constraint, so far as it withstands that which hinders theexternal freedom that agrees with general laws (is an obstacle of the obstaclethereto), can be consistent with ends generally is clear on the principle ofContradiction, and I need not go beyond the notion of freedom in order to seeit, let the end which each may be what he will. Accordingly, the supreme principle of jurisprudence is an analytical principle. [1] On the contrary, the principle of Ethics goes beyond the notion ofexternal freedom, and by general laws connects further with it an end which it makes a duty. Thisprinciple, therefore, is synthetic. The possibility of it is contained in theDeduction (§ ix.)

This enlargement of the notion of duty beyond that of external freedom andof its limitation by the merely formal condition of its constant harmony; this,I say, in which instead of constraint from without, there is set up freedom within, the power of self-constraint, and that not by thehelp of other inclinations, but by pure practical reason (which scorns all suchhelp), consists in this fact, which raises it above juridical duty; that by it ends are proposed from which jurisprudence altogetherabstracts. In the case of the moral imperative, and the supposition of freedomwhich it necessarily involves, the law, the power (to fulfil it)and the rationalwill that determines the maxim, constitute all the elements that form thenotion of juridical duty. But in the imperative, which commands the duty ofvirtue, there is added, besides the notion of self-constraint, that of an end; not one that we have, but that we ought to have,which, therefore, pure practical reason has in itself, whose highest,unconditional end (which, however, continues to be duty) consists in this: thatvirtue is its own end, and by deserving well of men is also its own reward.Herein it shines so brightly as anideal that to human perceptions it seems to cast inthe shade even holiness itself, which is never tempted totransgression. [1] This, however, is an illusion arising from the fact that as we have nomeasure for the degree of strength except the greatness of the obstacles whichmight have been overcome (which in our case are the inclinations), we are ledto mistake the subjective conditions of estimation of amagnitude for the objective conditions of the magnitude in itself. But whencompared with human ends, all of which have theirobstacles to be overcome, it is true that the worth of virtue itself, which isits own end, far outweighs the worth of all the utility and all the empiricalends and advantages which it may have as consequences.

We may, indeed, say that man is obliged to virtue (as a moral strength).For, although the power ( facultas ) to overcome allopposing sensible impulses by virtue of his freedom can and must be presupposed, yet this power regarded as strength ( robur ) is something that must be acquired by the moral spring (the idea of the law) being elevated bycontemplation of the dignity of the pure law of reason in us, and at the sametime also by exercise.

XI.: — According to the precedingPrinciples, the Scheme of Duties of Virtue may be thus exhibited.

The Material Element of the Duty of Virtue.

External Duty of Virtue.

The Formal Element of the Duty of Virtue.

Internal Duty of Virtue.

XII.: — Preliminary Notions of theSusceptibility of the Mind for Notions of Duty generally.

These are such moral qualities as, when a man does not possess them, he isnot bound to acquire them. They are: the moral feeling,conscience, love of one’s neighbour, and respect forourselves ( self-esteem ). There is no obligation tohave these, since they are subjective conditions ofsusceptibility for the notion of duty, not objective conditions of morality.They are all sensitive and antecedent, but naturalcapacities of mind ( prædisposito ) to be affected bynotions of duty; capacities which it cannot beregarded as a duty to have, but which every man has,and by virtue of which he can be brought under obligation. The consciousness ofthem is not of empirical origin, but can only follow on that of a moral law, asan effect of the same on the mind.

(A.): —The Moral Feeling.

This is the susceptibility for pleasure or displeasure, merely from theconsciousness of the agreement or disagreement of our action with the law ofduty. Now, every determination of the elective will proceeds from the idea of the possible action through the feeling of pleasure or displeasure in taking aninterest in it or its effect to the deed; and here the sensitive state (the affection of the internal sense) iseither a pathological or a moral feeling. The former is the feeling that precedes the idea of the law, thelatter that which may follow it.

Now it cannot be a duty to have a moralfeeling, or to acquire it; for all consciousness of obligation supposes thisfeeling in order that one may become conscious of the necessitation that liesin the notion of duty; but every man (as a moral being) has it originally inhimself; the obligation then can only extend to the cultivation of it and the strengthening of it even byadmiration of its inscrutable origin; and this is effected by showing how it isjust by the mere conception of reason that it is excited most strongly, in itsown purity and apart from every pathological stimulus; and it is improper tocall this feeling a moral sense; for the word sense generally means a theoretical power of perceptiondirected to an object; whereas the moral feeling (like pleasure and displeasurein general) is something merely subjective, which supplies no knowledge. No manis wholly destitute of moral feeling, for if he were totally unsusceptible ofthis sensation he would be morally dead; and, to speak in the language ofphysicians, if the moral vital force could no longer produce any effect on thisfeeling, then his humanity would be dissolved (as it were by chemical laws)into mere animality, and be irrevocably confounded with the mass of otherphysical beings. But we have no special sense for (moral)good and evil any morethan for truth, although suchexpressions are often used; but we have a susceptibility of the free elective will for being moved by pure practical reason and its law;and it is this that we call the moral feeling.

(B.): —Of Conscience.

Similarly, conscience is not a thing to be acquired, and it is not a duty toacquire it; but every man, as a moral being, has itoriginally within him. To be bound to have a conscience would be as much as tosay to be under a duty to recognise duties. For conscience is practical reasonwhich, in every case of law, holds before a man his duty for acquittal orcondemnation; consequently it does not refer to an object, but only to thesubject (affecting the moral feeling by its own act); so that it is aninevitable fact, not an obligation and duty. When, therefore, it is said: thisman has no conscience, what is meant is, that he pays noheed to its dictates. For if he really had none, he would not take credit tohimself for anything done according to duty, nor reproach himself withviolation of duty, and therefore he would be unable even to conceive the dutyof having a conscience.

I pass by the manifold subdivisions of conscience, and only observe whatfollows from what has just been said, namely, that there is no such thing as an erring conscience. No doubt it is possible sometimes toerr in the objective judgment whether something is a duty or not; but I cannoterr in the subjective whether I have compared it with my practical (herejudicially acting) reason for the purpose of that judgment; for if I erred Iwould not have exercised practical judgment at all, and in that case there isneither truth nor error. Unconscientiousness is not wantof conscience, but the propensity not to heed its judgment. But when a man isconscious of having acted according to his conscience, then, as far as regardsguilt or innocence, nothing more can be required of him, only he is bound toenlighten his understanding as to what is duty or not; butwhen it comes or has come to action, then conscience speaksinvoluntarily and inevitably. To act conscientiouslycan therefore not be a duty, since otherwise it would be necessary to have asecond conscience, in order to be conscious of the act of the first.

The duty here is only to cultivate ourconscience, to quicken our attention to the voice of the internal judge, and touse all means to secure obedience to it, and is thus our indirect duty. [1]

(C.): —Of Love to Men.

Love is a matter of feeling, notof will or volition, and I cannot love because I will todo so, still less because I ought (I cannot benecessitated to love); hence there is no such thing as a dutyto love. Benevolence, however ( amor benevolentiæ ), asa mode of action, may be subject to a law of duty. Disinterested benevolence isoften called (though very improperly) love; even where thehappiness of the other is not concerned, but the complete and free surrender ofall one’s own ends to the ends of another (even a superhuman) being, love isspoken of as being also our duty. But all duty is necessitation, or constraint, although it may beself-constraint according to a law. But what is done from constraint is notdone from love.

It is a duty to do good to other men according to ourpower, whether we love them or not, and this duty loses nothing of its weight,although we must make the sad remark that our species, alas! is not such as tobe found particularly worthy of love when we know it more closely. Hatred of men, however, is always hateful: even thoughwithout any active hostility it consists only in complete aversion from mankind(the solitary misanthropy). For benevolence still remains a duty even towardsthe manhater, whom one cannot love, but to whom we can show kindness.

To hate vice in men is neither duty nor against duty, but a mere feeling ofhorror of vice, the will having no influence on the feelingnor the feeling on the will. Beneficence is aduty. He who often practises this, and sees hisbeneficent purpose succeed, comes at last really to love him whom he hasbenefited. When, therefore, it is said: Thou shalt love thy neighbour as thyself, this does not mean: Thou shalt first of all love, andby means of this love (in the next place) do him good; but: Dogood to thy neighbour, and this beneficence will produce in thee the loveof men (as a settled habit of inclination to beneficence).

The love of complacency ( amorcomplacentiæ ) would therefore alone be direct. This is a pleasureimmediately connected with the idea of the existence of an object, and to havea duty to this, that is, to be necessitated to find pleasure in a thing, is acontradiction.

(D.): —Of Respect.

Respect ( reverentia ) is likewise something merelysubjective; a feeling of a peculiar kind, not a judgment about an object whichit would be a duty to effect or to advance. For if considered as duty it couldonly be conceived as such by means of the respect which wehave for it. To have a duty to this, therefore, would be as much as to say, tobe bound in duty to have a duty. When, therefore, it is said: Man has a duty of self-esteem, this isimproperly stated, and we ought rather to say: The law within him inevitablyforces from him respect for his own being, and thisfeeling (which is of a peculiar kind) is a basis of certain duties, that is, ofcertain actions which may be consistent with his duty to himself. But we cannotsay that he has a duty of respect for himself; for he must have respect for thelaw within himself, in order to be able to conceive duty at all.

XIII.: — General Principles of theMetaphysic of Morals in the treatment of Pure Ethics.

First. A duty can have only a single ground of obligation; and if two or more proofs of itare adduced, this is a certain mark that either no valid proof has yet beengiven, or thatthere are several distinct duties which have beenregarded as one.

For all moral proofs, being philosophical, can only be drawn by means ofrational knowledge from concepts, not like mathematics,through the construction of concepts. The latter science admits a variety ofproofs of one and the same theorem; because in intuition àpriori there may be several properties of an object, all of which leadback to the very same principle. If, for instance, to prove the duty ofveracity, an argument is drawn first from the harm that alie causes to other men; another from the worthlessness ofa liar, and the violation of his own self-respect, what is proved in the formerargument is a duty of benevolence, not of veracity, that is to say, not theduty which required to be proved, but a different one. Now, if in giving avariety of proofs for one and the same theorem, we flatter ourselves that themultitude of reasons will compensate the lack of weight in each takenseparately, this is a very unphilosophical resource, since it betrays trickeryand dishonesty; for several insufficient proofs placed besideone another do not produce certainty, nor even probability.They should advance as reason and consequence in a series, up to thesufficient reason, and it is only in this way that they can have the force ofproof. Yet the former is the usual device of the rhetorician.

Secondly. The difference between virtue and vice cannotbe sought in the degree in which certain maxims arefollowed, but only in the specific quality of the maxims(their relation to the law). In other words, the vaunted principle ofAristotle, that virtue is the mean between two vices, isfalse. [1] For instance,suppose that good management is given as the mean between two vices, prodigality and avarice; then itsorigin as a virtue can neither be defined as the gradual diminution of theformer vice (by saving) nor as the increase of the expenses of the miserly.These vices, in fact, cannot be viewed as if they, proceeding as it were inopposite directions, met together in good management; but each of them has itsown maxim, which necessarily contradicts that of the other.

For the same reason, no vice can bedefined as an excess in the practice of certain actionsbeyond what is proper (e. g. Prodigalitas est excessus inconsumendis opibus ); or, as a less exercise of them than is fitting ( Avaritia est defectus, c. ). For since in this way the degree is left quite undefined, and the question whetherconduct accords with duty or not, turns wholly on this, such an account is ofno use as a definition. [1]

Thirdly. Ethical virtue must not be estimated by thepower we attribute to man of fulfilling the law; but conversely, themoral power must be estimated by the law, whichcommands categorically; not, therefore, by the empirical knowledge that we haveof men as they are, but by the rational knowledge how, according to the idea ofhumanity, they ought to be. These three maxims of the scientific treatment ofEthics are opposed to the older apophthegms:—

- 1. There is only one virtue and only onevice.

- 2. Virtue is the observance of the meanpath between two opposite vices.

- 3. Virtue (like prudence) must be learnedfrom experience.

XIV.: — Of Virtue in General.

Virtue signifies a moral strength of Will [Wille]. But this does not exhaustthe notion; for such strength might also belong to a holy (superhuman) being, in whom no opposing impulse counteracts the law of hisrational Will; who therefore willingly does everything in accordance with thelaw. Virtue then is the moral strength of a man’s Will[Wille] in his obedience to duty; and this is a moral necessitation by his own law giving reason, inasmuch as this constitutes itself apower executing the law. It is not itself a duty, nor isit a duty to possess it (otherwise we should be in duty bound to have a duty),but it commands, and accompanies its command with a moral constraint (onepossible by laws of internal freedom).But since this should be irresistible, strength isrequisite, and the degree of this strength can be estimated only by themagnitude of the hindrances which man creates for himself by his inclinations.Vices, the brood of unlawful dispositions, are the monsters that he has tocombat; wherefore this moral strength as fortitude ( fortitudo moralis ) constitutes the greatest and only truemartial glory of man; it is also called the true wisdom, namely, the practical, because it makes the ultimate end [= final cause] of the existence of man on earth its own end. Its possessionalone makes man free, healthy, rich, a king, c., nor can either chance orfate deprive him of this, since he possesses himself, and the virtuous cannotlose his virtue.

All the enconiums bestowed on the ideal of humanity in its moral perfectioncan lose nothing of their practical reality by the examples of what men noware, have been, or will probably be hereafter; Anthropology which proceeds from mere empirical knowledgecannot impair anthroponomy which is erected by theunconditionally legislating reason; and although virtue may now and then becalled meritorious (in relation to men, not to the law), and be worthy ofreward, yet in itself, as it is its own end, so also it must be regarded as itsown reward.

Virtue considered in its complete perfection is therefore regarded not as ifman possessed virtue, but as if virtue possessed the man, since in the former case it wouldappear as though he had still had the choice (for which he would then requireanother virtue, in order to select virtue from all other wares offered to him).To conceive a plurality of virtues (as we unavoidably must) is nothing else butto conceive various moral objects to which the (rational) will is led by thesingle principle of virtue; and it is the same with the opposite vices. Theexpression which personifies both is a contrivance for affecting thesensibility, pointing, however, to a moral sense. Hence it follows that anAesthetic of Morals is not a part, but a subjective exposition, of theMetaphysic of Morals, in which the emotions that accompany the necessitatingforce of the moral law make the efficiency of that force to be felt; forexample: disgust, horror, c., which give a sensible form to the moralaversion in order to gain the precedence from the merely sensible incitement.

XV.: — Of the Principle on which Ethics isseparated from Jurisprudence.

This separation, on which the subdivision of moralphilosophy in general rests, is founded on this: that the notion of Freedom, which is common to both, makes it necessary todivide duties into those of external and those of internal freedom; the latterof which alone are ethical. Hence this internal freedom which is the conditionof all ethical duty must be discussed as a preliminary( discursus præliminaris ), just as above the doctrine ofconscience was discussed as the condition of all duty.

REMARKS. Ofthe Doctrine of Virtue on the Principle of Internal Freedom.

Habit ( habitus ) is a facility ofaction and a subjective perfection of the elective will. But not every such facility is a freehabit ( habitus libertatis ); for if it is custom ( assuetudo ) that is auniformity of action which, by frequent repetition, has become a necessity, then it is not a habit proceeding from freedom,and therefore not a moral habit. Virtue therefore cannot be defined as a habit of free law-abiding actions, unless indeedwe add “determining itself in its action by the idea of the law”; and then thishabit is not a property of the elective will, but of the Rational Will, which is a faculty that in adopting a rule alsodeclares it to be a universal law, and it is only such a habit that can bereckoned as virtue. Two things are required for internal freedom: to be master of one’s self in a given case ( animus sui compos ), and to have command over one’s self ( imperium in semetipsum ), that is to subdue his emotions and to govern hispassions. With these conditions the character ( indoles ) is noble ( erecta ); in the opposite case it is ignoble ( indoles abjecta serva ).

XVI.: — Virtue requires, first of all,Command over One’s Self.

Emotions and Passions areessentially distinct; the former belong to feeling in sofar as this coming before reflection makes it more difficult or evenimpossible. Hence emotion is called hasty [jäh] ( animus præceps ). And reason declares through the notionof virtue that a man should collect himself; but thisweakness in the life of one’s understanding, joined with the strength of amental excitement, is only a lack of virtue ( Untugend ), and as it were a weak and childish thing, which mayvery well consist with the best will, and has further this one good thing init, that this storm soon subsides. A propensity to emotion (ex. gr. resentment ) is therefore not so closely related to vice aspassion is. Passion, on the other hand, is the sensible appetite grown into a permanent inclination (ex. gr. hatred in contrast to resentment ).The calmness with which one indulges it leaves room for reflection and allowsthe mind to frame principles thereon for itself; and thus when the inclinationfalls upon what contradicts the law, to brood on it, to allow it to root itselfdeeply, and thereby to take up evil (as of set purpose) into one’s maxim; andthis is then specifically evil, that is, it is a true vice.

Virtue therefore, in so far as it is based on internal freedom, contains apositive command for man, namely, that he should bring all his powers andinclinations under his rule (that of reason); and this is a positive precept ofcommand over himself which is additional to the prohibition, namely, that heshould not allow himself to be governed by his feelings and inclinations (theduty of apathy ); since, unless reason takes the reins ofgovernment into its own hands, the feelings and inclinations play the masterover the man.

XVII.: — Virtue necessarily presupposesApathy ( considered as Strength ).

This word (apathy) has come into bad repute, just as if it meant want offeeling, and therefore subjective indifference with respect to the objects ofthe elective will; it is supposedto be a weakness. This misconception may be avoidedby giving the name moral apathy to that want of emotionwhich is to be distinguished from indifference. In the former the feelingsarising from sensible impressions lose their influence on the moral feelingonly because the respect for the law is more powerful than all of themtogether. It is only the apparent strength of a fever patient that makes eventhe lively sympathy with good rise to an emotion, orrather degenerate into it. Such an emotion is called enthusiasm, and it is with reference to this that we are toexplain the moderation which is usually recommended invirtuous practices—

- “Insani sapiens nomen ferat, æquus iniqui

- Ultra quam satis est virtutem si petat ipsam.”

- — HOR.

For otherwise it is absurd to imagine that one could be too wise or too virtuous. The emotionalways belongs to the sensibility, no matter by what sort of object it may beexcited. The true strength of virtue is the mind at rest, with a firm, deliberate resolution to bring its law into practice. That is thestate of health in the moral life; on the contrary, theemotion, even when it is excited by the idea of the good, is a momentary glitter which leaves exhaustion after it. We may apply the termfantastically virtuous to the man who will admit nothing to be indifferent in respect of morality ( adiaphora ), and who strews all his steps with duties, as withtraps, and will not allow it to be indifferent whether a man eat fish or flesh,drink beer or wine, when both agree with him—a micrology which, if adopted intothe doctrine of virtue, would make its rule a tyranny.

REMARK.

Virtue is always in progress, and yet always begins from the beginning. The former follows from the fact that, objectively considered, it is an ideal and unattainable,and yet it is a duty constantly to approximate to it. The second[characteristic] is founded subjectively on the nature ofman which is affected by inclinations, under the influence of which virtue,with itsmaxims adopted once for all, can never settle in aposition of rest; but if it is not rising, inevitably falls; because moralmaxims cannot, like technical, be based on custom (for this belongs to thephysical character of the determination of will); but even if the practice ofthem become a custom, the agent would thereby lose the freedom in the choice of his maxims, which freedom is thecharacter of an action done from duty.

[The two remaining sections discuss the proper division of Ethics, and haveno interest apart from the treatise to which they are introductory. They aretherefore not translated. I add some remarks on Conscience, taken from the“Tugendlehre” itself.]

On Conscience.

The consciousness of an internal tribunal in man(before which “his thoughts accuse or excuse one another”) is Conscience.

Every man has a conscience, and finds himself observed by an inward judgewhich threatens and keeps him in awe (reverence combined with fear); and thispower which watches over the laws within him is not something which he himself(arbitrarily) makes, but it is incorporated in his being.It follows him like his shadow, when he thinks to escape. He may indeed stupefyhimself with pleasures and distractions, but cannot avoid now and then comingto himself or awaking, and then he at once perceives its awful voice. In hisutmost depravity he may, indeed, pay no attention to it, but he cannot avoid hearing it.

Now this original intellectual and (as a conception of duty) moral capacity,called conscience, has this peculiarity in it, thatalthough its business is a business of man with himself, yet he finds himselfcompelled by his reason to transact it as if at the command ofanother person. For the transaction here is the conduct of a trial ( causa ) before a tribunal. Butthat he who is accused by his conscience should beconceived as one and the same person with the judge is an absurd conception of a judicial court; for then thecomplainant would always lose hiscase. Therefore in all duties the conscience of theman must regard another than himself as the judge of hisactions, if it is to avoid self-contradiction. Now this other may be an actualor a merely ideal person which reason frames to itself. [1] Such an idealized person (the authorized judge of conscience) must beone who knows the heart; for the tribunal is set up in the inward part of man; at the same time he must also be all-obliging, that is, must be or be conceived as a personin respect of whom all duties are to be regarded as his commands; sinceconscience is the inward judge of all free actions. Now, since such a moralbeing must at the same time possess all power (in heaven and earth), sinceotherwise he could not give his commands their proper effect (which the officeof judge necessarily requires), and since such a moral being possessing powerover all is called God, hence conscience must be conceivedas the subjective principle of a responsibility for one’s deeds before God;nay, this latter concept is contained (though it be only obscurely) in everymoral self-consciousness.”— Tugendlehre, p. 293, ff.

FIRST PART OF THE PHILOSOPHICALTHEORY OF RELIGION.

OF THE INDWELLING OF THE BADPRINCIPLE ALONG WITH THE GOOD; OR, ON THE RADICAL EVIL INHUMAN NATURE.

THAT the world lieth in wickedness is a complaint as old ashistory, even as what is still older, poetry; indeed, as old as the oldest ofall poems, sacerdotal religion. All alike, nevertheless, make the world beginfrom good; with the golden age, with life in paradise, or one still more happyin communion with heavenly beings. But they represent this happy state as soonvanishing like a dream, and then they fall into badness (moral badness, whichis always accompanied by physical), as hastening to worse and worse withaccelerated steps; [1] so that we are now living (this now being however as old as history) inthe last times, the last day and the destruction of the world are at the door;and in some parts of Hindostanthe judge and destroyer of the world, Rudra (otherwise called Siva ), isalready worshipped as the God that is at present in power; the preserver of theworld, namely, Vishnu, having centuries ago laid down hisoffice, of which he was weary, and which he had received from the creator ofthe world, Brahma.

Later, but much less general, is the opposite heroic opinion, which hasperhaps obtained currency only amongst philosophers, and in our times chieflyamongst instructors of youth; that the world is constantly advancing inprecisely the reverse direction, namely, from worse to better (though almostinsensibly): at least, that the capacity for such advance exists in humannature. This opinion, however, is certainly not founded on experience, if whatis meant is moral good or evil (not civilization), for thehistory of all times speaks too powerfully against it, but it is probably agood-natured hypothesis of moralists from Seneca to Rousseau, so as to urge manto the unwearied cultivation of the germ of good that perhaps lies in us, ifone can reckon on such a natural foundation in man. [1] There is also the consideration that as we must assume thatman is by nature (that is, as he is usually born)sound in body, there is thought to be no reason why we should not assume thathe is also by nature sound in soul, so that nature itself helps us to developthis moral capacity for good within us. “Sanabilibus ægrotamus malis, nosque in rectum genitos natura, si sanari velimus, adjuvat,”says Seneca.

But since it may well be that there is error in the supposed experience onboth sides, the question is, whether a mean is not at least possible, namely,that man as a species may be neither good nor bad, or at all events that he isas much one as the other, partly good, partly bad?We call a man bad, however, not because heperforms actions that are bad (violating law), but because these are of such akind that we may infer from them bad maxims in him. Now although we can inexperience observe that actions violate laws, and even (at least in ourselves)that they do so consciously; yet we cannot observe the maxims themselves, noteven always in ourselves: consequently, the judgment that the doer of them is abad man cannot with certainty be founded on experience. In order then to call aman bad, it should be possible to argue à priori from someactions, or from a single consciously bad action, to a bad maxim as itsfoundation, and from this to a general source in the actor of all particularmorally bad maxims, this source again being itself a maxim.

Lest any difficulty should be found in the expression nature, which, if it meant (as usual) the opposite of thesource of actions from freedom, would be directlycontradictory to the predicates morally good or evil, itis to be observed, that by the nature of man we mean here only the subjectiveground of the use of his freedom in general (under objective moral laws) whichprecedes every act that falls under the senses, wherever this ground lies. Thissubjective ground, however, must itself again be always an act of freedom (elsethe use or abuse of man’s elective will in respect of the moral law could notbe imputed to him nor the good or bad in him be called moral). Consequently,the source of the bad cannot lie in any object that determines the elective will through inclination, or in anynatural impulse, butonly in a rule that the elective will makes foritself for the use of its freedom, that is, in a maxim. Now we cannot go on toask concerning this, What is the subjective ground why it is adopted, and notthe opposite maxim?For if this ground were ultimately not nowa maxim but a mere natural impulse, then the use of freedom would be reduced todetermination by natural causes, which is contradictory to its conception. Whenwe say then, man is by nature good, or, he is by nature bad, this only meansthat he contains a primary source (to us inscrutable) [1] of the adoption of good or of the adoption of bad (law violating)maxims: and this generally as man, and consequently so that by this heexpresses the character of his species.

We shall say then of one of these characters (which distinguishes man fromother possible rational beings, it is innate, and yet wemust always remember that Nature is not to bear the blame of it (if it is bad),or the credit (if it is good), but that the man himself is the author of it.But since the primary source of the adoption of our maxims, which itself mustagain always lie in the free elective will, cannot be a fact of experience,hence the good or bad in man (as the subjective primary source of the adoptionof this or that maxim in respect of the moral law) is innate merely in this sense, that it is in force before any use of freedomis experienced(in the earliest childhood back to birth)so that it is conceived as being present in man at birth, not that birth is thecause of it.

REMARK.

The conflict between the two above-mentioned hypotheses rests on adisjunctive proposition; man is (by nature) either morally good or morally bad. But it readily occursto every one to ask whether this disjunction is correct, and whether one mightnot affirm that man is by nature neither, or another that he is both at once,namely, in some parts good, in others bad. Experience seems even to confirmthis mean between the two extremes.

It is in general, however, important for Ethics to admit, as far aspossible, no intermediates, either in actions ( adiaphora )or in human characters; since with such ambiguity all maxims would run the riskof losing all definiteness and firmness. Those who are attached to this strictview are commonly called rigourists (a name that is meantas a reproach, but which is really praise): and their antipodes may be called latitudinarians. The latter are either latitudinarians ofneutrality, who may be called indifferentists, or ofcompromise, who may be called syncretists. [1]

The answer given to the above question bythe rigourists [1] is founded on the important consideration:That freedom of elective will has thepeculiar characteristic that it cannot be determined to action by any spring except only so far as the man has taken it up into hismaxim (has made it the universal rule of his conduct); only in his way cana spring, whatever it may be, co-exist with the absolute spontaneity of theelective will (freedom). Only the moral law is of itself in the judgment ofreason a spring, and whoever makes it his maxim is morally good. Now if the law does not determine a man’s elective will in respect of anaction which has reference to it, an opposite spring must have influence on hiselective will; and since by hypothesis this can only occur by the man taking it(and consequently deviation from the moral law) into his maxim (in which casehe is a bad man), it follows that his dispositionin respect of the moral law is never indifferent (isalways one of the two, good or bad.)

Nor can he be partly good and partly badat the same time. For if he is in part good, he has taken the moral law intohis maxim; if then he were at the same time in another part bad, then, sincethe moral law of obedience to duty is one and universal, the maxim referring toit would be universal, and at the same time only particular, which is acontradiction. [1]

When it is said that a man has the one or the other disposition as an innatenatural quality, it is not meant that it is not acquired by him, that is, thathe is not the author of it, but only that it is not acquired in time (that from youth up he has been always theone or the other). The disposition, that is, the primary subjective source ofthe adoption of maxims can be but one, and applies generally to the whole useof freedom. But it musthave been itself adopted by free elective will, forotherwise it could not be imputed. Now the subjective ground or cause of itsadoption cannot be further known (although we cannot help asking for it); sinceotherwise another maxim would have to be adduced, into which this dispositionhas been adopted, and this again must have its reason.Since, then, we cannot deduce thisdisposition, or rather its ultimate source, from any first act of the electivewill in time, we call it a characteristic of the elective will, attaching to itby nature (although in fact it is founded in freedom). Now that when we say ofa man that he is by nature good or bad, we are justified in applying this notto the individual (in which case one might be assumed to be by nature good,another bad), but to the whole race, this can only be proved when it has beenshown in the anthropological inquiry that the reasons which justify us inascribing one of the two characters to a man as innate are such that there isno reason to except any man from them, and that therefore it holds of therace.

I.: of the original incapacity for good inhuman nature.

We may conveniently regard this capacity [Anlage] under three heads dividedin reference to their end, as elements in the purpose for which manexists:—

- 1. The capacities belonging to the animal nature of man as a living being.

- 2. To his humanity asa living and at the same time rational being.

- 3. To his personality as a rational and at the same time responsible being [ capable of imputation ]. [1]

1. The capacities belonging to the AnimalNature of man may be brought under the general title of physical and merely mechanical self-love, that is, such as does not requirereason. It is threefold:— first, for the maintenance ofhimself; secondly, for the propagation of his kind, andthe maintenance of his offspring; thirdly, for communionwith other men, that is, the impulse to society. All sorts of vices may begrafted on it, but they do not proceed from that capacity itself as a root.They may be called vices of coarseness of nature, and intheir extreme deviation from the end of nature become brutal vices: intemperance, sensuality, and wildlawlessness (in relation to other men).

2. The capacities belonging to his Humanity may be brought under the generaltitle of comparative, though physical, self-love (whichrequires reason), namely, estimating one’s self as happy or unhappy only incomparison with others. From this is derived the inclination toobtain a worth in the opinion of others, and primarily only that of equality: to allow no one a superiority over one’s self,joined with a constant apprehensionthat others might strive to attain it, andfrom this there ultimately arises an unjust desire to gain superiority forourselves over others. On this, namely, jealousy and rivalry, the greatest vices may be grafted, secret andopen hostilities against all whom we look upon as not belonging to us. These,however, do not properly spring of themselves from nature as their root, butapprehending that others endeavour to gain a hated superiority over us,these are inclinations to secure this superiorityfor ourselves as a defensive measure, whereas Nature would use the idea of suchcompetition (which in itself does not exclude mutual love) only as a motive toculture. The vices that are grafted on this inclination may therefore be calledvices of culture, and in their highest degree ofmalignancy (in which they are merely the idea of a maximum of badnesssurpassing humanity), ex. gr. in envy, in ingratitude, malice, c.,are called devilish vices.

3. The capacity belonging to Personality is the capability of respect forthe moral law as a spring of the elective will adequate initself. The capability of mere respect for the moral law in us would bemoral feeling, which does not of itself constitute an end of the naturalcapacity, but only so far as it is a spring of the elective will. Now as thisis only possible by free will adopting it into its maxim, hence the characterof such an elective will is the good character, which, like every character offree elective will, is something that can only be acquired, the possibility ofwhich, however, requires the presence of a capacity in our nature on whichabsolutely nothing bad can be grafted. The idea of the moral law alone, withthe respect inseparable from it, cannot properly be called a capacity belonging to personality; it is personality itself (the idea ofhumanity considered altogether intellectually). But that we adopt this respectinto our maxims as a spring, this seems to have a subjective ground additionalto personality, and so this ground seems therefore to deserve the name of acapacity belonging to personality.

If we consider these three capacities according to the conditions of theirpossibility, we find that the first requires no reason;the second is based on reason which, though practical, isat the service of other motives; the third has as its rootreason, which is practical of itself, that is, unconditionally legislative: allthese capacities in man are not only (negatively) good (not resisting the moral law), but are also capacities forgood (promoting obedience to it). They are original, for they appertain to the possibility of human nature. Man can use the twoformer contrary to their end, but cannot destory them.By the capacities of a being, we understand both itsconstituent elements and also the forms of their combination which make it suchand such a being. They are original if they areessentially necessary to the possibility of such a being; contingent if the being would be in itself possible withoutthem. It is further to be observed that we are speaking here only of thosecapacities which have immediate reference to the faculty of desire and to theuse of the elective will.

II.: of the propensity to evil in humannature.

By propensity ( propensio ) Iunderstand the subjective source of possibility of an inclination (habitualdesire, concupiscentia ) so far as this latter is, asregards man generally, contingent. [1] It is distinguished from a capacity bythis, that although it may be innate, it need not be conceived as such, but maybe regarded as acquired (when it is good), or (when it isbad) as drawn by the person on himself. Here, however, weare speaking only of the propensity to what is properly, i.e. morally bad, which, as it is possible only as adetermination of free elective will, and this can be adjudged to be good or badonly by its maxims, must consist in the subjective ground of the possibility ofa deviationof the maxims from the moral law, and if thispropensity may be assumed as belonging to man universally (and therefore to thecharacteristics of his race) will be called a natural propensity of man to evil. We may add further that the capability orincapability of the elective will to adopt the moral law into its maxims ornot, arising from natural propensity, is called a good or bad heart.

We may conceive three distinct degrees of this:— first, it is the weakness of the human heart in following adopted maxims generally,or the frailty ofhuman nature; secondly, the propensity to mingle non-moralmotives with the moral (even when it is done with a good purpose and undermaxims of good), that is impurity; thirdly, the propensityto adopt bad maxims, that is the depravity of human natureor of the human heart.

First, the frailty ( fragilitas ) ofhuman nature is expressed even in the complaint of an apostle: “To will ispresent with me, but how to perform I find not;” that is, I adopt the good (thelaw) into the maxim of my elective will; but this, which, objectively in itsideal conception ( in thesi ) is an irresistible spring, issubjectively ( in hypothesi ), when the maxim is to becarried out, weaker than inclination.

Secondly, the impurity ( impuritas, improbitas ) of the human heart consists in this,that although the maxim is good in its object (the intended obedience to thelaw), and perhaps also powerful enough for practice, yet it is not purelymoral, that is, does not, as ought to be the case, involve the law alone as its sufficient spring, butfrequently (perhaps always) has need of other springs beside it, to determinethe elective will to what duty demands. In other words, that dutiful actionsare not done purely from duty.

Thirdly, the depravity ( vitiositas, pravitas ), or if it is preferred, the corruption ( corruptio ), of the humanheart, is the propensity of the elective will to maxims which prefer other (notmoral) springs to that which arises from the moral law. It may also be calledthe perversity ( perversitas ) of thehuman heart, because it reverses the moral order in respect of the springs of a free elective will; and although legally good actions maybe consistentwith this, the moral disposition is therebycorrupted in its root, and the man is therefore designated bad.

It will be remarked that the propensity toevil in man is here ascribed even to the best (best in action), which must bethe case if it is to be proved that the propensity to evil amongst men isuniversal, or what here signifies the same thing, that it is interwoven withhuman nature.

However, a man of good morals ( bene moratus ) and amorally good man ( moraliter bonus ) do not differ (or atleast ought not to differ) as regards the agreement of their actions with thelaw; only that in the one these actions have not always the law for their soleand supreme spring; in the other it is invariably so. Wemay say of the former that he obeys the law in the letter (that is, as far as the act is concerned which the law commands), but of thelatter, that he observes it in the spirit (the spirit ofthe moral law consists in this, that it is alone an adequate spring). Whatever is not done from this faith is sin (in thedisposition of mind). For if other springs beside the law itself are necessaryto determine the elective will to actions conforming to thelaw ( ex. gr. desire of esteem, self-love in general,or even good-natured instinct, such as compassion), then it is a mere accidentthat they agree with the law, for they might just as well urge to itstransgression. The maxim, then, the goodness of which is the measure of allmoral worth in the person, is in this case opposed to the law, and while theman’s acts are all good, he is nevertheless bad.

The following explanation is necessary in order to define the conception ofthis propensity. Every propensity is either physical, that is, it appertains toman’s will as a physical being; or it is moral, that is, appertaining to hiselective will as a moral being. In the first sense, there is no propensity tomoral evil, for this must spring from freedom;and a physical propensity (founded onsensible impulses) to any particular use of freedom, whether for good or evil,is a contradiction. A propensity to evil, then, can only attach to the electivewill as a moral faculty. Now, nothing is morally bad (that is, capable of beingimputed) but what is our own act. On the other hand, bythe notion of a propensity we understand asubjective ground of determination of the elective will antecedent to any act, and which is consequently not itself anact. Hence there would be a contradiction in the notion of a mere propensity toevil, unless indeed this word “act” could be taken in two distinct senses, bothreconcilable with the notion of freedom. Now the term “act” in general appliesto that use of freedom by which the supreme maxim is adopted into one’selective will (conformably or contrary to the law), as well as to that in whichactions themselves (as to their matter, that is, the objects of the electivewill) are performed in accordance with that maxim. The propensity to evil is anact in the former sense ( peccatum originarium ), and is atthe same time the formal source of every act in the second sense, which in itsmatter violates the law and is called vice ( peccatumderivativum ); and the first fault remains, even though the second may beoften avoided (from motives other than the law itself). The former is anintelligible act only cognizable by reason, apart from any condition of time;the latter sensible, empirical, given in time ( factumphœnomenon ). The former is especially called, in comparison with thesecond, a mere propensity; and innate, because it cannot be extirpated (sincethis would require that the supreme maxim should be good, whereas by virtue ofthat propensity itself it is supposed to be bad);and especially because, although thecorruption of our supreme maxim is our own act, we cannot assign any furthercause for it, any more than for any fundamental attribute of our nature. Whathas just been said will show the reason why we have, at the beginning of thissection, sought the three sources of moral evil simply in that which by laws offreedom affects the ultimate ground of our adopting or obeying this or thatmaxim, not in what affects the sensibility (as receptivity).

III.: man is by nature bad.

“ Vitiis nemo sine nascitur. ”

— HORAT.

According to what has been said above, the proposition: Man is bad can only mean: He is conscious of the moral law, andyet has adopted into his maxim (occasional) deviation therefrom. He is by nature bad is equivalent to saying: This holds of himconsidered as a species; not as if such a quality could be inferred from thespecific conception of man (that of man in general) (for then it would benecessary); but by what is known of him through experience he cannot beotherwise judged, or it may be presupposed as subjectively necessary in everyman, even the best.

Now this propensity itself must be considered as morally bad, andconsequently not as a natural property, but as something that can be imputed tothe man, and consequently must consist in maxims of the elective will which areopposed to the law; but on account of freedom these must be looked upon as inthemselves contingent, which is inconsistent with the universality of thisbadness, unless the ultimate subjective ground of all maxims is, by whatevermeans, interwoven with humanity, and, as it were, rooted in it; hence we callthis a natural propensity to evil; and as the man must, nevertheless, alwaysincur the blame of it,it may be called even a radical badness in human nature, innate (but not the lessdrawn upon us by ourselves).

Now that there must be such a corrupt propensity rooted in men need not beformally proved in the face of the multitude of crying examples whichexperience sets before one’s eyes in the acts of man. Ifexamples are desired from that state in which many philosophers hoped to findpre-eminently the natural goodness of human nature, namely, the so-called state of nature, we need only look at the instances ofunprovoked cruelty in the scenes of murder in Tofoa, NewZealand, the Navigator Islands, and the never-ceasinginstances in the wide wastes of North-West America (mentioned by Captain Hearne ), [1] where no one has even the least advantage from it; [2] and comparing these with that hypothesis, we have vices of savage lifemore than enough to make us abandon that opinion. On the other hand, if one isdisposed to think that human nature can be better known in a civilizedcondition (in which its characteristic properties can be more perfectlydeveloped), then one must listen to a long melancholy litany of complaints ofhumanity;of secret falsehood, even in the mostintimate friendship, so that it is reckoned a general maxim of prudence thateven the best friends should restrain their confidence in their mutualintercourse; of a propensity to hate the man to whom one is under anobligation, for which a benefactor must always be prepared; of a heartygood-will, which nevertheless admits the remark that “in the misfortunes of ourbest friends there is something which is not altogether displeasing to us”; [3] and of many other vices concealed under the appearance of virtue, notto mention the vices of those who do not conceal them, because we are satisfiedto call a man good who is a bad man of the average class. This will give one enough of the vices of culture andcivilization (the most mortifying of all) to make him turn away his eye fromtheconduct of men, lest he should fall into anothervice, namely, misanthropy. If he is not yet satisfied, however, he need onlytake into consideration a condition strangely compounded of both, namely, theexternal condition of nations—for the relation of civilized nations to oneanother is that of a rude state of nature (a state of perpetual preparation forwar), and they are also firmly resolved never to abandon it—and he will becomeaware of principles adopted by the great societies called States, [1] which directly contradict the publicprofession, and yet are never to be laid aside, principles which no philsopherhas yet been able to bring into agreement with morals, nor (sad to say) canthey propose any better which would be reconcilable with human nature; so thatthe philosophical millennium, which hopes for a state ofperpetual peace founded on a union of nations as a republic of the world, isgenerally ridiculed as visionary, just as much as the theological, which looks for the complete moral improvement ofthe whole human race.

Now the source of this badness (1) cannot, as is usually done, be placed inthe sensibility of man and the natural inclinationsspringing therefrom. For not only have these nodirect reference to badness (on the contrary, they afford the occasion for themoral character to show its power, occasion for virtue), but further we are notresponsible for their existence (we cannot be, for being implanted in us theyhave not us for their authors), whereas we are accountable for the propensityto evil; for as this concerns the morality of the subject, and is consequentlyfound in him as a freely acting being, it must be imputed to him as his ownfault, notwithstanding its being so deeply rooted in the elective will that itmust be said to be found in man by nature. The source of this evil (2) cannotbe placed in a corruption of Reason which gives the morallaw, as if Reason could abolish the authorityof the law in itself and disown its obligation; for this is absolutelyimpossible. To conceive one’s self as a freely acting being, and yet releasedfrom the law which is appropriate to such a being (the moral law), would be thesame as to conceive a cause operating without any law (for determination bynatural laws is excluded by freedom), and this would be a contradiction. Forthe purpose then of assigning a source of the moral evil in man, sensibility contains too little, for in taking away themotives which arise from freedom it makes him a mere animalbeing; on the other hand, a Reason releasing from the moral law, a malignant reason, as it were (a simply bad Rational Will,[“Wille”] involves too much, for by this antagonism to the law would itself bemade a spring of action (for the elective will cannot be determined withoutsome spring), so that the subject would be made a devilish being. Neither of these views, however, is applicable to man.

Now although the existence of this propensity to evil in human nature can beshown by experience, from the actual antagonism in time between human will andthe law, yet this proof does not teach us its proper nature and the source ofthis antagonism. This propensity concerns a relation of the free elective will(an elective will, therefore, the conception of which is not empirical) to themoral law as a spring (the conception of which is likewise purelyintellectual); its nature then must becognized à priori from theconcept of the Bad, so far as the laws of freedom (obligation andaccountability) bear upon it. The following is the development of theconcept:—

Man (even the worst) does not in any maxim, as it were, rebelliously abandonthe moral law (and renounce obedience to it).On the contrary, this forces itself uponhim irresistibly by virtue of his moral nature, and if no other spring opposedit he would also adopt it into his ultimate maxim as the adequate determiningprinciple of his elective will, that is, he would be morally good. But byreason of his physical nature, which is likewise blameless, he also depends onsensible springs of action, and adopts them also into his maxim (by thesubjective principle of self-love). If, however, he adopted them into his maxim as adequate of themselves alone to determine his willwithout regarding the moral law (which he has within), then he would be morallybad. Now as he naturally adopts both into his maxim, and as he would find each,if it were alone, sufficient to determine his will, it follows that if thedistinction of the maxims depended merely on the distinction of the springs(the matter of the maxims), namely, according as they were furnished by the lawor by an impulse of sense, he would be morally good and bad at once, which (aswe saw in the Introduction) is a contradiction. Hence the distinction whetherthe man is good or bad must lie, not in the distinction of the springs that headopts into his maxim, but in the subordination, i. e. which of the two he makes the condition of the other (thatis, not in the matter of the maxim but in its form). Consequently a man (eventhe best) is bad only by this, that he reverses the moral order of the springsin adopting them into his maxims; he adopts, indeed, the moral law along withthat of self-love; but perceiving that they cannot subsist together on equalterms, but that one must be subordinate to the other as its supreme condition,he makes the spring of self-love and its inclinations the condition ofobedience to the moral law; whereas, on the contrary, the latter ought to beadopted into the general maxims of the elective will as the sole spring, beingthe supreme condition of the satisfaction of theformer.

The springs being thus reversed by hismaxim, contrary to the moral order, his actions may, nevertheless, conform tothe law just as though they had sprung from genuine principles: provided reasonemploys the unity of maxims in general, which is proper to the moral law,merely for the purpose of introducing into the springs of inclination a unitythat does not belong to them, under the name of happiness ( ex.gr. that truthfulness, if adopted as a principle, relieves us of theanxiety to maintain consistency in our lies and to escape being entangled intheir serpent coils). In which case the empirical character is good, but theintelligible character bad.

Now if there is in human nature a propensity to this, then there is in man anatural propensity to evil; and since this propensity itself must ultimately besought in a free elective will, and therefore can be imputed, it is morallybad. This badness is radical, because it corrupts thesource of all maxims; and at the same time being a natural propensity, itcannot be destroyed by human powers, since this could onlybe done by good maxims; and when by hypothesis the ultimate subjective sourceof all maxims is corrupt, these cannot exist; nevertheless, it must be possibleto overcome it, since it is found in man as a freelyacting being.

The depravity of human nature, then, is not so much to be called badness, if this word is taken in its strict sense,namely, as a disposition (subjective principle of maxims) to adopt the bad, as bad, into one’s maxims as a spring (for that isdevilish); but rather perversity of heart, which, onaccount of the result, is also called a bad heart. This may co-exist with a Will [“Wille”]good in general, and arises from the frailty of human nature, which is notstrong enough to follow its adopted principles, combined with its impurity innot distinguishing the springs (even of well-intentioned actions) from oneanother by moral rule. So that ultimately it looks at best only to theconformity of its actions with the law, not to their derivation from it, thatis, to the law itself as the only spring. Now although this does not alwaysgive rise to wrong actions and a propensity thereto, that is, to vice, yet the habit of regardingthe absence of vice as a conformity of the mind to the law of duty (as virtue )must itself be designated a radical perversity of the human heart (since inthis case the spring in the maxims is not regarded at all, but only theobedience to the letter of the law).

This is called innate guilt ( reatus ), because it can be perceived as soon as ever the useof freedom manifests itself in man, and nevertheless must have arisen fromfreedom, and therefore may be imputed. It may in its two first degrees (offrailty and impurity) be viewed as unintentional guilt ( culpa ), but in the third as intentional ( dolus ), and it is characterized by a certain malignancy of the human heart ( dolusmalus ), deceiving itself as to its own good or bad dispositions, andprovided only its actions have not the bad result which by their maxims theymight well have, then not disquieting itself about its dispositions, but, onthe contrary, holding itself to be justified before the law. Hence comes thepeace of conscience of so many (in their own opinion conscientious) men, whenamidst actions in which the law was not taken into counsel,or at least was not the most importantconsideration, they have merely had the good fortune to escape badconsequences. Perhaps they even imagine they have merit, not feeling themselvesguilty of any of the transgressions in which they see others involved; withoutinquiring whether fortune is not to be thanked for this, and whether thedisposition which, if they would, they could discover within, would not haveled them to the practice of the like vices, had they not been kept away fromthem by want of power, by temperament, education, circumstances of time andplace which lead into temptation (all things that cannot be imputed to us).This dishonesty in imposing on ourselves, which hinders the establishment ofgenuine moral principle in us, extends itself then outwardly also to falsehoodand deception of others which, if it is not to be called badness, at leastdeserves to be called worthlessness, and has its root in the radical badness ofhuman nature, which (inasmuch as it perverts the moral judgment in respect ofthe estimation to be formed of a man, and rendersimputation quite uncertain both internally andexternally) constitutes the corrupt spot in our nature, which, as long as we donot extirpate it, hinders the source of good from developing itself as itotherwise would.

A member of the English Parliament uttered in the heat of debate thedeclaration, “Every man has his price.” [1] If this is true (which every one may decide for himself)—if there is novirtue for which a degree of temptation cannot be found which is capable ofoverthrowing it—if the question whether the good or the bad spirit shall gainus to its side only depends on which bids highest and offers most promptpayment—then what the Apostle says might well be true of men universally:“There is no difference, they are altogether sinners; there is none that doethgood (according to the spirit of the law), no not one.” [2]

IV.: on the origin of the evil in humannature.

Origin (primary) is the derivation of an effect from its primary cause, thatis, one which is not in its turn an effect of another cause of the same kind.It may be considered either as a rational or a temporal origin. In the former signification, it is onlythe existence of the effect that is considered; in thelatter, its occurrence, so that it is referred as an eventto its cause in time. When the effect is referred to acause which is connected with it by laws of freedom, as is the case with moralevil, then the determination of the elective will to the production of it isnot regarded as connected with its determining principle in time, but merely inthe conception of the reason,and cannot be deduced as from any antecedent state, which on the other hand must be donewhen the bad action, considered as an event in the world,is referred to its physical cause. It is a contradiction then to seek for thetime-origin of free actions as such (as we do with physical effects); or of themoral character of man, so far as it is regarded as contingent, because this isthe principle of the use of freedom, and this (as well asthe determining principle of free will generally) must be sought for simply inconceptions of reason.

But whatever may be the origin of the moral evil in man, the most unsuitableof all views that can be taken of its spread and continuance through all themembers of our race and in all generations is, to represent it as coming to usby inheritance from our first parents; for we can say ofmoral evil what the poet says of good:

. . . Genus et proavos, et quæ non fecimus ipsi, Vix eanostro puto. . . . [1]

It is to be observed, further, that whenwe inquire into the origin of evil, we do not at first take into account thepropensity to it (as peccatum in potentia ), but onlyconsider the actual evil of given actions, in its inner possibility, and inwhat must concur to determine the will to the doing of them.

Every bad action, when we inquire into its rational origin, must be viewedas if the man had fallen into it directly from the state of innocence. Forwhatever may have been his previous conduct, and of whatever kind the naturalcauses influencing him may be, whether moreover they are internal or external,his action is still free, and not determined by any causes, and therefore itboth can and must be always judged as an original exerciseof his elective will. He ought to have left it undone, in whatevercircumstances he may have been; for by no cause in the world can he cease to bea freely acting being. It is said indeed, and justly, that the man isaccountable for the consequences, of his previous free butwrong actions; but by this is only meant, that one need not have recourse tothe subterfuge of deciding whether the later actions are free or not, becausethere is sufficient ground for the accountability in the admittedly free actionwhich was their cause. But if a man had been never so bad up to the very momentof an impending free action (even so that custom had become second nature), yetnot only has it been his duty to be better, but it is now still his duty toimprove himself;he must then be also able to do so, and ifhe does not, he is just as accountable at the moment of acting as if, endowedwith the natural capacity for good (which is inseparable from freedom), he hadstepped into evilfrom the state of innocence. We must not inquirethen what is the origin in time of this act, but what is its origin in reason,in order to define thereby the propensity, that is to say, the generalsubjective principle by which a transgression is adopted into our maxim, ifthere is such a propensity, and if possible to explain it.

With this agrees very well the mode of representation which the Scripturesemploy in depicting the origin of evil as a beginning ofit in the human race, inasmuch as they exhibit it in a history in which thatwhich must be conceived as first in the nature of the thing (without regard tothe condition of time) appears as first in time. According to the Scriptures,evil does not begin from a fundamental propensity to it—otherwise its beginningwould not spring from freedom—but from sin (by which isunderstood the transgression of the moral law as a divinecommand ); while the state of man before all propensity to evil is calledthe state of innocence. The moral law preceded as a prohibition, as must be the case with man as a being notpure, but tempted by inclinations (Gen. ii. 16, 17). Instead now of followingthis law directly as an adequate spring (one which alone is unconditionallygood, and in respect of which no scruple can occur), the man looked about forother springs (iii. 6), which could only be conditionally good (namely, so faras the law is not prejudiced thereby), and made it his maxim—if we conceive theaction as consciously arising from freedom—to obey the law of duty not fromduty, but from regard to other considerations.Hence he began with questioning thestrictness of the law, which excludes the influence of every other spring; thenhe reasoned down [1] obedience to it to themere conditional conformity to means (subject to theprinciple of self-love), whence, finally, the predominance of sensible motivesabove the spring of the law was adopted into the maxim of action, and so sinwas committed (iii. 6). Mutato nomine, de te fabulanarratur. That we all do just the same, consequently “have all sinned inAdam, [1] ” and still sin, is clear from what has preceded; only that in us aninnate propensity to sin is presupposed in time, but in the first man, on thecontrary, innocence, so that in him the transgression is called a fall; whereas in us it is conceived as following from theinnate depravity of our nature. What is meant, however, by this propensity isno more than this, that if we wish to apply ourselves to the explanation ofevil as to its beginning in time, we must in the case ofevery intentional transgression pursue its causes in a previous period of ourlife, going backwards till we reach a time when the use of reason was not yetdeveloped: in other words, we must trace the source of evil to a propensitytowards it (as a foundation in nature) which, on this account, is calledinnate. In the case of the first man, who is represented as already possessingthe full power of using his reason, this is not necessary, nor indeed possible;since otherwise that natural foundation(the evil propensity) must have been created in him; therefore his sin isrepresented as produced directly from a state of innocence. But we must notseek for an origin in time of a moral character for which we are to beaccountable, however inevitable this is when we try to explain its contingent existence (hence Scripture may have sorepresented it to us in accommodation to this our weakness).

The rational origin, however, of this perversion of our elective will inrespect of the way in which it adopts subordinate springs into its maxims assupreme, i. e. the origin of this propensity to evil,remains inscrutable to us; for it must itself be imputed to us, andconsequently that ultimate ground of all maxims would again require theassumption of a bad maxim. [1] What is bad could only have sprung from what is morally bad (not themere limits of our nature); and yet the original constitution is adapted togood (nor could it be corrupted by any other than man himself, if he is to beaccountable for this corruption); there is not then any source conceivable tous from which moral evil could have first come into us. Scripture, [2] in its historical narrative, expresses this inconceivability, at thesame time that it defines the depravity of our race more preciselyby representing evil as pre-existing atthe beginning of the world, not however in man, but in a spirit originally destined for a lofty condition. The first beginning of all evil in general is thus representedas inconceivable to us (for whence came the evil in that spirit?), and man ashaving fallen into evil only by seduction, and thereforeas not fundamentally corrupt ( i. e. even in his primary capacity for good), but as still capable of an improvement;in contrast to a seducing spirit, that is, a being in whomthe temptation of the flesh cannot be reckonedas alleviating his guilt; so that the former, who,notwithstanding his corrupt heart, continues to have a good Rational Will[“Wille”], has still left the hope of a return to the good from which he hasgone astray,

GENERAL REMARK. [1] ON THE RESTORATION OF THE ORIGINAL CAPACITY FOR GOODTO ITS FULL POWER.

What man is or ought to be in a moral sense he must make or must have made himself. Both must be the effect of his free electivewill, otherwise it could not be imputed to him, and, consequently, he would be morally neither good nor bad. When it is said he iscreated good, that can only mean that he is created for good, and the original constitution inman is good;but this does not yet make the man himselfgood, but according as he does or does not adopt into his maxim the springswhich this constitution contains (which must be left altogether to his own freechoice), he makes himself become good or bad. Supposing that a supernaturalco-operation is also necessary to make a man good or better, whether thisconsists only in the diminution of the obstacles or in a positive assistance,the manmust previously make himself worthy to receive itand to accept this aid (which is no small thing), that is,to adopt into his maxim the positive increase of power, in which way alone itis possible that the good should be imputed to him, and that he should berecognised as a good man.

Now how it is possible that a man naturally bad should make himself a goodman transcends all our conceptions; for how can a bad tree bring forth goodfruit? But since it is already admitted that a tree originally good (as to itscapacities) has brought forth bad fruit, [1] and the fall from good to bad (when it is considered that it arisesfrom freedom) is not more conceivable than a rising again from bad to good, thepossibility of the latter cannot be disputed. For notwithstanding that fall,the command “we ought to become better men,” resounds withundiminished force in our soul; consequently, we must be able to do so, eventhough what we ourselves can do should be insufficient of itself, and though weshould thereby only make ourselves susceptible of an inscrutable higherassistance. It must, however, be presupposed that a germ of good has remainedin its complete purity, which could not be destroyed or corrupted—a germ that certainly cannot be self-love, [2] which, when taken as the principle of all our maxims, is in fact thesource of all evil.

The restoration of the original capacityfor good in us is then not the acquisition of a lost spring towards good; for this,which consists in respect for the moral law, wecould never lose, and, were it possible to do so, we could never recover it. Itis then only the restoration of its purity, as the supremeprinciple of all our maxims, by which it is adopted into these not merely incombination with other springs or as subordinate to these (the inclinations) asconditions, but in its entire purity as a spring sufficient of itself to determine the elective will. Theoriginal good is holiness of maxims in following one’sduty, by which the man who adopts this purity into his maxims, although he isnot himself as yet on that account holy (for there is still a long intervalbetween maxim and act), nevertheless is on the way to approximate to holinessby an endless progress. Firmness of purpose in following duty, when it hasbecome a habit, is called also virtue, as far as legalityis concerned, which is its empirical character ( virtus phenomenon ). It has then the steady maxim of conformity of actions to the law, whatever may be the source of the spring required for this.Hence virtue in this sense is gradually acquired, and is described by some as a longpractice (in observing the law) by which a man has passed from the propensityto vice, by gradual reform of his conduct andstrengthening of his maxims, into an oppositepropensity. This does not require any change of heart, butonly a change of morals. A man regards himself as virtuouswhen he feels himself confirmed in the maxims of observance of duty, althoughthis be not from the supreme principle of all maxims; but the intemperate man,for instance, returns to temperance for the sake of health; the liar to truthfor the sake of reputation; the unjust man to common fairness for the sake ofpeace or of gain, c., all on the much-lauded principle of happiness. Butthat a man should become not merely a legally but a morally good (Godpleasing) man, that is, virtuous in hisintelligible character ( virtus noumenon ), a man who, whenhe recognises a thing as his duty, needs no other spring than this conceptionof duty itself; this is not to be effected by gradual reform, as long as the principle of his maxims remains impure,but requires a revolution in the mind (a transition to themaxim of holiness of mind), and he can only become a new man by a kind of newbirth, as it were by a new creation (Gospel of John, iii. 5, compared with Gen.i. 2) and a change of heart.

But if a man is corrupt in the very foundation of hismaxims, how is it possible that he should effectthis revolution by his own power and become a good man of himself? And yet dutycommands it, and duty commands nothing that is not practicable for us. The onlyway this difficulty can be got over is, that a revolution is necessary for themental disposition, but a gradual reform for the sensible temperament, whichopposes obstacles to the former; and being necessary, must therefore bepossible; that is, when a man reverses the ultimate principle of his maxims bywhich he is a bad man by a single immutable resolution(and in so doing puts on a new man); thenso far he is in principle and disposition a subject susceptible of good; but itis only in continued effort and growth that he is a good man, that is, he mayhope with such purity of the principle that he has taken as the supreme maximof his elective will, and by its stability, that he is on the good (thoughnarrow) road of a constant progress from bad to better. Inthe eyes of one who penetrates the intelligible principle of the heart (of allmaxims of elective will), and to whom therefore this endless progress is aunity, that is, in the eyes of God, this comes to the same as being actually agood man (pleasing to Him), and in so far this change may be considered as arevolution; but in the judgment of men, who can estimate themselves and thestrength of their maxims only by the superiority which they gain oversensibility in time, it is only to be viewed as an ever continuing struggle forimprovement; in other words, as a gradual reform of the perverse disposition,the propensity to evil.

Hence it follows that the moral culture of man must begin, not withimprovement in morals, but with a transformation of the mind and the foundationof a character, although men usually proceed otherwise, and contend againstvices singly, leaving the general root of them untouched. Now even a man of themost limited intellect is capable of the impression of an increased respect foran action conformable to duty, in proportion as he withdraws from it in thoughtall other springs which could have influenced the maxim of the action by meansof self-love; and even children are capable of finding out even theleast trace of a mixture of spurious springs ofaction, in which case the action instantly loses all moral worth in their eyes.This capacity for good is admirably cultivated by adducing the example of even good men (good as regards their conformity tolaw), and allowing one’s moral pupils to estimate the impurity of many maximsfrom the actual springs of their actions;and it gradually passes over into thecharacter, so that duty simply of itself commences toacquire considerable weight in their hearts. But to teach them to admire virtuous actions, however great the sacrifice theymay cost, is not the right way to maintain the feeling of the pupil for moralgood. For however virtuous anyone may be, all the good he can ever do is onlyduty; and to do his duty is no more than to do what is in the common moralorder, and therefore does not deserve to be admired. On the contrary, thisadmiration is a lowering of our feeling for duty, as if obedience to it weresomething extraordinary and meritorious.

There is, however, one thing in our soul which, when we take a right view ofit, we cannot cease to regard with the highest astonishment, and in regard towhich admiration is right or even elevating, and that is the original moralcapacity in us generally. What is that in us (we may ask ourselves) by whichwe, who are constantly dependent on nature by so many wants, are yet raised sofar above it in the idea of an original capacity (in us) that we regard themall as nothing, and ourselves as unworthy of existence, if we were to indulgein their satisfaction in opposition to a law which our reason authoritativelyprescribes; although it is this enjoyment alone that can make life desirable,while reason neither promises anything nor threatens. The importance of thisquestion must be deeply felt by every man of the most ordinary ability, who hasbeen previously instructed as to the holiness that lies in the idea of duty,but who has not yet ascended to the investigation of the notion of freedom,which first arises from this law; [1] and even the incomprehensibility of thiscapacity, a capacity which proclaims aDivine origin, must rouse his spirit to enthusiasm,and strengthen it for any sacrifices which respect for this duty may impose onhim. The frequent excitement of this feeling of the sublimity of a man’s moralconstitution is especially to be recommended as a means of awaking moralsentiments, since it operates in direct opposition to the innate propensity topervert the springs in the maxims of our elective will,and tends to make unconditional respectfor the law the ultimate condition of the admission of all maxims, and sorestores the original moral subordination of the springs of action, and thecapacity for good in the human heart in its primitive purity.

But is not this restoration by one’s own strength directly opposed to thethesis of the innate corruption of man for everything good? Undoubtedly, as faras conceivability is concerned, that is to say, our discernment of its possibility, just as with everything whichhas to be regarded as an event in time (change), and as such necessarilydetermined by laws of nature, whilst its opposite must yet be regarded aspossible by freedom in accordance with moral laws; but it is not opposed to thepossibility of this restoration itself. For if the moral law commands that we shall now be better men, it follows inevitably that wealso can be better. The thesis of innate evil has noapplication in dogmatic morality; for its precepts containthe very same duties, and continue in the same force, whether there is in us aninnate propensityto transgression or not. In the culture of morality this thesis has more significance, butstill it means no more than this, that in the moral cultivation of the moralcapacity for good created in us, we cannot begin from a natural state ofinnocence, but must start from the supposition of a depravity of the electivewill in assuming maxims that are contrary to the original moral capacity, and,since the propensity thereto is ineradicable, with an unceasing effort againstit. Now, as this only leads to a progress in infinitum from bad to better, it follows that the transformation of the disposition of abad into that of a good man is to be placed in the change of the supreme innerprinciple of all his maxims, in accordance with the moral law, provided thatthis new principle (the new heart) be itself immutable. A man cannot, however,naturally attain the conviction [that it is immutable], either by immediateconsciousness,or by the proof derived from the course oflife he has hitherto pursued, for the bottom of his heart (the subjective firstprinciple of his maxims) is inscrutable to himself; but unto the path thatleads to it, and which is pointed out to him by a fundamentally improveddisposition, he must be able to hope to arrive by his own efforts, since he ought to become a good man and canonly be esteemed morally good by virtue of that which canbe imputed to him as done by himself.

Now reason, which is naturally disinclined to moral effort,opposes to this expectation of self-improvement allsorts of corrupt ideas of religion, under the pretext of natural impotence(among which is to be reckoned, attributing to God Himself the adoption of theprinciple of happiness as the supreme condition of His commands). Now we maydivide all religions into two classes— favour-seeking religion (mere worship), and moral religion, that is, thereligion of a good life. By the former a man eitherflatters himself that God can make him eternally happy (by remission of hisdemerits), without his having any need to become a betterman, or if this does not seem possible to him, that God can make him a better man, withouthis having to do anything in the matter himself except to ask for it; which, as before an all-seeing being asking is nomore than wishing, would in fact be doing nothing; for ifthe mere wish were sufficient, every man would be good. But in the moralreligion (and amongst all the public religions that have ever existed theChristian alone is moral) it is a fundamental principle that everyone must doas much as lies in his power to become a better man, and that it is only whenhe has not buried his innate talent (Luke xix. 12-16), when he has used theoriginal capacity for good so as to become a better man, that he can hope thatwhat is not in his power will be supplied by a higher co-operation. But it isnot absolutely necessary that man should know in what this co-operationconsists;perhaps it is even inevitable that if theway in which it happens had been revealed at a certain time, different men atanother time should form different conceptions of it, and that with allhonesty. But then the principle holds good: “it is not essential, and thereforenot necessary for everyone to know what God does or has done for hissalvation,” but it is essential to know what he himself has todo in order to be worthy of this assistance. [1]

APPENDIX.

I.: —ON A SUPPOSED RIGHT TO TELL LIES FROM BENEVOLENTMOTIVES. [1]

IN the work called France, for theyear 1797, Part VI. No. 1, on Political Reactions, by BenjaminConstant, the following passage occurs, p. 123:—

“The moral principle that it is one’s duty to speak the truth, if it weretaken singly and unconditionally, would make all society impossible. We havethe proof of this in the very direct consequences which have been drawn fromthis principle by a German philosopher, who goes so far as to affirm that totell a falsehood to a murderer who asked us whether our friend, of whom he wasin pursuit, had not taken refuge in our house, would be a crime.” [2]

The French philosopher opposes this principle in the following manner, p.124:—“It is a duty to tell the truth. The notion of duty is inseparable fromthe notion of right. A duty is what in one being corresponds to the right ofanother. Where there are no rights there are no duties. To tell the truth thenis a duty, but only towards him who has a right to the truth. But no man has aright to a truth that injures others.” The πρωˆτον ψενˆδος here lies in the statement that “ To tell the truth is a duty, but only towards him who has a rightto the truth. ”

It is to be remarked, first, that the expression “to have a right to thetruth” is unmeaning. We should rather say, a man has a rightto his own truthfulness ( veracitas ), that is, to subjective truth in his own person.For to have a right objectively to truth would mean that, as in meum and tuum generally, it depends onhis will whether a given statement shall be true or false,which would produce a singular logic.

Now, the first question is whether a man—in cases wherehe cannot avoid answering Yes or No—has the right to beuntruthful. The second question is whether, in order toprevent a misdeed that threatens him or some one else, he is not actually boundto be untruthful in a certain statement to which an unjust compulsion forceshim.

Truth in utterances that cannot be avoided is the formal duty of a man toeveryone, [1] however great the disadvantage that may arise from it to him or anyother; and although by making a false statement I do no wrong to him whounjustly compels me to speak, yet I do wrong to men in general in the mostessential point of duty, so that it may be called a lie (though not in thejurist’s sense), that is, so far as in me lies I cause that declarations ingeneral find no credit, and hence that all rights founded on contract shouldlose their force; and this is a wrong which is done to mankind.

If, then, we define a lie merely as an intentionally false declarationtowards another man, we need not add that it must injure another; as thejurists think proper to put in their definition ( mendacium estfalsiloquium in præjudicium alterius ). For it always injures another; ifnot another individual, yet mankind generally, since it vitiates the source ofjustice. This benevolent lie may, however, by accident ( casus ) become punishableeven by civil laws; and that which escapes liability to punishment only byaccident may be condemned as a wrong even by external laws. For instance, ifyou have by a lie hindered a man who is even now planninga murder, you are legally responsible for all the consequences. But if you havestrictly adhered to the truth, public justice can find no fault with you, bethe unforeseen consequence what it may. It is possible that whilst you havehonestly answered Yes to the murderer’s question, whether his intended victimis in the house, the latter may have gone out unobserved,and so not have come in the way of the murderer, andthe deed therefore have not been done; whereas, if you lied and said he was notin the house, and he had really gone out (though unknown to you) so that themurderer met him as he went, and executed his purpose on him, then you mightwith justice be accused as the cause of his death. For, if you had spoken thetruth as well as you knew it, perhaps the murderer while seeking for his enemyin the house might have been caught by neighbours coming up and the deed beenprevented. Whoever then tells a lie, however good hisintentions may be, must answer for the consequences of it, even before thecivil tribunal, and must pay the penalty for them, however unforeseen they mayhave been; because truthfulness is a duty that must be regarded as the basis ofall duties founded on contract, the laws of which would be rendered uncertainand useless if even the least exception to them were admitted.

To be truthful (honest) in all declarations istherefore a sacred unconditional command of reason, and not to be limited byany expediency.

M. Constant makes a thoughtful and sound remark on the decrying of suchstrict principles, which it is alleged lose themselves in impracticable ideas,and are therefore to be rejected (p. 123):—“In every case in which a principleproved to be true seems to be inapplicable, it is because we do not know the middle principle which contains the medium of itsapplication.” He adduces (p. 121) the doctrine of equality as the first link forming the social chain (p. 121); “namely, that no man canbe bound by any laws except those to the formation of which he has contributed.In a very contracted society this principle may be directly applied and becomethe ordinary rule without requiring any middle principle. But in a verynumerous society we must add a new principle to that which we here state. Thismiddle principle is, that the individuals may contribute to the formation ofthe laws either in their own person or by representatives. Whoever would try to apply the first principle to a numerous society withouttaking in the middle principle would infallibly bring about its destruction.But this circumstance, which would only show the ignorance or incompetence ofthe lawgiver, would prove nothing against the principle itself.” He concludes(p. 125) thus: “A principle recognised as truth must, therefore, never beabandoned, however obviously danger may seem to be involved in it.” (And yetthe good man himself abandoned the unconditional principle of veracity onaccount of the danger to society, because he could not discover any middleprinciple would serve to prevent this danger; and,in fact, no such principle is to be interpolated here.)

Retaining the names of the persons as they have been here brought forward,“the French philosopher” confounds the action by which one does harm ( nocet ) to another by telling the truth, the admission of whichhe cannot avoid, with the action by which he does him wrong ( lædit ). It was merely an accident ( casus ) that the truth ofthe statement did harm to the inhabitant of the house; it was not a free deed (in the juridicial sense). For to admit his right torequire another to tell a lie for his benefit would be to admit a claim opposedto all law. Every man has not only a right, but the strictest duty totruthfulness in statements which he cannot avoid, whether they do harm tohimself or others. He himself, properly speaking, does not do harm to him who suffers thereby; but this harm is caused by accident. For the man is not free to choose,since (if he must speak at all) veracity is an unconditional duty. The “Germanphilosopher” will therefore not adopt as his principle the proposition (p.124): “It is a duty to speak the truth, but only to him who has a right to the truth, ” first on account of the obscurity ofthe expression, for truth is not a possession, the right to which can begranted to one, and refused to another; and next and chiefly, because the dutyof veracity (of which alone we are speaking here) makes no distinction betweenpersons towards whom we have this duty, and towards whom we may be free fromit; but is an unconditional duty which holds in allcircumstances.

Now, in order to proceed from a metaphysic of Right(which abstracts from all conditions of experience) to a principle of politics (which implies these notions to cases ofexperience), and by means of this to the solution of a problem of the latter inaccordance with the general principle of right, the philosopher willenunciate:—1. An Axiom, that is, an apodictically certainproposition, which follows directly from the definition of external right(harmony of the freedom of each with the freedom of all bya universal law). 2. A Postulate of external public law as the united will of all on the principle of equality, without which there could not exist the freedomof all. 3. A problem; how it is to be arranged thatharmony may be maintained in a society, however large, on principles of freedomand equality (namely by means of a representative system); and this will thenbecome a principle of the political system, theestablishment and arrangement of which will contain enactments which, drawnfrom practical knowledgeof men, have in view only the mechanism ofadministration of justice, and how this is to be suitably carried out. Justicemust never be accommodated to the political system, but always the politicalsystem to justice.

“A principle recognised as true (I add, recognised àpriori, and therefore apodictic) must never be abandoned, howeverobviously danger may seem to be involved in it,” says the author. Only here wemust not understand the danger of doing harm (accidentally), but of doing wrong; and this would happenif the duty of veracity, which is quite unconditional, and constitutes thesupreme condition of justice in utterances, were made conditional andsubordinate to other considerations; and, although by a certain lie I in factdo no wrong to any person, yet I infringe the principle of justice in regard toall indispensably necessary statements generally (I dowrong formally, though not materially; and this is much worse than to commit aninjustice to any individual, because such a deed does not presuppose anyprinciple leading to it in the subject. The man who, when asked whether in thestatement he is about to make he intends to speak truth or not, does notreceive the question with indignation at the suspicion thus expressed towardshim that he might be a liar, but who asks permission first to consider possibleexceptions, is already a liar ( in potentia ), since heshows that he does not recognize veracity as a duty in itself, but reservesexceptions from a rule which in its nature does not admit of exceptions, sinceto do so would be self-contradictory.

All practical principles of justice must contain strict truths, and theprinciples here called middle principles can only contain the closer definitionof their application to actual cases (according to the rules of politics), andnever exceptions from them, since exceptions destroy the universality, anaccount of which alone they bear the name of principles.

II.: —ON THE SAYING “NECESSITY HAS NO LAW”.

THERE is no casus necessitatis except in the case where an unconditional duty conflicts with a duty which,though perhaps great, is yet conditional; e. g. if thequestion is about preserving the State from disaster by betraying a person whostands towards another in a relation such as, for example, that of father andson. To save theState from harm is an unconditional duty; to save anindividual is only a conditional duty, namely, provided he has not been guiltyof a crime against the State. The information given to the authorities may begiven with the greatest reluctance, but it is given under pressure, namely,moral necessity. But if a shipwrecked man thrusts another from his plank inorder to save his own life, and it is said that he had the right of necessity( i. e. physical necessity) to do so, this is wholly false.For to maintain my own life is only a conditional duty (viz. if it can be donewithout crime), but it is an unconditional duty not to take the life of anotherwho does not injure me, nay, does not even bring me into peril of losing it.However, the teachers of general civil right proceed quite consistently inadmitting this right of necessity. For the sovereign power could not connectany punishment with the prohibition; for this punishmentwould necessarily be death, but it would be an absurd law that would threatendeath to a man if when in danger he did not voluntarily submit to death.—From“ Das mag in der Theorie richtig seyn, u. s. w. ” ( Rosenkr., vii., p. 211.)

[The two cases here considered were probably suggested by Cicero, who quotesthem from Hecato, a disciple of Panætius.— De Off. iii.23.]

Printed by PONSONBY AND WELDRICK, Dublin.

1

I. e. “Religion, so far as it lies within the limits ofReason alone”; not “ pure Reason,” as some German, andperhaps all English, writers on the history of philosophy have it. Kanthimself, indeed, writes “reiner” in one place (p. 60, note); but this is,doubtless, a slip, if not a printer’s error. Slips of the same kind arefrequent, us my foot-notes show.

*

So marked in Kan’s first edition.

1

The circumstances are worth recording here: This friend had fallen into afever in consequence of being abandoned by her betrothed lover, to whom she wasdeeply attached. She could not be induced to swallow the nauseous draughtsprescribed for her, and Kant’s mother, who nursed her, having failed in herattempt at persuasion, thought to succeed by setting the example of taking themedicine herself. When she had done so, she was seized with nausea andshivering, and at the same time observing spots on her friend’s body, which shetook for fever-spots or petechiæ, her imagination was excited, thinking thatshe had caught the infection. She was seized with fever the same day, and dieda few days after.

1

See an Essay by the present writer on the Theory of the Tides in the Philosophical Magazine, January, 1870; February, 1871; andJanuary, 1872; and in the Quarterly Journal ofMathematics, March, 1872; and on the amount of the retardation, Hermathena, 1882. (These Essays have now been published ina volume.) Kant subsequently thought of another cause, which might operate inthe opposite direction, viz. the condensation of the interior parts of theearth. He did not, however, publish the suggestion.

1

I do not suppose it likely that Laplace should have seen Kant’s anonymousbook, but it must be remembered that Kant mentioned his theory in severalpublications, and probably referred to it in his lectures.

1

Kant assumed too hastily that Kepler’s third law applies to the particles ofthe ring, which amounts to supposing that their mutual disturbances arenegligible. Yet, considering the form of the rings, this is not a violenthypothesis.

2

Phys. Geogr., p. 449.

3

Wright’s work was entitled, An Original Theory; or, a NewHypothesis of the Universe founded on the Laws of Nature. By ThomasWright, of Durham. London, 1750. It is singular that the speculations of thisingenious and original writer have been saved from oblivion in his own countryby Kant, who was indebted for his knowledge of them to a German periodical.Prof. De Morgan has described Wright’s work at some length in the Philosophical Magazine for April, 1848; but De Morgan’sattention was drawn to it by Arago’s notice in the Annuaire for 1842; and Arago, who had not seen the book, onlyknew it through Kant’s reference. There is an account of Wright in the Gentleman’s Magazine, p. 1793, vol. 63.

1

This suggestion of Kant’s anticipated Lambert’s similar suggestion by sixyears.

1

This conception is alluded to in the Critique of PracticalReason, p. 376. Humboldt erroneously identifies Kant’s view of the nebulæwith that of Lambert and Halley: Cosmos (Sabine’stransl.), vol. iii., p. 223.

1

Compare Bishop Butler’s second Sermon on the Love of God, where he speaks ofviewing the scheme of the universe in the mind that projected it.

2

Quoted by Kant from a German translation.

1

This suggestion also has been lately developed in a popular manner, as anovelty.

1

In 1763 he repeated the substance of it in the treatise, Dereinsig mogliche Beweisgrund zu einer Demonstration des Daseyns Gottes. Hethere mentions that the former work was comparatively little known, as it hadbeen published anonymously. In 1791 he caused an extract from it (containingwhat he thought worth preserving) to be appended to Sommer’s translation ofHerschel: “On the Structure of the Heavens.”

1

This conjecture also has been confirmed.

2

Philos. Trans., vol. xvi. A short time previously oneDr. Lister propounded the singular theory that the trade winds were caused bythe breath of the marine plant Sargasso.—( Ibid., vol.xiv.)

1

Kant himself says that, as far as he knew, no previous writer had statedthis principle, and he was well read in such subjects at that time. It had,however, been stated by Geo. Hadley (not “Sextant” Hadley) in 1735 ( Phil. Trans., vol. xxxix., pub. 1738). But Hadley’s paperattracted no attention; and D’Alembert, in his Reflections on the Causes of theWinds (1747), which obtained the prize offered by the Berlin Academy, rejectsthe heat of the sun as a cause, and makes all the phenomena depend on theattraction of the sun and moon. In the French Encyclopédie (1765, nine yearsafter Kant’s Paper, thirty after Hadley’s), this is combined with Halley’stheory, and it is suggested further that the monsoons may be due to the meltingof snow, the exhalations from mountains, c.

1

Not of Mathematics, as is sometimes stated. The Chair of Mathematics wasoffered to Kant, but Buck, the professor of Logic and Metaphysics, desired it,and Kant himself preferred the latter chair. Buck, therefore, became professorof Mathematics, and Kant took his place.

1

It may perhaps be interesting to note that both Berkeley and Hume producedtheir greatest philosophical works before the age of thirty. Fichte wrote his“Wissenschaftslehre” at thirty-three. On the other hand, Locke and Reid, whoseobject was, like Kant’s, to raise a barrier against scepticism, and toascertain the extent and limits of the powers of the mind, both published theirfirst philosophical treatises after fifty.

1

Translated by Mr. Bax, in Bohn’s Library, 1883.

1

Before reading this work of Kant’s, I had made a remark to the same effectin Sight and Touch, p. 76, with reference to the statementof Hamilton and others, that Sight is a modification of Touch. “Contact isusually understood to mean the approach of two bodies, so that no spaceintervenes between them; but in this sense there is probably no such thing ascontact in nature. Physically speaking, bodies in contact are only at such adistance that there is a sensible resistance to nearer approach. Sensation bycontact then is sensation by resistance; to say then that sight is amodification of touch, is to say that the antecedent of vision is the exerciseor feeling of the same repulsive force, which is a physical hypothesis, and,considered as such, is in fact absurd. Between ponderable substances and light,contact, in the sense just specified, is either impossible or is the normalcondition.”

1

Translated by Mr. Semple. Edinburgh, 1836. Re-issued 1869.

1

Luther’s translation.

2

An interesting account of “The Last Days of Kant,” taken from Wasianski, maybe found in De Quincey’s works, vol. iii.

3

Five German feet would be less than five feet two inches English.

1

Afterwards included in the “Streit der Facultäten.” This essay has had acirculation of over 50,000 in Germany, and a new edition has latelyappeared.

2

See an amusing book, by George Catlin, Shut your Mouth. London, 1869.

1

Some of his critical biographers thought he ate too much, forgetting thatthis was his only meal in the twenty-four hours. “It is believed,” says DeQuincey, “that his critics ate their way ‘from morn to dewy eve,’ through thefollowing course of meals:— 1st, Breakfast early in the morning; 2nd, Breakfast à la fourchette, about 10 A.M.; 3rd,Dinner at 1 or 2; 4th, Vesper Brod; 5th, Abend Brod; all which does seem a very fair allowance for aman who means to lecture on abstinence at night.”

1

Yet some of his biographers state that he never gave alms to beggars.

1

The reader will be reminded of the similar story of Dr. Johnson and theboots.

1

Sidgwick, Method of Ethics, page 181; 3rd ed., page207. In his third edition, Mr. Sidgwick appeals, in defence of his view, toKant’s statements in pp. 38-42 of the present book. The passage on p. 299 was,he remarks, written ten years later. But I think it will be found that in eachof his hypothetical cases he does not deduce the maxim from the imperative.What he does is to test the maxim by the imperative, just as he might test anargument by the rules of syllogism.

1

Discourse on the Attributes, c. Ed. 1728, p.200.

1

Sidgwick, Method of Ethics, page 450; 3rd ed., page482. Mr. Sidgwick’s argument involves the assumption, that the sum of humanhappiness is certainly known to exceed that of human misery. Even on his ownstatement, a man who doubted or disbelieved this would be justified in adoptingcelibacy. Nay, in the latter case, he might regard it as a duty.

1

Kant appears to recognise this in the passage quoted p. 322.

2

For instance, Cicero de Legibus argues that there is “ communio juris inter deos et homines. ” Dr. Adams (in hiscelebrated sermon On the Obligation of Virtue ), like Kant,remarks that to found the obligation of virtue on any good affections, or on amoral sense (as this is generally understood), is to make its nature whollyprecarious, to suppose that men might have been intelligent beings without suchsentiments, or with the very reverse. So Clarke had insisted that the eternalrelations of things, with their consequent fitnesses, must appear the same tothe understandings of all intelligent beings. In fact, this is a commonplace ofEnglish moralists.

1

Religion, p. 80.

1

This has been recognised by philosophers of all periods who have not begunwith a particular theory as to the origin of the idea and the principle. Thus,to take only non-metaphysical writers, Sir J. Herschel says: “It is our ownimmediate consciousness of effort which we exert to put matter in motion, or tooppose and neutralize force, which gives us this internal conviction of powerand causation, so far as it refers to the material world, and compels us tobelieve that whenever we see material objects put in motion . . . it is inconsequence of such an effort, somehow exerted, though not accompanied with ourconsciousness.” ( Astronomy, 10th ed., sec. 439.) DuboisReymond makes a similar statement, deriving the principle from “an irresistibletendency to personify.” It is somewhat singular that the philosophers who moststrenuously deny that the principle of causality has any basis other than ourobservation of the phenomena of passive matter yet insist most strongly onextending it to those of active will.

1

[The word “law” is here used in two different senses, on which see Whately’s Logic, Appendix, Art. “Law.”]

1

[Johann Christian Von Wolf (1679-1728) was the author of treatises onphilosophy, mathematics, c., which were for a long time the standardtext-books in the German Universities. His philosophy was founded on that ofLeibnitz.]

1

[The first proposition was that to have moral worth an action must be donefrom duty.]

1

A maxim is the subjective principle of volition. Theobjective principle ( i.e. that which would also servesubjectively as a practical principle to all rational beings if reason had fullpower over the faculty of desire) is the practical law.

2

It might be here objected to me that I take refuge behind the word respect in an obscure feeling, instead of giving adistinct solution of the question by a concept of the reason. But althoughrespect is a feeling, it is not a feeling received throughinfluence, but is self-wrought by a rational concept, and,therefore, is specifically distinct from all feelings of the former kind, whichmay be referred either to inclination or fear. What I recognise immediately asa law for me, I recognise with respect. This merely signifies the consciousnessthat my will is subordinate to a law, without theintervention of other influences on my sense. The immediate determination ofthe will by the law, and the consciousness of this is called respect, so that this is regarded as an effect of the law on the subject, and not as the cause of it. Respect is properly theconception of a worth which thwarts myself-love. Accordingly it is something which is considered neither as an objectof inclination nor of fear, although it has something analogous to both. The object of respect is the law only,and that, the law which we impose on ourselves, and yetrecognise as necessary in itself. As a law, we are subjected to it withoutconsulting self-love; as imposed by us on ourselves, it is a result of ourwill. In the former aspect it has an analogy to fear, in the latter toinclination. Respect for a person is properly only respect for the law (ofhonesty, c.), of which he gives us an example. Since we also look on theimprovement of our talents as a duty, we consider that we see in a person oftalents, as it were, the example of a law (viz. to becomelike him in this by exercise), and this constitutes our respect. All so-calledmoral interest consists simply in respect for the law.

1

[Compare the note to the Preface to the Critique of thePractical Reason, p. 111. A specimen of Kant’s proposed application of theSocratic method may be found in Mr. Semple’s translation of the Metaphysic of Ethics, p. 290.]

1

Just as pure mathematics are distinguished from applied, pure logic fromapplied, so if we choose we may also distinguish pure philosophy of morals(metaphysic) from applied (viz. applied to human nature). By this designationwe are also at once reminded that moral principles are not based on propertiesof human nature, but must subsist à priori of themselves,while from such principles practical rules must be capable of being deduced forevery rational nature, and accordingly for that of man.

2

I have a letter from the late excellent Sulzer, in which he asks me what canbe the reason that moral instruction, although containing much that isconvincing for the reason, yet accomplishes so little? My answer was postponedin order that I might make it complete. But it is simply this, that theteachers themselves have not got their own notions clear, and when theyendeavour to make up for this by raking up motives of moral goodness from everyquarter, trying to make their physic right strong, they spoil it. For thecommonest understanding shows that if we imagine, on the one hand, an act ofhonesty done with steadfast mind, apart from every view to advantage of anykind in this world or another, and even under the greatest temptations ofnecessity or allurement, and, on the other hand, a similar act which wasaffected, in however low a degree, by a foreign motive, the former leaves farbehind and eclipses the second; it elevates the soul, and inspires the wish tobe able to act in like manner oneself. Even moderately young children feel thisimpression, and one should never represent duties to them in any otherlight.

1

The dependence of the desires on sensations is called inclination, and thisaccordingly always indicates a want. The dependence of acontingently determinable will on principles of reason is called an interest. This therefore is found only in the case of adependent will, which does not always of itself conform to reason; in theDivine will we cannot conceive any interest. But the human will can also take an interest in a thing without therefore acting from interest. The former signifies the practical interest in the action, the latter the pathological in the object of the action. The formerindicates only dependence of the will on principles of reason in themselves;the second, dependence on principles of reason for the sake of inclination,reason supplying only the practical rules how the requirement of theinclination may be satisfied. In the first case the action interests me; in thesecond the object of the action (because it is pleasant to me). We have seen inthe first section that in an action done from duty we must look not to theinterest in the object, but only to that in the action itself, and in itsrational principle (viz. the law).

1

The word prudence is taken in two senses: in the one it may bear the name ofknowledge of the world, in the other that of private prudence. The former is aman’s ability to influence others so as to use them for his own purposes. Thelatter is the sagacity to combine all these purposes for his own lastingbenefit. This latter is properly that to which the value even of the former isreduced, and when a man is prudent in the former sense, but not in the latter,we might better say of him that he is clever and cunning, but, on the whole,imprudent. [Compare on the difference between klug and gescheu here alluded to, Anthropologie, § 45, ed. Schubert, p. 110.]

1

It seems to me that the proper signification of the word pragmatic may be most accurately defined in this way. For sanctions [see Cr. of Pract. Reas., p. 271] are called pragmatic which flow properly not from the law of the statesas necessary enactments, but from precaution for thegeneral welfare. A history is composed pragmatically when it teaches prudence, i. e. instructs the world how it can provide forits interests better, or at least as well, as the men of former time.

1

I connect the act with the will without presupposing any condition resultingfrom any inclination, but à priori, and thereforenecessarily (though only objectively, i. e. assuming theidea of a reason possessing full power over all subjective motives). This isaccordingly a practical proposition which does not deduce the willing of anaction by mere analysis from another already presupposed (for we have not sucha perfect will), but connects it immediately with the conception of the will ofa rational being, as something not contained in it.

1

A MAXIM is a subjective principle of action, and must bedistinguished from the objective principle, namely,practical law. The former contains the practical rule set by reason accordingto the conditions of the subject (often its ignorance or its inclinations), sothat it is the principle on which the subject acts; butthe law is the objective principle valid for every rational being, and is theprinciple on which it ought to act that is animperative.

2

[I have no doubt that “den” in the original before “Imperativ” is a misprintfor “der,” and have translated accordingly. Mr. Semple has done the same. Theeditions that I have seen agree in reading “den,” and M. Barni so translates.With this reading, it is the conformity that presents the imperative asnecessary.]

1

It must be noted here that I reserve the division of duties for a future metaphysic of morals; so that I give it here only as anarbitrary one (in order to arrange my examples). For the rest, I understand bya perfect duty one that admits no exception in favour of inclination, and thenI have not merely external, but also internal perfect duties. This is contraryto the use of the word adopted in the schools; but I do not intend to justifyit here, as it is all one for my purpose whether it is admitted or not. [ Perfect duties are usually understood to be those which can beenforced by external law; imperfect, those which cannot beenforced. They are also called respectively determinate and indeterminate, officia juris and officia virtutis. ]

1

[On suicide cf. further Metaphysik der Sitten, p.274.]

1

[Kant distinguishes “Hang ( propensio )” from “Neigung( inclinatio )” as follows:—“Hang” is a predisposition tothe desire of some enjoyment; in other words, it is the subjective possibilityof excitement of a certain desire, which precedes the conception of its object.When the enjoyment has been experienced, it produces a “Neigung” (inclination)to it, which accordingly is defined “habitual sensible desire.”— Anthropologie, §§ 72, 79; Religion, p.31.]

1

To behold virtue in her proper form is nothing else but to contemplatemorality stripped of all admixture of sensible thingsand of every spurious ornament of rewardor self-love. How much she then eclipses everything else that appears charmingto the affections, every one may readily perceive with the least exertion ofhis reason, if it be not wholly spoiled for abstraction.

1

This proposition is here stated as a postulate. The grounds of it will befound in the concluding section.

1

Let it not be thought that the common: quod tibi non visfieri, c., could serve here as the rule or principle. For it is onlya deduction from the former, though with several limitations; it cannot be auniversal law, for it does not contain the principle of duties to oneself, norof the duties of benevolence to others (for many a one would gladly consentthat others should not benefit him, provided only that he might be excused fromshowing benevolence to them), nor finally that of duties of strict obligationto one another, for on this principle the criminal might argue against thejudge who punishes him, and so on.

1

I may be excused from adducing examples to elucidate this principle, asthose which have already been used to elucidate the categorical imperative andits formula would all serve for the like purpose here.

1

[Cp. Critical Examination of Practical Reason, p.184.]

1

[The reading “Maxime,” which is that both of Rosenkranz and Hartenstein, isobviously an error for “Materie.”]

2

Teleology considers nature as a kingdom of ends; Ethics regards a possiblekingdom of ends as a kingdom of nature. In the first case, the kingdom of endsis a theoretical idea, adopted to explain what actually is. In the latter it isa practical idea, adopted to bring about that which is not yet, but which canbe realised by our conduct, namely, if it conforms to this idea.

1

[I read allgemeines instead of allgemeinem. ]

1

I class the principle of moral feeling under that of happiness, becauseevery empirical interest promises to contribute to our well-being by theagreeableness that a thing affords, whether it be immediately and without aview to profit, or whether profit be regarded. We must likewise, withHutcheson, class the principle of sympathy with the happiness of others underhis assumed moral sense.

1

[ Gesetzt. —There is in the original a play on theetymology of Gesetz, which does not admit of reproductionin English. It must be confessed that without it the statement is notself-evident.

1

I adopt this method of assuming freedom merely as anidea which rational beings suppose in their actions, in order to avoid thenecessity of proving it in its theoretical aspect also. The former issufficient for my purpose; for even though the speculative proof should not bemade out, yet a being that cannot act except with the idea of freedom is boundby the same laws that would oblige a being who was actually free. Thus we canescape here from the onus which presses on the theory. [Compare Butler’streatment of the question of liberty in his Analogy, part I., ch. vi.]

1

[“Interest” means a spring of the will, in so far as this spring ispresented by Reason. See note, p. 80.]

1

[The common understanding being here spoken of, I use the word “idea” in itspopular sense.]

1

[The verb is wanting in the original.]

1

[The punctuation of the original gives the following sense: “Submits hiscausality, as regards its external determination, to laws of nature.” I haveventured to make what appears to be a necessary correction, by simply removinga comma.]

1

[M. Barni translates as if he read desselben instead of derselben, “the causality of this will.” So also Mr.Semple.]

1

Interest is that by which reason becomes practical, i.e., a cause determining the will. Hence we say of rationalbeings only that they take an interest in a thing; irrational beings only feelsensual appetites. Reason takes a direct interest in action then only when theuniversal validity of its maxims is alone sufficient to determine the will.Such an interest alone is pure. But if it can determine the will only by meansof another object of desire or on the suggestion of a particular feeling of thesubject, then Reason takes only an indirect interest in the action, and asReason by itself without experience cannot discover either objects of the willor a special feeling actuating it, this latter interest would only beempirical, and not a pure rational interest. The logical interest of Reason(namely, to extend its insight) is never direct, but presupposes purposes forwhich reason is employed.

1

[Reading ‘einer’ for ‘seiner.’]

1

Lest any one should imagine that he finds an inconsistency here when I call freedom the condition of themoral law, and hereafter maintain in the treatise itself that the moral law isthe condition under which we can first become conscious offreedom, I will merely remark that freedom is the ratioessendi of the moral law, while the moral law is the ratiocognoscendi of freedom. For had not the moral law been previouslydistinctly thought in our reason, we should never consider ourselves justifiedin assuming such a thing as freedom, although it be notcontradictory. But were there no freedom it would be impossibleto trace the moral law in ourselves at all.

1

The union of causality as freedom with causality as rational mechanism, theformer established by the moral law, the latter by the law of nature in thesame subject, namely, man, is impossible, unless we conceive him with referenceto the former as a being in himself, and with reference to the latter as aphenomenon—the former in pure consciousness, the latter in empiricalconsciousness. Otherwise reason inevitably contradicts itself.

1

A reviewer who wanted to find some fault with this work has hit the truthbetter, perhaps, than he thought, when he says that no new principle ofmorality is set forth in it, but only a new formula. Butwho would think of introducing a new principle of all morality, and makinghimself as it were the first discoverer of it, just as if all the world beforehim were ignorant what duty was or had been in thorough-going error? Butwhoever knows of what importance to a mathematician a formula is, which defines accurately what is to be done towork a problem, will not think that a formula is insignificant and uselesswhich does the same for all duty in general.

1

[Probably Professor Garve. See Kant’s ‘ Das mag in DerTheorie richtig seyn, etc. ’ Werke, vol. vii. p. 182.]

2

It might also have been objected to me that I have not first defined thenotion of the faculty of desire, or of the feeling of pleasure, although this reproach would be unfair,because this definition might reasonably be presupposed as given in psychology.However, the definition there given might be such as to found the determinationof the faculty of desire on the feeling of pleasure (as is commonly done), andthus the supreme principle of practical philosophy would be necessarily made empirical, which, however, remains to be proved, and inthis critique is altogether refuted. I will, therefore, give this definitionhere in such a manner as it ought to be given, in order to leave this contestedpoint open at the beginning, as it should be. LIFE is thefaculty a being has of acting according to laws of the faculty of desire. The faculty of DESIRE is the being’s faculty of becoming by means of its ideas the cause of theactual existence of the objects of these ideas. PLEASURE is the idea of the agreement of theobject, or the action with the subjective conditions of life, i.e. withthe faculty of causality of an idea in respect of the actualityof its object (or with the determination of the forces of the subject tothe action which produces it). I have no further need for the purposesof this critique of notions borrowed from psychology; the critique itselfsupplies the rest. It is easily seen that the question, whether the faculty ofdesire is always based on pleasure, or whether under certain conditionspleasure only follows the determination of desire, is by this definition leftundecided, for it is composed only of terms belonging to the pureunderstanding, i.e. of categories which contain nothingempirical. Such precaution is very desirable in all philosophy, and yet isoften neglected; namely, not to prejudge questions by adventuring definitionsbefore the notion has been completely analysed, which is often very late. Itmay be observed through the whole course of the critical philosophy (of thetheoretical as well as the practical reason) that frequent opportunity offersof supplying defects in the old dogmatic method of philosophy, and ofcorrecting errors which are not observed until we make such rational use ofthese notions viewing them as a whole.

1

I am more afraid in the present treatise of occasional misconception inrespect of some expressions which I have chosen with the greatest care, in order that the notion to which theypoint may not be missed. Thus, in the table of categories of the practical reason under the title of Modality, the permitted and forbidden (in a practical objective point of view,Possible and Impossible) have almost the same meaning in common language as thenext category, Duty and Contrary toDuty. Here, however, the former means what coincideswith, or contradicts, a merely possible practical precept(for example the solution of all problems of geometry and mechanics); the latter, what is similarly related to a law actually present in the reason; and this distinction is notquite foreign even to common language, although somewhat unusual. For example,it is forbidden to an orator, as such, to forge new wordsor constructions; in a certain degree this is permitted toa poet; in neither case is there any question of duty. For if anyone chooses toforfeit his reputation as an orator, no one can prevent him. We have here onlyto do with the distinction of imperatives into problematical, assertorial, and apodictic. Similarly in the note in which I have compared themoral ideas of practical perfection in different philosophical schools, I havedistinguished the idea of wisdom from that of holiness, although I have stated that essentially andobjectively they are the same. But in that place I understand by the formeronly that wisdom to which man (the Stoic) lays claim; therefore I take it subjectively as an attribute alleged to belong to man.(Perhaps the expression virtue, with which also the Stoicmade great show, would better mark the characteristic of his school.) Theexpression of a postulate of pure practical reason mightgive most occasion to misapprehension in case the reader confounded it with thesignification of the postulates in pure mathematics, which carry apodicticcertainty with them. These, however, postulate the possibilityof an action, the object of which has been previously recognised à priori in theory as possible, andthat with perfect certainty. But the former postulates the possibility of anobject itself (God and the immortality of the soul) from apodictic practical laws, and therefore only for the purposes of apractical reason. This certainty of the postulated possibility then is not atall theoretic, and consequently not apodictic, that is to say, it is not aknown necessity as regards the object, but a necessary supposition as regardsthe subject, necessary for the obedience to its objective but practical laws.It is, therefore, merely a necessary hypothesis. I could find no betterexpression for this rational necessity, which is subjective, but yet true andunconditional.

1

Names that designate the followers of a sect have always been accompaniedwith much injustice; just as if one said, N is an Idealist. For although he notonly admits, but even insists, that our ideas of external things have actualobjects of external things corresponding to them, yet he holds that the form ofthe intuition does not depend on them but on the human mind. [N is clearly Kanthimself.]

1

[The original has “pure,” an obvious error.]

1

[Literally, “to have a firm seat in any saddle.” It may be noted that Kant’sfather was a saddler.].

2

[Not in the original text.]

1

Propositions which in mathematics or physics are called practical ought properly to be called technical. For they have nothing to do with the determinationof the will; they only point out how a certain effect is to be produced, andare therefore just as theoretical as any propositions which express theconnexion of a cause with an effect. Now whoever chooses the effect must alsochoose the cause.

1

[The original sentence is defective; Hartenstein supplies ‘enthält.’]

1

[Reading “empfindet” instead of “empfiehlt.”]

1

[The original text is, I think, corrupt.]

1

[The original text has “practical,” obviously an error.]

1

[By “immanent” Kant means what is strictly confined within the limits ofexperience; by “transcendent” what pretends to overpass these bounds. Cf. Kritik der reinen Vernunft, ed. Rosenkr., p. 240.Meiklejohn’s transl., p. 210.]

2

[Is a “Verstandeswesen.”]

1

[The original has “practical;” clearly an error.]

1

[The verb, indispensable to the sense, is absent from the originaltext.]

1

[Or “immediately,” i. e. without reference to anyulterior result.]

2

[The original has “objects” [objecte], which makes no sense. I havetherefore ventured to correct it.]

1

Besides this, the expression sub ratione boni is alsoambiguous. For it may mean: We represent something to ourselves as good, whenand because we desire (will) it; or, we desire somethingbecause we represent it to ourselves as good, so that either the desire determines the notion of theobject as a good, or the notion of good determines the desire (the will); sothat in the first case sub ratione boni would mean we willsomething under the idea of the good; in the second, in consequence of this idea, which, as determining thevolition, must precede it.

1

[The English language marks the distinction in question, though notperfectly. “Evil” is not absolutely restricted to moral evil; we speak also ofphysical evils, but certainly when not so qualified it applies usually (as anadjective, perhaps exclusively) to moral evil. “Bad” is more general, but whenused with a word connoting moral qualities, it expresses moral evil; forexample, a “bad man,” a “bad scholar.” These words are etymologically the sameas the German “übel” and “böse” respectively. “Good” is ambiguous, beingopposed to “bad,” as well as to “evil,” but the corresponding German word isequally ambiguous.]

1

[Rosenkranz’ text has “law”—certainly an error (“Gesetz” for “Gefühl”);Hartenstein corrects it.]

1

[For the meaning of this expression, see the Critique ofPure Reason, trans. by Meiklejohn, p. 82.]

1

[Adopting Hartenstein’s conjecture “gemeinste,” for “reinste,”“purest.”]

1

[Read “weil” with Hartenstein, not “womit.”]

1

We may say of every action that conforms to the law, but is not done for thesake of the law, that it is morally good in the letter, not in the spirit (the intention).

1

[“Jener,” in Rosenkranz’s text is an error. We must read either “jene,”“this respect,” or “jenes,” “this feeling.” Hartenstein adopts “jenes.”]

1

[The original sentence is incomplete. I have completed it in what seems thesimplest way.]

1

If we examine accurately the notion of respect for persons as it has beenalready laid down, we shall perceive that it always rests on the consciousnessof a duty which an example shows us, and that respect therefore can never haveany but a moral ground, and that it is very good and even, in a psychologicalpoint of view, very useful for the knowledge of mankind, that whenever we usethis expression we should attend to this secret and marvellous, yet oftenrecurring, regard which men in their judgment pay to the moral law.

1

This law is in striking contrast with the principle of private happinesswhich some make the supreme principle of morality. This would be expressedthus: Love thyself above everything, and God and thy neighbourfor thine own sake.

1

[Compare Butler:—“Though we should suppose it impossible for particularaffections to be absolutely coincident with the moral principle, andconsequently should allow that such creatures . . . would for ever remaindefectible; yet their danger of actually deviating from right may be almostinfinitely lessened, and they fully fortified against what remains of it—ifthat may be called danger against which there is an adequate effectualsecurity.”— Analogy, Fitzgerald’s Ed., p. 100.]

2

[What renders this discussion not irrelevant is the fact that the Germanlanguage, like the English, possesses but oneword to expressϕιλεɩ̂ν,ἀγαπα̂ν, andἐρα̂ν. The first,ϕιλεɩ̂ν, expresses the love ofaffection. The general good-will due from man to man had no name in classicalGreek; it is described in one aspect of it by Aristotle asϕιλίαἄνεν πἀτους καὶ τονˆ στέργειν (Eth. Nic. iv. 6,5); elsewhere, however, he calls it simplyϕιλία (viii. 11, 7).The verb ἀγαπάω wasused by the LXX in the precept quoted in the text, though elsewhere theyemployed it as = ἐρα̂ν. But in the New Test. the verb, and with it thenoun ἀγάπη (which isnot found in classical writers), were appropriated to this state of mind.Aristotle, it may be observed, usesἀγαπάω, of love toone’s own better part (ix. 8, 6).Ἐρα̂ν does not occur in the NewTest. at all. Butler’s Sermons on Love of our Neighbour, and Love of God, maybe usefully compared with these observations of Kant.]

1

[Read “denen” not “dem.”]

1

[See note on Conscience.]

1

[Reading “aufzugeben.”]

1

[Vaucanson constructed an automaton flute-player, which imitated accuratelythe movements and the effects of a genuine performer, and subsequently amechanical duck which swam, dived, quacked, took barley from the hand, ate,drank, digested, dressed its wings, etc., quite naturally. This was exhibitedin Paris in 1741. These automata are described by D’Alembert in the Encyclopédie, Arts. Androïde and Automata: cf. also Condorcet, Éloges, tom. i., p. 643, ed. 1847.]

2

[Moses Mendelssohn, a distinguished philosopher, grandfather of the musicalcomposer. He is said to have been the prototype of Lessing’s Nathan der Weise. ]

1

[The original is somewhat ambiguous; it has been suggested, that ‘theformer’ refers to the Understanding (‘Verstand’ in ‘Verstandesbegriff’). I amsatisfied that it refers to ‘Vernunftbegriff,’ for it is not the Understanding,but the Reason that seeks the unconditioned. Compare Kritik derR. V., p. 262 (326). ‘The transcendental concept of the reason always aimsat absolute totality in the synthesis of the conditions, and never rests exceptin the absolutely unconditioned.’ ( Meiklejohn, p.228.)]

2

[Rosenkranz erroneously reads ‘unbedingt’ ‘unconditioned’; and ‘musste’ for‘müsste.’]

1

[The original has not ‘ und, ’ but ‘ als, ’ which does not give any satisfactory sense. I have,therefore, adopted Hartenstein’s emendation, which seems at least to give themeaning intended.]

1

[See Preface, p. 115, note. ]

1

It seems, nevertheless, impossible for a creature to have the conviction of his unwavering firmness of mind in theprogress towards goodness. On this account the Christian religion makes it comeonly from the same Spirit that works sanctification, that is, this firmpurpose, and with it the consciousness of steadfastness [*] in the moral progress. But naturally one who is conscious that he haspersevered through a long portion of his life up to the end in the progress tothe better, and this from genuine moral motives, may well have the comfortinghope, though not the certainty, that even in an existence prolonged beyond thislife he will continue steadfast in these principles; and although he is neverjustified here in his own eyes, nor can ever hope to be so in the increasedperfection of his nature, to which he looks forward, together with an increaseof duties, nevertheless in this progress which, though it is directed to a goalinfinitely remote, yet is in God’s sight regarded as equivalent to possession,he may have a prospect of a blessed future; for this isthe word that reason employs to designate perfect well-being independent on all contingent causes of the world,and which, like holiness, is an idea that can be containedonly in an endless progress and its totality, and consequently is never fullyattained by a creature.

*

[The ὐπομονή of theN. T.]

1

[The original has “a Supreme Nature.” “Natur,” however, almost invariablymeans “physical nature”; therefore Hartenstein supplies the words “cause of”before “nature.” More probably “Natur” is a slip for “Ursache,” “cause.”]

1

It is commonly held that the Christian precept of morality has no advantagein respect of purity over the moral conceptions of the Stoics; the distinctionbetween them is, however, very obvious. The Stoic system made the consciousnessof strength of mind the pivot on which all moral dispositions should turn; andalthough its disciples spoke of duties and even defined them very well, yetthey placed the spring and proper determining principle of the will in anelevation of the mind above the lower springs of the senses, which owe theirpower only to weakness of mind. With them, therefore, virtue was a sort ofheroism in the wise man who, raising himself above theanimal nature of man, is sufficient for himself, and while he prescribes dutiesto others is himself raised above them, and is not subject to any temptation totransgress the moral law. All this, however, they could not have done if theyhad conceived this law in all its purity and strictness, as the precept of theGospel does. When I give the name idea to a perfection towhich nothing adequate can be given in experience, it does not follow that themoral ideas are something transcendent, that is something of which we could noteven determine the concept adequately, or of which it is uncertain whetherthere is any object corresponding to it at all, as is the case with the ideas ofspeculative reason; on the contrary, being types of practical perfection, theyserve as the indispensable rule of conduct and likewise as the standard of comparison. Now if I consider Christian morals on their philosophical side, then comparedwith the ideas of the Greek schools they would appear as follows: the ideas ofthe Cynics, the Epicureans the Stoics, and the Christians, are: simplicity of nature, prudence, wisdom, and holiness. In respect of the way of attaining them, theGreek schools were distinguished from one another thus, that the Cynics onlyrequired common sense, the others the path of science, but both found the mere use ofnatural powers sufficient for the purpose. Christian morality, because itsprecept is framed (as a moral precept must be) so pure and unyielding, takesfrom man all confidence that he can be fully adequate to it, at least in thislife, but again sets it up by enabling us to hope that if we act as well as itis in our power to do, then what is not in our power willcome in to our aid from another source, whether we know how this may be or not. Aristotle and Plato differed only asto the origin of our moral conceptions. [See Preface, p. 115, note. ]

1

[The word ‘sanction’ is here used in the technical German sense, which isfamiliar to students of history in connexion with the ‘PragmaticSanction.’]

1

In order to make these characteristics of these conceptions clear, I add theremark that whilst we ascribe to God various attributes, the quality of whichwe also find applicable to creatures, only that in Him they are raised to thehighest degree, e.g. power, knowledge, presence, goodness,c., under the designations of omnipotence, omniscience, omnipresence,c., there are three that are ascribed to God exclusively, and yet withoutthe addition of greatness, and which are all moral. He is the only holy, the only blessed, the only wise, because these conceptions already imply theabsence of limitation. In the order of these attributes He is also the holy lawgiver (and creator), the goodgovernor (and preserver) and the just judge, threeattributes which include everything by which God is the object of religion, andin conformity with which the metaphysical perfections are added of themselvesin the reason.

1

[That the ambiguity of the word subject may not misleadthe reader, it may be remarked that it is here used in the psychological sense: subjectum legis, not subjectuslegi. ]

2

[Absent from the original text.]

1

[This remarks, as well as the following note, applies to the etymologicalform of the German word, which is God-learned.] Learning is properly only thewhole content of the historical sciences. Consequently itis only the teacher of revealed theology that can be called a learnedtheologian [God-learned]. If, however, we choose to call a man learned who isin possession of the rational sciences (mathematics and philosophy), althougheven this would be contrary to the signification of the word (which alwayscounts as learning only that which one must be ‘ learned ’[taught], and which, therefore, he cannot discover of himself by reason), evenin that case the philosopher would make too poor a figure with his knowledge ofGod as a positive science to let himself be called on that account a learned man.

1

But even here we should not be able to allege a requirement of reason, if we had not before our eyes a problematical, butyet inevitable, conception of reason, namely, that of an absolutely necessarybeing. This conception now seeks to be defined, and this, in addition to thetendency to extend itself, is the objective ground of a requirement ofspeculative reason, namely, to have a more precise definition of the conceptionof a necessary being which is to serve as the first cause of other beings, soas to make these [*] latter knowable by some means. Without such antecedent necessaryproblems there are no requirements —at least not of pure reason —the rest are requirements of inclination.

*

I read ‘diese’ with the ed. of 1791. Rosenkranz and Hartenstein both read‘dieses,’ ‘This being.’

1

In the Deutsches Museum, February, 1787, there is adissertation by a very subtle and clear-headed man, the late Wizenmann, whose early death is to be lamented, in which hedisputes the right to argue from a want to the objective reality of its object,and illustrates the point by the example of a man in love, who having fooled himself into an idea of beauty, which is merely a chimera ofhis own brain, would fain conclude that such an object really exists somewhere. I quite agree with him in this, in allcases where the want is founded on inclination, whichcannot necessarily postulate the existence of its object even for the man thatis affected by it, much less can it contain a demand valid for everyone, andtherefore it is merely a subjective ground of the wish.But in the present case we have a want of reason springing from an objectivedetermining principle of the will, namely, the moral law, which necessarilybinds every rational being, and therefore justifies him in assuming à priori in nature the conditions proper for it, and makesthe latter inseparable from the complete practical use of reason. It is a dutyto realize the summum bonum to the utmost of our power,therefore it must be possible, consequently it is unavoidable for everyrational being in the world to assume what is necessary for its objectivepossibility. The assumption is as necessary as the moral law, in connexion withwhich alone it is valid.

1

[Read ‘wie’ for ‘die.’]

1

It is quite proper to extol actions that display a great, unselfish,sympathizing mind or humanity. But in this case we must fix attention not somuch on the elevation of soul, which is very fleeting andtransitory, as on the subjection of the heart to duty, from which a more enduring impression may be expected, because this impliesprinciple (whereas the former only implies ebullitions). One need only reflecta little and he will always find a debt that he has by some means incurredtowards the human race (even if it were only this, that by the inequality ofmen in the civil constitution he enjoys advantages on account of which othersmust be the more in want), which will prevent the thought of duty from being repressed by the self-complacent imaginationof merit.

1

[ Weisheitslehre, vernacular German for Philosophy. See p. 203.]

1

[To this definition it has been objected, that “it comes to nothing as soonas we abstract from external conditions of the result ofthe desire. Yet even to the Idealist the appetitive faculty is something,although to him the external world is nothing.” Answer: Is there not such athing as an earnest longing which yet we are conscious is in vain ( ex. gr. Would to God that man were still living!), and which,though it leads to no deed, is yet not without results, and has a powerful effect not indeed onoutward things, but within the subject himself (making him ill)? A desire beingan effort ( nisus ) to be, by means ofone’s ideas, a cause, still, even though the subjectperceives the inadequacy of these to produce the desired effect, is always acausality at least within the subject. What causes the mistake here is this:that since the consciousness of our power generally (inthe given case) is at the same time a consciousness of our powerlessness in respect to the outer world, the definition isnot applicable to the Idealist, although as here we are speaking only of therelation of a cause (the idea) to the effect (feeling), the causality of theidea in respect of its object (whether that causality be internal or external)must inevitably be included in the conception of the appetitive faculty.”— Rechtslehre, Anhang (to second edition), p. 130.]

1

We might define sensibility as the subjective element in our ideas; for itis the understanding that first refers the ideas to an object; i. e. it alone thinks somewhat by meansthereof. Now the subjective element of our idea may be of such a kind that itcan also be referred to an object as contributory to the knowledge of it(either as to the form or the matter, being called in the former caseintuition, in the latter sensation). In this case sensibility, which is thesusceptibility to the idea in question, is Sense. Oragain, the subjective element of the idea may be such that it cannot become apiece of knowledge, inasmuch as it contains merely the relation of this idea tothe subject, and nothing that is useful for the knowledgeof the object; and in this case this susceptibility to the idea is called Feeling, which contains the effect of the idea (whethersensible or intellectual) on the subject, and this belongs to the sensibility,even though the idea itself may belong to the understanding or the reason.

1

[This important distinction is here explicitly made for the first time. Inthe earlier treatises, the word “Wille” covers both significations. In writingthe “Kritik,” Kant saw that much confusion of thought was traceable to the useof the same word for two very different things, and in that treatise hesometimes uses “Willkühr.” His use of the term is, of course, his own. In thelast treatise in the present volume the word “Wille” occurs only once or twice.In default of an English word suitable to be appropriated to the significationof Kant’s “Willkühr,” I have adopted the compound term “elective will,”reserving “rational will” for “Wille.” Although the distinction has not beenfixed in appropriate terms, it has been felt and more or less obscurelyindicated by many moralists. Indeed it is implied in S. Paul’s Epistle to theRomans, ch. VII., where, for instance, in v. 15, the subjectof θέλω is I as “Wille,” while that of ποιωˆ is I as “Willkühr.” Compare the words of Kant onthe corrupt heart coexisting with the good “Wille,” p. 352.]

1

[“When Philosophy, as containing principles of the rational knowledge ofthings through concepts (not merely as Logic does, principles of the form ofthought in general without distinction of its objects), is divided into theoretical and practical, this isquite right; but, then, the concepts which assign to the principles of thisrational knowledge their object must be specifically distinct, otherwise theywould not justify a division which always presupposes a contrast of theprinciples of the rational knowledge belonging to the different parts of ascience.

Now there are only two kinds of concepts, and these admit as many distinctprinciples of possibility of their object, namely, physicalconcepts and the concept of freedom. Now as the former make possible a theoretical knowledge on à priori principles, whereas in respect of these the latter only conveys in its concepta negative principle (that of mere contrast); while on the other hand itestablishes principles for the determination of the will, which, therefore, arecalled practical; hence philosophy is rightly divided into two parts, withquite distinct principles—the theoretical, which is naturalphilosophy, and the practical, which is moralphilosophy (for so we name the practical legislation of reason accordingto the concept of freedom). Hitherto, however, there has prevailed a grossmisuse of these expressions in the division of the different principles, andconsequently also of philosophy; inasmuch as what is practical according tophysical concepts has been assumed to be of the same kind as what is practicalaccording to the concept of freedom; and thus with the same denominations of‘theoretical’ and ‘practical’ philosophy, a division is made by which nothingis really divided (since both parts might have principles of the samekind).”— Kritik der Urtheilskraft, Einl, p. 8.]

1

The deduction of the division of a system: that is, theproof of its completeness as well as of its continuity, namely, that the transition from the notion divided to each member of thedivision in the whole series of subdivisions does not take place per saltum, is one of the most difficult tasks of theconstructor of a system. It is even difficult to say what is the ultimatenotion of which right and wrong ( fas aut nefas ) are divisions. It is the act offree choice in general. So teachers of ontology begin with the notions of something and nothing, without beingaware that these are already members of a division of a higher notion which isnot given, but which, in fact, can only be the notion of an object in general.

1

[The original has ‘natural.’ The emendation, which is clearly necessary, wassuggested to me by Mr. Philip Sandford.]

1

One who is acquainted with practical philosophy is not,therefore, a practical philosopher. The latter is he whomakes the rational end the principle ofhis actions, while at the same time he joins with this the necessaryknowledge which, as it aims at action, must not be spun out into the mostsubtle threads of metaphysic, unless a legal duty is in question; in which case meum and tuum must be accuratelydetermined in the balance of justice, on the principle of equality of actionand reaction, which requires something like mathematical proportion, but not inthe case of a mere ethical duty. For in this case the question is not only toknow what it is a duty to do (a thing which on account of the ends that all mennaturally have can be easily decided), but the chief point is the innerprinciple of the will, namely, that the consciousness of this duty be also the spring of action, in order that we may be able to say ofthe man who joins to his knowledge this principle of wisdom, that he is a practical philosopher.

1

[Compare the remarks of Dr. Adams: “The pleasures of self-approbation andesteem which follow virtue certainly arise from a conscious sense of havingmade virtue and not pleasure our choice; not from preferring one interest orpleasure to another, but from acting according to right without any otherconsideration whatsoever. It seems essential to this pleasure that no motive ofinterest have any part in the choice or intention of the agent. And (2) To makethis pleasure an object to the mind, the virtue whose principle we are seekingafter must be already formed. For, let it be observed, that the pleasures weare speaking of are themselves virtuous pleasures; such as none but virtuousminds are capable of proposing to themselves or of enjoying. To the sensual orvoluptuous, the pleasures that arise from denying our appetites or passionshave no existence. These cannot, therefore, be the motive to that virtue whichis already presupposed. . . . It is the same love of virtue which makes itfirst the object of our pursuit, and, when acquired, the subject of our triumphand joy. To do a virtuous action for the sake of these virtuous pleasures is tochoose virtue for the sake of being virtuous, which is to rest in it as an end,or to pursue it without regard to any other object or interest.”— Sermon on the Obligation of Virtue (1754), Note 2.]

2

[The essay referred to is that “On the Radical Evil in Human Nature.”]

1

Man, however, as at the same time a moral being, whenhe considers himself objectively, which he is qualified to do by his purepractical reason ( i.e. according to humanity in his own person), finds himself holy enough totransgress the law only unwillingly; for there is no manso depraved who in this transgression would not feel a resistance and anabhorrence of himself, so that he must put a force on himself. It is impossibleto explain the phenomenon that at this parting of the ways (where the beautifulfable places Hercules between virtue and sensuality) man shows more propensityto obey inclination than the law. For, we can only explain what happens, bytracing it to a cause according to physical laws; but then we should not beable to conceive the elective will as free. Now this mutually opposedself-constraint and the inevitability of it makes us recognize theincomprehensible property of freedom.

1

The less a man can be physically forced, and the more he can be morallyforced (by the mere idea of duty), so much the freer he is. The man, forexample, who is of sufficiently firm resolution and strong mind not to give upan enjoyment which he has resolved on, however much loss is shown as resultingtherefrom, and who yet desists from his purpose unhesitatingly, though veryreluctantly, when he finds that it would cause him to neglect an official dutyor a sick father; this man proves his freedom in the highest degree by thisvery thing that he cannot resist the voice of duty.

1

[Leonhard Cochius, court preacher, who obtained the prize of the BerlinAcademy for his essay, “Über die Neigungen,” Berlin, 1769.]

1

[“Object,” first ed. ]

1

[Usage gives it a strong meaning, perhaps from euphemism.]

1

[“Whatever I judge reasonable or unreasonable for another to do for Me: That, by the samejudgment, I declare reasonable or unreasonable that I in the like case do for Him. ”—Clarke’s Discourse, etc., p. [Editor: illegible number] ed.1728].

1

[This agrees with Dr. Adams’ definition of virtue, which, he says, impliestrial and conflict. He defines it, “the conformity of imperfect beings to thedictates of reason.” Other English moralists use “virtue” in the sense ofAristotle’s ἀρετή.Hence a difference more verbal than real as to the relation of virtue toself-denial.]

1

[Kant here and elsewhere uses “Deduction” in a technical legal sense. Thereis deductio facti, and deductiojuris; Kant’s Deduction is exclusively the latter.]

1

[The supreme principle of jurisprudence is: “Act externally so that the freeuse of thy elective will may not interfere with the freedom of any man so faras it agrees with universal law.”— Rechtslehre, p. 33.]

1

So that one might vary two well-known lines of Haller thus:—

- “With all his failings, man is still

- Better than angels void of will.”

[Haller’s lines occur in the poem, “Ueber den Urfprung bes Uebels”—

- “Dann Gott liebt seinen Zwang; die Welt mit ihren Mangeln

- Ift besser als ein Reich von willenlofen Engeln.”]

1

[On Conscience, compare the note at the end of this Introduction.]

1

The common classical formulæ of Ethics— medio tutissimusibis; omne nimium vertitur in vitium; est modus in rebus, c.; medium tenuere beati: virtus est medium vitiorum et utrinquereductum —contain a poor sort of wisdom, which has no definite principles:for this mean between two extremes, who will assign it for me? Avarice (as avice) is not distinguished from frugality (as a virtue) by merely being thelatter pushed too far; but has a quite different principle (maxim), namely, placing the end of economy not in the enjoyment of one’smeans, but in the mere possession of them, renouncingenjoyment; just as the vice of prodigality is not to besought in the excessive enjoyment of one’s means, but in the bad maxim whichmakes the use of them, without regard to their maintenance, the sole end.

1

[“The assertion that we should do nothing either too little or too muchmeans nothing, for it is tautological. What is it to do too much? Answer—Morethan is right. What is it to do too little? Answer—To do less than is right.What is the meaning of, I ought (to do something, or leaveit undone)? Answer—It is not right (against duty) to do more or less than is right. If thatis the wisdom for which we must go back to the ancients (to Aristotle), as ifthey were nearer the source, we have chosen ill in turning to their oracle.Between truth and falsehood (which are contradictories )there is no mean; there may be, however, between frankness and reserve (whichare contraries ). In the case of the man who declares hisopinion, all that he says is true, but he does not say all the truth. Now, it is very natural to ask the moralteacher to point out to me this mean. This, however, he cannot do, for bothduties have a certain latitude in their application, and the right thing to docan only be decided by the judgment, according to rules of prudence(pragmatical rules), not those of morality (moral rules), that is to say, notas strict duty ( officium strictum ),but as indeterminate ( officiumlatum ). Hence the man who follows the principles of virtue may indeedcommit a fault ( peccatum ) in hispractice, in doing more or less than prudence prescribes; but adhering strictlyto these principles, he does not commit a vice (vitium),and the verse of Horace—

- Insani sapiens nomen ferat, æquus iniqui,

- Ultra quam satis est virtutem si petat ipsam—

literally understood, is fundamentally false. But perhaps sapiens here means only a prudent man, who does not form achimerical notion of virtuous perfection. This perfection being an Ideal,demands approximation to this end, but not the complete attainment of it, whichsurpasses human powers, and introduces absurdity (chimerical imagination) intoits principle. For to be quite too virtuous, that is, tobe quite too devoted to duty, would be about the same as to speak of making acircle quite too round, or a straight line quite too straight.”— Tugendlehre, p. 287, note.]

1

[In a footnote, Kant explains this double personality of a man as both theaccuser and the judge, by reference to the homo noumenon, and its specific difference from the rationally endowed homosensibilis. ]

1

- Aetas parentum, pejor avis, tulit

- Nos nequiores, mox daturos

- Progeniem vitiosiorem.

- HORATIUS.

1

[One of Rousseau’s earliest literary efforts was on this subject, which hadbeen proposed for discussion by the Academy of Dijon. He defended the thesisthat the advance in science and arts was not favourable to morals. Kant’s ownview is stated thus in the treatise: “Das mag in der Theorie, u. s. w.,” publ.in 1793. He is commenting on Mendelssohn, who had treated Lessing’s hypothesisof a divine education of mankind as a delusion, saying that the human racenever made a few steps forward without presently after slipping back withredoubled velocity into its former position. This, says Kant, is like the stoneof Sisyphus, and this view makes the earth a sort of purgatory for old andforgotten sins. He proceeds thus: “I shall venture to assume that, as the humanrace is constantly advancing in respect of culture, as it is designed to do, soalso, as regards the moral end of its existence, it is constantly progressing,and this progress is never broken off, although it may be sometimesinterrupted. It is not necessary for me to prove this; it is for those who takethe opposite view to prove their case,” viz. because it is my duty to strive topromote this improvement (p. 222). “Many proofs, too, may be given that thehuman race, on the whole, especially in our own, as compared with all precedingtimes, has made considerable advances morally for the better (temporary checksdo not prove anything against this); and that the cry of thecontinually-increasing degradation of the race arises just from this, that whenone stands on a higher step of morality he sees further before him, and hisjudgment on what men are as compared with what they ought to be is more strict.Our self-blame is, consequently, more severe the more steps of morality we havealready ascended in the whole course of the world’s history as known to us” (p.224).]

1

That the primary subjective source of the adoption of moral maxims isinscrutable may be seen even from this, that as this adoption is free, itssource (the reason why, ex. gr., I have adopted a bad andnot rather a good maxim) must not be looked for in any natural impulse, butalways again in a maxim; and as this also must have its ground, and maxims arethe only determining principles of the free elective will that can or ought tobe adduced, we are always driven further back ad infinitum in the series of subjective determining principles, without being able to reachthe primary source.

1

If good = a, its contradictory is the not-good. This isthe result either of the mere absence of a principle of good = 0, or of apositive principle of the opposite = - a. In the lattercase the not-good may be called the positively bad. (In respect of pleasure andpain there is a mean of this kind, so that pleasure = a, pain = - a, and the state of absence of both isindifference, = 0.)Now if the moral law were not a spring ofthe elective will in us, then moral good (harmony of the will with the law)would = a, not-good = 0, and the latter would be merelythe result of the absence of a moral spring = a + 0. Butthe law is in us as a spring = a; therefore the want ofharmony of the elective will with it (= 0) is only possible as a result of areally opposite determination of elective will, that is a resistance to it, = - a, that is to say,only by a bad elective will; there is, therefore, no mean between a bad and agood disposition (inner principle of maxims) by which the morality of theaction must be determined. A morally indifferent action ( adiaphoron morale ) would be an action resulting merely fromnatural laws, and standing therefore in no relation to the moral law, which isa law of freedom; inasmuch as it is not a deed, and in respect of it neithercommand nor prohibition, nor even legal permission, has any place or isnecessary.

1

Professor Schiller, in his masterly treatise ( Thalia, 1793, pt. 3) on pleasantness [ grace ]and dignity in morals, finds fault with this way ofpresenting obligation, as if it implied a Carthusian spirit; but as we areagreed in the most important principles, I cannot admit that there is anydisagreement in this, if we could only come to a mutual understanding. I admitthat I cannot associate any pleasantness with the conception of duty, just because of its dignity. For itinvolves unconditional obligation, which is directly contrary to pleasantness.The majesty of the law (like that on Sinai) inspires (not dread, which repels,nor yet a charm which invites to familiarity, but) awe, which awakes respect of the subject for his lawgiver, andin the present case the latter being within ourselves, a feeling of the sublimity of our own destiny, which attracts usmore than any beauty. But virtue, i. e. the firmly-rooteddisposition to fulfil our duty punctually, is in its results beneficent also, more than anything in the world that can bedone by nature or art; and the noble picture of humanity exhibited in this formadmits very well the accompaniments of the Graces, but aslong as duty alone is in question, they keep at a respectful distance. Ifhowever, we regard the pleasant results which virtue would spread in the worldif it found access everywhere, then morally-directed reason draws thesensibility into play (by means of the imagination).It is only after vanquishing monsters that Hercules becomes Musagetes, beforewhich labour those good sisters draw back. These companions of Venus Urania arelewd followers of Venus Dione as soon as they interfere in the business of thedetermination of duty, and want to supply the springs thereof. If it is nowasked, Of what sort is the emotional characteristic, the temperament as it were of virtue: is itspirited and cheerful, or anxiously depressed anddejected? an answer is hardly necessary. The latter slavish spirit can neverexist without a secret hatred of the law, and cheerfulnessof heart in the performance of one’s duty (not complacencyin the recognition of it) is a mark of the genuineness ofthe virtuous disposition, even in devoutness, which doesnot consist in the self-tormenting of the penitent sinner (which is veryambiguous, and commonly is only an inward reproach for having offended againstthe rules of prudence), but in the firm purpose to do better in the future,which, animated by good progress, must produce a cheerful spirit, without whichone is never certain that he has taken a liking to good,that is to say, adopted it into his maxim.

1

The ancient moral philosophers, who nearly exhausted all that can be saidabout virtue, have not omitted to consider the two questions above mentioned.The first they expressed thus: Whether virtue must be learned (so that man isby nature indifferent to it and vice)? The second was: Whether there is morethan one virtue (in other words, whether it is possible that a man should bepartly virtuous and partly vicious)? To both they replied with rigorousdecision in the negative, and justly; for they contemplated virtue in itself as an idea of the reason (as man ought to be).But if we are to form a moral judgment of this moral being, man in appearance, that is, as we learn to know him by experience,then we may answer both questions in the affirmative; for then he is estimatednot by the balance of pure reason (before a Divine tribunal), but by anempirical standard (before a human judge). We shall treat further of this inthe sequel.

1

This must not be considered as contained in the conception of the preceding,but must necessarily be regarded as a special capacity. For it does not followthat because a being has reason, this includes a faculty of determining theelective will unconditionally by the mere conception of the qualification ofits maxims to be universal laws, so as to be of itself practical: at least sofar as we can see.The most rational being in the world mightstill have need of certain springs coming to him from objects of inclination,to determine his elective will; and might apply to these the most rationalcalculation, both as regards the greatest sum of the springs and also as to themeans of attaining the object determined thereby; without every suspecting thepossibility of anything like the moral law, issuing its commands absolutely,and which announces itself as a spring, and that the highest. Were this law notgiven in us, we should not be able to find it out as such by reason or to talkthe elective will into it; and yet this law is the only one that makes usconscious of the independence of our elective will on determination by anyother springs (our freedom), and at the same time of the imputability of ouractions.

1

Propensity (“Hang”) is properly only the predisposition to the desire of an enjoyment, which whenthe subject has had experience of it produces an inclination to it. Thus all uncivilized men have a propensityto intoxicating things; for, although many of them are not acquainted withintoxication, so that they cannot have any desire for things that produce it,one need only let them once try such things to produce an almostinextinguishable desire for them. Between propensity and inclination, whichpresupposes acquaintance with the object, is instinct, which is a felt want to do or enjoy something of which one has as yet noconception (such as the mechanical instinct in animals or the sexual impulse).There is a still further step in the faculty of desire beyond inclination,namely, passions (not affections, forthese belong to the feeling of pleasure and displeasure), which areinclinations that exclude self-control.

1

[Hearne’s Journey from Prince of Wales Fort in Hudson’s Bay to the NorthernOcean in 1769-72. London: 1795.]

2

As the perpetual war between the Athapescaw and the Dog Rib Indians, whichhas no other object than slaughter. Bravery in war is the highest virtue ofsavages, in their opinion. Even in a state of civilization, it is an object ofadmiration and a ground of the peculiar respect demanded by that profession inwhich this is the only merit, and this not altogether without good reason. Forthat a man can have something that he values more than life, and which he canmake his object (namely, honour, renouncing all self-interest), proves acertain sublimity in his nature. But we see by the complacency with whichconquerors extol their achievements (massacre, unsparing butchery, c.),that it is only their own superiority and the destruction they can effectwithout any other object in which they properly take satisfaction.

3

[Compare Stewart, Active and Moral Powers, bk. I. chiii, sec. 3, who gives an optimist explanation of this saying.]

1

If we look at the history of these merely as a phenomenon of the innernature of man, which is in great part concealed from us, we may become aware ofa certain mechanical process of nature directed to ends which are not those ofthe nations but of Nature. As long as any State has another near it which itcan hope to subdue, it endeavours to aggrandize itself by the conquest,striving thus to attain universal monarchy—a constitution in which all freedomwould be extinguished, and with it virtue, taste, and sciences (which are itsconsequences).But this monster (in which all lawsgradually lose their force), after it has swallowed up its neighbours, finallydissolves of itself, and by rebellion and discord is divided into severalsmaller States, which, instead of endeavouring to form a States-union (arepublic of free united nations), begin the same game over again, each foritself, so that war (that scourge of the human race) may not be allowed tocease. War, indeed, is not so incurably bad as the deadness of a universalmonarchy (or even a union of nations to ensure that despotism shall not bediscontinued in any State), yet, as an ancient observed, it makes more bad menthan it takes away. [Compare on this subject Kant’s Essay, Zumewigen Frieden; Werke, vii. Thl., 1 Abth., p. 229; also Das mag in der Theorie, c., No. 3, ibid. p. 220.]

1

[The saying was Sir Robert Walpole’s, but was not so general as in the text.He said it (not in debate) of the members of the House of Commons, adding thathe knew the price of each].

2

The proper proof of this condemnation pronounced by the morally judgingreason is not contained in this section, but in the preceding; this containsonly the confirmation of it by experience, which, however, could never discoverthe root of the evil, in the supreme maxim of free elective will in relation tothe law, this being an intelligible act, which isantecedent to all experience. From this, that is, from the unity of the suprememaxim, the law to which it refers being one, it may also be seen why, informing a purely intellectual judgment of men, the principle of exclusion of amean between good and bad must be assumed; whereas in forming the empiricaljudgment from sensible acts (actual conduct), theprinciple may be assumed that there is a mean between these extremes: on oneside a negative mean of indifference previous to all cultivation, and on theother side a positive mean of mixture, so as to be partly good and partly bad.But the latter is only an estimation of the morality of man in appearance, andis in the final judgment subject to the former.

1

The three so-called higher Faculties would explain this inheritance each inits own way, namely, as a hereditary malady, or hereditary guilt, or hereditary sin. 1. The medical faculty would regard hereditary evil as something like thetapeworm, respecting which some naturalists are actually of opinion that, as itis not found in any element outside us nor (of the same kind) in any otheranimal, it must have been present in our first parents. 2. The legal faculty would regard it as the legitimate consequence ofentering on an inheritance left to us by them, butburdened with a heavy crime (for to be born is nothing else but to obtain theuse of the goods of earth, so far as they are indispensable to oursubsistence). We must therefore pay the debt (expiate), and shall in the end bedispossessed (by death). Right, legally! 3. The theologicalfaculty would view this evil as a personal participation of our firstparents in the revolt of a reprobate rebel, either that we(though now unconscious of it), did then co-operate in it ourselves,or that now being born under his dominion(as prince of this world), we prefer its goods to the command of the heavenlyRuler, and have not loyalty enough to tear ourselves from them, for which wemust hereafter share his lot with him.

1

As long as the moral law is not allowed the predominance in one’s maximsabove all other determining principles of the elective will, as the springsufficient of itself, all profession of respect for it is feigned, and thepropensity to this is inward falsehood, that is, a propensity to deceive one’sself to the prejudice of the moral law in interpreting it (iii. 5); on whichaccount the Bible (Christian part) calls the author of evil (residing inourselves) the liar from the beginning, and thus characterizes man in respectof what appears to be the main principle of evil in him.

1

[Rom. v. 12; Vulgate. Luther’s version is correct. Jerome also gives thecorrect interpretation, although he retains the “in quo” of the old version.Probably this was meant by the original translator as a literal rendering ofthe Greek ἐϕ’ [Editor: illegible character] “in that.”]

1

[“It is a very common supposition of moral philosophy that it is very easyto explain the existence of moral evil in man, namely, that it arises from thestrength of the sensible springs of action on the one hand, and the feeblenessof the rational spring (respect for the law) on the other, that is, from weakness. But in that case it should be still easier toexplain the moral good in man (in his moral capacity); for one cannot beconceived to be comprehensible without the other. But the faculty of reason tobecome master over all opposing springs of action by the mere idea of the lawis absolutely inexplicable; it is then equally incomprehensible how thesensible springs can become masters of a reason which commands with suchauthority. For if all the world acted according to the precept of the law, itwould be said that everything was going on in the natural order, and it wouldnot occur to anyone to inquire the cause.”— Religion, c., pp. 67, 68, note. ]

2

These remarks must not be regarded as intended to be an interpretation ofScripture—a thing that lies outside the province of mere reason. We explain themanner in which a moral use may be made of a historical statement withoutdeciding whether this was the meaning of the writer, or whether we onlyintroduce it: provided only that it is true in itself, without needing anyhistorical proof, and that it is at the same time the only way in which we canderive something for our own improvement from a passage of Scripture whichwould otherwise be only an unprofitable addition to our historical knowledge.We must not without necessity contend about the historical authority of amatter which, whether it be understood in this way or in that, does not help usto become better men, when what does help can and must be knownwithout historical proof. Historical knowledge, which has no such innerreference, that can hold good for every man, belongs to the adiaphora, withrespect to which everyone may judge as he finds most edifying for himself.

1

[In the first edition this appears simply as No. V.]

1

The tree that is good as to its capacities is not yet so in fact; for if itwere so it certainly could not bring forth bad fruit; it is only when the manhas adopted into his maxim the spring which is placed in him for the moral lawthat he is called a good man (the tree is then absolutely a good tree).

2

Words that admit of two totally different senses often retard conviction fora long time when the principles are perfectly clear. Love in general, and self-love in particular, may be dividedinto that of good will and that of complacency ( benevolentiœ etcomplacentiœ ), and both (as is evident) must be rational. It is natural toadopt the former into one’s maxim (for who would not wish that it should alwaysfare well with himself?). It is rational, inasmuch as in the first place, inrespect of the end only that is chosen which is consistent with the greatestand most lasting welfare, and in the next as the most fitting means are chosenfor each of these elements of happiness. Reason here occupies the place of aminister to natural inclination, and the maxim which is assumed on that accounthas no reference whatever to morality. If, however, it is made theunconditional principle of choice, then it is the source of an immeasurablygreat conflict with morality. Now a rational love of complacency in one’s self may either be understood thus, thatwe have complacency in the above-mentioned maxims directed to the satisfactionof natural inclinations (so far as that end is attained by following them); andthen it is the same thing as complacency towards one’s self; one is pleasedwith one’s self, as a merchant whose trading speculations succeed, and whocongratulates himself on his insight in respect of the maxims he has adopted.But the maxim of self-love, of unconditional complacency in one’s self (not depending on gain or loss as the results of the action)would be the inward principle of a satisfaction which is only possible to us oncondition of the subordination of our maxims to the moral law. No man to whommorality is not indifferent can have complacency in himself, or indeed can befree from a bitter dissatisfaction with himself, who is conscious of maximsthat do not agree with the moral law within. We might call this rational self-love, which prevents him from mixing with thesprings of his will any other causes of satisfaction drawn from theconsequences of his actions (under the name of happiness to be procuredthereby). Now as the latter indicates unconditional respect for the law, whyshould a difficulty be put in the way of the clear understanding of theprinciple, by using the expression a rational self-love, which is moral only on the condition just mentioned,whereby we are involved in a circle(for a man can love himself in a moral wayonly so far as he is conscious that his maxim is to make respect for the lawthe supreme spring of his will)? For us, as beings dependent on objects of thesensibility, happiness is by our [physical] nature thefirst and unconditional object of our desire. But (if we give the name ofnature in general to all that is innate in us, then) as beings endowed withreason and freedom, happiness is by our nature far from being the first orunconditional object of our maxims; this character belongs to worthiness of happiness, that is, the coincidence of all ourmaxims with the moral law. Herein consists the whole precept of morality, thatthis is the objective condition under which alone the wish for the former cancoincide with the legislation of reason, and the moral character consists inthe state of mind which admits only such a conditional wish.

1

That the conception of freedom of the elective will does not precede theconsciousness of the moral law in us, but is only inferred from thedeterminability of our will by this law, as an unconditional command, anyonemay readily be convincedby asking himself whether he isimmediately certain of a faculty enabling him by firmness of purpose toovercome every motive to transgression however powerful ( Phalaris licet imperet ut sis Falsus, et admoto dictet perjuriatauro ). Everyone must confess that he does not knowwhether in such a case he would not be shaken in his purpose.Nevertheless, duty commands him unconditionally; thou shalt remain true to it; and hence he justly concludes that he must also be able, andthat accordingly his will is free. Those who fullaciously represent thisinscrutable property as quite comprehensible create an illusion by the word determinism (the thesis that the elective will isdetermined by internal sufficient reasons), as if the difficulty consisted inreconciling this with freedom, which no one supposes; the difficulty is, how predeterminism, by which voluntary actions as events havetheir determining causes in preceding time (which withwhat it contains is no longer in our power), can be consistent with freedom, bywhich both the action itself and its opposite must be in the power of thesubject at the moment of its taking place; this is what men want to discern andnever will be able to discern.

There is no difficulty in reconciling the conception of freedom with the idea of God as a necessary being; for freedom does not consist in thecontingency of the action (that it is not determined by reasons at all), thatis, not in indeterminism (that it must be equally possible for God to do goodor evil, if his action is to be called free), but in absolute spontaneity,which alone is endangered by predeterminism, which places the determiningprinciple of the action in preceding time, so that theaction is now no longer in my power, but in the hands ofnature, and I am irresistibly determined; and since succession in time is notto be conceived in God, this difficulty disappears.

1

[There is appended in the original a long note (first added in the secondedition) on the relation between the preceding general remark and thecorresponding remarks appended to the other three sections of the Philosophical Theory of Religion. As these sections arenot here translated, the note has been omitted.]

1

[Rozenkranz, vol. vii., p. 295. This Essay was published in a Berlinperiodical in 1797.]

2

“J. D. Michaelis, in Göttingen, propounded the same strange opinion evenbefore Kant. That Kant is the philosopher here referred to, I have beeninformed by the ruthor of this work himself.”—K. F. CRAMER. [*]

*

I hereby admit that I have really said this in some place which I cannot nowrecollect.—I. KANT.

1

I do not wish here to press this principle so far as to say that “falsehoodis a violation of duty to one’s self.” For this principle belongs to Ethics,and here we are speaking only of a duty of justice. Ethics look in thistransgression only to the worthlessness, the reproach ofwhich the liar draws on himself.

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Fundamental Principles of the Metaphysics of Morals

PREFACE.

FIRST SECTION.: transition from the common rational knowledge of morality to the philosophical.

SECOND SECTION.: transition from popular moral philosophy to the metaphysic of morals.

The Autonomy of the Will as the Supreme Principle of Morality.

Heteronomy of the Will as the Source of all spurious Principles of Morality.

classification Of all Principles of Morality which can be founded on the Conception of Heteronomy.

THIRD SECTION.: transition from the metaphysic of morals to the critique of pure practical reason.

The Concept of Freedom is the Key that explains the Autonomy of the Will.

freedom Must be presupposed as a Property of the Will of all Rational Beings.

Of the Interest attaching to the Ideas of Morality.

How is a Categorical Imperative Possible?

On the Extreme Limits of all Practical Philosophy.

Concluding Remark.

CRITICAL EXAMINATION of PRACTICAL REASON.

PREFACE.

INTRODUCTION.: OF THE IDEA OF A CRITIQUE OF PRACTICAL REASON.

PART FIRST.: ELEMENTS OF PURE PRACTICAL REASON.

BOOK I.: THE ANALYTIC OF PURE PRACTICAL REASON.

BOOK II.: DIALECTIC OF PURE PRACTICAL REASON.

PART SECOND.: METHODOLOGY OF PURE PRACTICAL REASON.

METHODOLOGY of PURE PRACTICAL REASON.

INTRODUCTION to THE METAPHYSIC OF MORALS; and PREFACE to the METAPHYSICAL ELEMENTS OF ETHICS.

INTRODUCTION to THE METAPHYSIC OF MORALS.

I.: of the relation of the faculties of the human mind to the moral laws.

II.: of the conception and the necessity of a metaphysic of ethics.

III.: of the subdivision of a metaphysic of morals. 1

IV.: preliminary notions belonging to the metaphysic of morals. (Philosophia practica universalis.)

PREFACE to the METAPHYSICAL ELEMENTS OF ETHICS.

Introduction to Ethics.

I.: —Exposition of the Conception of Ethics.

II.: —Exposition of the Notion of an End which is also a Duty.

III.: —Of the Reason for conceiving an End which is also a Duty.

IV.: —What are the Ends which are also Duties?

V.: —Explanation of these two Notions.

VI.: —Ethics does not supply Laws for Actions (which is done by Jurisprudence), but only for the Maxims of Action.

VII.: —Ethical Duties are of indeterminate, Juridical Duties of strict, Obligation.

VIII.: —Exposition of the Duties of Virtue as Indeterminate Duties.

IX.: —What is a Duty of Virtue?

X.: —The Supreme Principle of Jurisprudence was Analytical; that of Ethics is Synthetical.

XI.: —According to the preceding Principles, the Scheme of Duties of Virtue may be thus exhibited.

XII.: —Preliminary Notions of the Susceptibility of the Mind for Notions of Duty generally.

XIII.: —General Principles of the Metaphysic of Morals in the treatment of Pure Ethics.

XIV.: —Of Virtue in General.

XV.: —Of the Principle on which Ethics is separated from Jurisprudence.

XVI.: —Virtue requires, first of all, Command over One’s Self.

XVII.: —Virtue necessarily presupposes Apathy (considered as Strength).

FIRST PART of THE PHILOSOPHICAL THEORY OF RELIGION.

OF THE INDWELLING of the BAD PRINCIPLE ALONG WITH THE GOOD; or, ON THE RADICAL EVIL IN HUMAN NATURE.

remark.

I.: of the original incapacity for good in human nature.

II.: of the propensity to evil in human nature.

III.: man is by nature bad.

IV.: on the origin of the evil in human nature.

APPENDIX.

I.: —ON A SUPPOSED RIGHT TO TELL LIES FROM BENEVOLENT MOTIVES. 1

II.: —ON THE SAYING “NECESSITY HAS NO LAW”.