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 the question is about preserving the State from disaster by betraying a person who stands towards another in a relation such as, for example, that of father and son. To save the State from harm is an unconditional duty; to save an individual is only a conditional duty, namely, provided he has not been guilty of a crime against the State. The information given to the authorities may be given with the greatest reluctance, but it is given under pressure, namely, moral necessity. But if a shipwrecked man thrusts another from his plank in order 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 done without crime), but it is an unconditional duty not to take the life of another who 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 in admitting this right of necessity. For the sovereign power could not connect any punishment with the prohibition; for this punishment would necessarily be death, but it would be an absurd law that would threaten death 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 quotes them from Hecato, a disciple of Panætius.—De Off. iii. 23.]

Printed by Ponsonby and Weldrick, Dublin.

I. e. “Religion, so far as it lies within the limits of Reason alone”; not “pure Reason,” as some German, and perhaps all English, writers on the history of philosophy have it. Kant himself, 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 are frequent, us my foot-notes show.

So marked in Kan’s first edition.

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

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

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

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

Phys. Geogr., p. 449.

Wright’s work was entitled, An Original Theory; or, a New Hypothesis of the Universe founded on the Laws of Nature. By Thomas Wright, of Durham. London, 1750. It is singular that the speculations of this ingenious and original writer have been saved from oblivion in his own country by 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’s attention was drawn to it by Arago’s notice in the Annuaire for 1842; and Arago, who had not seen the book, only knew it through Kant’s reference. There is an account of Wright in the Gentleman’s Magazine, p. 1793, vol. 63.

This suggestion of Kant’s anticipated Lambert’s similar suggestion by six years.

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

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

Quoted by Kant from a German translation.

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

In 1763 he repeated the substance of it in the treatise, Der einsig mogliche Beweisgrund zu einer Demonstration des Daseyns Gottes. He there mentions that the former work was comparatively little known, as it had been published anonymously. In 1791 he caused an extract from it (containing what he thought worth preserving) to be appended to Sommer’s translation of Herschel: “On the Structure of the Heavens.”

This conjecture also has been confirmed.

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

Kant himself says that, as far as he knew, no previous writer had stated this 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 paper attracted no attention; and D’Alembert, in his Reflections on the Causes of the Winds (1747), which obtained the prize offered by the Berlin Academy, rejects the heat of the sun as a cause, and makes all the phenomena depend on the attraction of the sun and moon. In the French Encyclopédie (1765, nine years after Kant’s Paper, thirty after Hadley’s), this is combined with Halley’s theory, and it is suggested further that the monsoons may be due to the melting of snow, the exhalations from mountains, &c.

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

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

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

Before reading this work of Kant’s, I had made a remark to the same effect in Sight and Touch, p. 76, with reference to the statement of Hamilton and others, that Sight is a modification of Touch. “Contact is usually understood to mean the approach of two bodies, so that no space intervenes between them; but in this sense there is probably no such thing as contact in nature. Physically speaking, bodies in contact are only at such a distance that there is a sensible resistance to nearer approach. Sensation by contact then is sensation by resistance; to say then that sight is a modification of touch, is to say that the antecedent of vision is the exercise or 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 normal condition.”

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

Luther’s translation.

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

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

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

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

Some of his critical biographers thought he ate too much, forgetting that this was his only meal in the twenty-four hours. “It is believed,” says De Quincey, “that his critics ate their way ‘from morn to dewy eve,’ through the following 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 a man who means to lecture on abstinence at night.”

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

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

Sidgwick, Method of Ethics, page 181; 3rd ed., page 207. In his third edition, Mr. Sidgwick appeals, in defence of his view, to Kant’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 each of 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 an argument by the rules of syllogism.

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

Sidgwick, Method of Ethics, page 450; 3rd ed., page 482. Mr. Sidgwick’s argument involves the assumption, that the sum of human happiness is certainly known to exceed that of human misery. Even on his own statement, a man who doubted or disbelieved this would be justified in adopting celibacy. Nay, in the latter case, he might regard it as a duty.

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

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

Religion, p. 80.

This has been recognised by philosophers of all periods who have not begun with 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 own immediate consciousness of effort which we exert to put matter in motion, or to oppose and neutralize force, which gives us this internal conviction of power and causation, so far as it refers to the material world, and compels us to believe that whenever we see material objects put in motion . . . it is in consequence of such an effort, somehow exerted, though not accompanied with our consciousness.” (Astronomy, 10th ed., sec. 439.) Dubois Reymond makes a similar statement, deriving the principle from “an irresistible tendency to personify.” It is somewhat singular that the philosophers who most strenuously deny that the principle of causality has any basis other than our observation of the phenomena of passive matter yet insist most strongly on extending it to those of active will.

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

[Johann Christian Von Wolf (1679-1728) was the author of treatises on philosophy, mathematics, &c., which were for a long time the standard text-books in the German Universities. His philosophy was founded on that of Leibnitz.]

[The first proposition was that to have moral worth an action must be done from duty.]

A maxim is the subjective principle of volition. The objective principle (i.e. that which would also serve subjectively as a practical principle to all rational beings if reason had full power over the faculty of desire) is the practical law.

It might be here objected to me that I take refuge behind the word respect in an obscure feeling, instead of giving a distinct solution of the question by a concept of the reason. But although respect is a feeling, it is not a feeling received through influence, but is self-wrought by a rational concept, and, therefore, is specifically distinct from all feelings of the former kind, which may be referred either to inclination or fear. What I recognise immediately as a law for me, I recognise with respect. This merely signifies the consciousness that my will is subordinate to a law, without the intervention of other influences on my sense. The immediate determination of the 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 the conception of a worth which thwarts my self-love. Accordingly it is something which is considered neither as an object of 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 yet recognise as necessary in itself. As a law, we are subjected to it without consulting self-love; as imposed by us on ourselves, it is a result of our will. In the former aspect it has an analogy to fear, in the latter to inclination. Respect for a person is properly only respect for the law (of honesty, &c.), of which he gives us an example. Since we also look on the improvement of our talents as a duty, we consider that we see in a person of talents, as it were, the example of a law (viz. to become like him in this by exercise), and this constitutes our respect. All so-called moral interest consists simply in respect for the law.

[Compare the note to the Preface to the Critique of the Practical Reason, p. 111. A specimen of Kant’s proposed application of the Socratic method may be found in Mr. Semple’s translation of the Metaphysic of Ethics, p. 290.]

Just as pure mathematics are distinguished from applied, pure logic from applied, so if we choose we may also distinguish pure philosophy of morals (metaphysic) from applied (viz. applied to human nature). By this designation we are also at once reminded that moral principles are not based on properties of human nature, but must subsist à priori of themselves, while from such principles practical rules must be capable of being deduced for every rational nature, and accordingly for that of man.

I have a letter from the late excellent Sulzer, in which he asks me what can be the reason that moral instruction, although containing much that is convincing for the reason, yet accomplishes so little? My answer was postponed in order that I might make it complete. But it is simply this, that the teachers themselves have not got their own notions clear, and when they endeavour to make up for this by raking up motives of moral goodness from every quarter, trying to make their physic right strong, they spoil it. For the commonest understanding shows that if we imagine, on the one hand, an act of honesty done with steadfast mind, apart from every view to advantage of any kind in this world or another, and even under the greatest temptations of necessity or allurement, and, on the other hand, a similar act which was affected, in however low a degree, by a foreign motive, the former leaves far behind and eclipses the second; it elevates the soul, and inspires the wish to be able to act in like manner oneself. Even moderately young children feel this impression, and one should never represent duties to them in any other light.

The dependence of the desires on sensations is called inclination, and this accordingly always indicates a want. The dependence of a contingently determinable will on principles of reason is called an interest. This therefore is found only in the case of a dependent will, which does not always of itself conform to reason; in the Divine 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 former indicates 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 the inclination may be satisfied. In the first case the action interests me; in the second the object of the action (because it is pleasant to me). We have seen in the first section that in an action done from duty we must look not to the interest in the object, but only to that in the action itself, and in its rational principle (viz. the law).

The word prudence is taken in two senses: in the one it may bear the name of knowledge of the world, in the other that of private prudence. The former is a man’s ability to influence others so as to use them for his own purposes. The latter is the sagacity to combine all these purposes for his own lasting benefit. This latter is properly that to which the value even of the former is reduced, 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.]

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 states as necessary enactments, but from precaution for the general welfare. A history is composed pragmatically when it teaches prudence, i. e. instructs the world how it can provide for its interests better, or at least as well, as the men of former time.

I connect the act with the will without presupposing any condition resulting from any inclination, but à priori, and therefore necessarily (though only objectively, i. e. assuming the idea of a reason possessing full power over all subjective motives). This is accordingly a practical proposition which does not deduce the willing of an action by mere analysis from another already presupposed (for we have not such a perfect will), but connects it immediately with the conception of the will of a rational being, as something not contained in it.

A maxim is a subjective principle of action, and must be distinguished from the objective principle, namely, practical law. The former contains the practical rule set by reason according to the conditions of the subject (often its ignorance or its inclinations), so that it is the principle on which the subject acts; but the law is the objective principle valid for every rational being, and is the principle on which it ought to act that is an imperative.

[I have no doubt that “den” in the original before “Imperativ” is a misprint for “der,” and have translated accordingly. Mr. Semple has done the same. The editions that I have seen agree in reading “den,” and M. Barni so translates. With this reading, it is the conformity that presents the imperative as necessary.]

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 an arbitrary one (in order to arrange my examples). For the rest, I understand by a perfect duty one that admits no exception in favour of inclination, and then I have not merely external, but also internal perfect duties. This is contrary to the use of the word adopted in the schools; but I do not intend to justify it 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 be enforced by external law; imperfect, those which cannot be enforced. They are also called respectively determinate and indeterminate, officia juris and officia virtutis.]

[On suicide cf. further Metaphysik der Sitten, p. 274.]

[Kant distinguishes “Hang (propensio)” from “Neigung (inclinatio)” as follows:—“Hang” is a predisposition to the desire of some enjoyment; in other words, it is the subjective possibility of 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.]

To behold virtue in her proper form is nothing else but to contemplate morality stripped of all admixture of sensible things and of every spurious ornament of reward or self-love. How much she then eclipses everything else that appears charming to the affections, every one may readily perceive with the least exertion of his reason, if it be not wholly spoiled for abstraction.

This proposition is here stated as a postulate. The grounds of it will be found in the concluding section.

Let it not be thought that the common: quod tibi non vis fieri, &c., could serve here as the rule or principle. For it is only a deduction from the former, though with several limitations; it cannot be a universal law, for it does not contain the principle of duties to oneself, nor of the duties of benevolence to others (for many a one would gladly consent that others should not benefit him, provided only that he might be excused from showing benevolence to them), nor finally that of duties of strict obligation to one another, for on this principle the criminal might argue against the judge who punishes him, and so on.

I may be excused from adducing examples to elucidate this principle, as those which have already been used to elucidate the categorical imperative and its formula would all serve for the like purpose here.

[Cp. Critical Examination of Practical Reason, p. 184.]

[The reading “Maxime,” which is that both of Rosenkranz and Hartenstein, is obviously an error for “Materie.”]

Teleology considers nature as a kingdom of ends; Ethics regards a possible kingdom of ends as a kingdom of nature. In the first case, the kingdom of ends is a theoretical idea, adopted to explain what actually is. In the latter it is a practical idea, adopted to bring about that which is not yet, but which can be realised by our conduct, namely, if it conforms to this idea.

[I read allgemeines instead of allgemeinem.]

I class the principle of moral feeling under that of happiness, because every empirical interest promises to contribute to our well-being by the agreeableness that a thing affords, whether it be immediately and without a view to profit, or whether profit be regarded. We must likewise, with Hutcheson, class the principle of sympathy with the happiness of others under his assumed moral sense.

[Gesetzt.—There is in the original a play on the etymology of Gesetz, which does not admit of reproduction in English. It must be confessed that without it the statement is not self-evident.

I adopt this method of assuming freedom merely as an idea which rational beings suppose in their actions, in order to avoid the necessity of proving it in its theoretical aspect also. The former is sufficient for my purpose; for even though the speculative proof should not be made out, yet a being that cannot act except with the idea of freedom is bound by the same laws that would oblige a being who was actually free. Thus we can escape here from the onus which presses on the theory. [Compare Butler’s treatment of the question of liberty in his Analogy, part I., ch. vi.]

[“Interest” means a spring of the will, in so far as this spring is presented by Reason. See note, p. 80.]

[The common understanding being here spoken of, I use the word “idea” in its popular sense.]

[The verb is wanting in the original.]

[The punctuation of the original gives the following sense: “Submits his causality, as regards its external determination, to laws of nature.” I have ventured to make what appears to be a necessary correction, by simply removing a comma.]

[M. Barni translates as if he read desselben instead of derselben, “the causality of this will.” So also Mr. Semple.]

Interest is that by which reason becomes practical, i.e., a cause determining the will. Hence we say of rational beings only that they take an interest in a thing; irrational beings only feel sensual appetites. Reason takes a direct interest in action then only when the universal 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 means of another object of desire or on the suggestion of a particular feeling of the subject, then Reason takes only an indirect interest in the action, and as Reason by itself without experience cannot discover either objects of the will or a special feeling actuating it, this latter interest would only be empirical, and not a pure rational interest. The logical interest of Reason (namely, to extend its insight) is never direct, but presupposes purposes for which reason is employed.

[Reading ‘einer’ for ‘seiner.’]

Lest any one should imagine that he finds an inconsistency here when I call freedom the condition of the moral law, and hereafter maintain in the treatise itself that the moral law is the condition under which we can first become conscious of freedom, I will merely remark that freedom is the ratio essendi of the moral law, while the moral law is the ratio cognoscendi of freedom. For had not the moral law been previously distinctly thought in our reason, we should never consider ourselves justified in assuming such a thing as freedom, although it be not contradictory. But were there no freedom it would be impossible to trace the moral law in ourselves at all.

The union of causality as freedom with causality as rational mechanism, the former established by the moral law, the latter by the law of nature in the same subject, namely, man, is impossible, unless we conceive him with reference to the former as a being in himself, and with reference to the latter as a phenomenon—the former in pure consciousness, the latter in empirical consciousness. Otherwise reason inevitably contradicts itself.

A reviewer who wanted to find some fault with this work has hit the truth better, perhaps, than he thought, when he says that no new principle of morality is set forth in it, but only a new formula. But who would think of introducing a new principle of all morality, and making himself as it were the first discoverer of it, just as if all the world before him were ignorant what duty was or had been in thorough-going error? But whoever knows of what importance to a mathematician a formula is, which defines accurately what is to be done to work a problem, will not think that a formula is insignificant and useless which does the same for all duty in general.

[Probably Professor Garve. See Kant’s ‘Das mag in Der Theorie richtig seyn, etc.’ Werke, vol. vii. p. 182.]

It might also have been objected to me that I have not first defined the notion 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 determination of the faculty of desire on the feeling of pleasure (as is commonly done), and thus the supreme principle of practical philosophy would be necessarily made empirical, which, however, remains to be proved, and in this critique is altogether refuted. I will, therefore, give this definition here in such a manner as it ought to be given, in order to leave this contested point open at the beginning, as it should be. Life is the faculty 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 the actual existence of the objects of these ideas. Pleasure is the idea of the agreement of the object, or the action with the subjective conditions of life, i.e. with the faculty of causality of an idea in respect of the actuality of its object (or with the determination of the forces of the subject to the action which produces it) . I have no further need for the purposes of this critique of notions borrowed from psychology; the critique itself supplies the rest. It is easily seen that the question, whether the faculty of desire is always based on pleasure, or whether under certain conditions pleasure only follows the determination of desire, is by this definition left undecided, for it is composed only of terms belonging to the pure understanding, i.e. of categories which contain nothing empirical. Such precaution is very desirable in all philosophy, and yet is often neglected; namely, not to prejudge questions by adventuring definitions before the notion has been completely analysed, which is often very late. It may be observed through the whole course of the critical philosophy (of the theoretical as well as the practical reason) that frequent opportunity offers of supplying defects in the old dogmatic method of philosophy, and of correcting errors which are not observed until we make such rational use of these notions viewing them as a whole.

I am more afraid in the present treatise of occasional misconception in respect of some expressions which I have chosen with the greatest care , in order that the notion to which they point 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 the next category, Duty and Contrary to Duty. Here, however, the former means what coincides with, 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 not quite foreign even to common language, although somewhat unusual. For example, it is forbidden to an orator, as such, to forge new words or constructions; in a certain degree this is permitted to a poet; in neither case is there any question of duty. For if anyone chooses to forfeit his reputation as an orator, no one can prevent him. We have here only to do with the distinction of imperatives into problematical, assertorial, and apodictic. Similarly in the note in which I have compared the moral ideas of practical perfection in different philosophical schools, I have distinguished the idea of wisdom from that of holiness, although I have stated that essentially and objectively they are the same. But in that place I understand by the former only 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 Stoic made great show, would better mark the characteristic of his school.) The expression of a postulate of pure practical reason might give most occasion to misapprehension in case the reader confounded it with the signification of the postulates in pure mathematics, which carry apodictic certainty with them. These, however, postulate the possibility of an action, the object of which has been previously recognised à priori in theory as possible, and that with perfect certainty. But the former postulates the possibility of an object itself (God and the immortality of the soul) from apodictic practical laws, and therefore only for the purposes of a practical reason. This certainty of the postulated possibility then is not at all theoretic, and consequently not apodictic, that is to say, it is not a known necessity as regards the object, but a necessary supposition as regards the subject, necessary for the obedience to its objective but practical laws. It is, therefore, merely a necessary hypothesis. I could find no better expression for this rational necessity, which is subjective, but yet true and unconditional.

Names that designate the followers of a sect have always been accompanied with much injustice; just as if one said, N is an Idealist. For although he not only admits, but even insists, that our ideas of external things have actual objects of external things corresponding to them, yet he holds that the form of the intuition does not depend on them but on the human mind. [N is clearly Kant himself.]

[The original has “pure,” an obvious error.]

[Literally, “to have a firm seat in any saddle.” It may be noted that Kant’s father was a saddler.].

[Not in the original text.]

Propositions which in mathematics or physics are called practical ought properly to be called technical. For they have nothing to do with the determination of the will; they only point out how a certain effect is to be produced, and are therefore just as theoretical as any propositions which express the connexion of a cause with an effect. Now whoever chooses the effect must also choose the cause.

[The original sentence is defective; Hartenstein supplies ‘enthält.’]

[Reading “empfindet” instead of “empfiehlt.”]

[The original text is, I think, corrupt.]

[The original text has “practical,” obviously an error.]

[By “immanent” Kant means what is strictly confined within the limits of experience; by “transcendent” what pretends to overpass these bounds. Cf. Kritik der reinen Vernunft, ed. Rosenkr., p. 240. Meiklejohn’s transl., p. 210.]

[Is a “Verstandeswesen.”]

[The original has “practical;” clearly an error.]

[The verb, indispensable to the sense, is absent from the original text.]

[Or “immediately,” i. e. without reference to any ulterior result.]

[The original has “objects” [objecte], which makes no sense. I have therefore ventured to correct it.]

Besides this, the expression sub ratione boni is also ambiguous. For it may mean: We represent something to ourselves as good, when and because we desire (will) it; or, we desire something because we represent it to ourselves as good, so that either the desire determines the notion of the object as a good, or the notion of good determines the desire (the will); so that in the first case sub ratione boni would mean we will something under the idea of the good; in the second, in consequence of this idea, which, as determining the volition, must precede it.

[The English language marks the distinction in question, though not perfectly. “Evil” is not absolutely restricted to moral evil; we speak also of physical evils, but certainly when not so qualified it applies usually (as an adjective, perhaps exclusively) to moral evil. “Bad” is more general, but when used with a word connoting moral qualities, it expresses moral evil; for example, a “bad man,” a “bad scholar.” These words are etymologically the same as the German “übel” and “böse” respectively. “Good” is ambiguous, being opposed to “bad,” as well as to “evil,” but the corresponding German word is equally ambiguous.]

[Rosenkranz’ text has “law”—certainly an error (“Gesetz” for “Gefühl”); Hartenstein corrects it.]

[For the meaning of this expression, see the Critique of Pure Reason, trans. by Meiklejohn, p. 82.]

[Adopting Hartenstein’s conjecture “gemeinste,” for “reinste,” “purest.”]

[Read “weil” with Hartenstein, not “womit.”]

We may say of every action that conforms to the law, but is not done for the sake of the law, that it is morally good in the letter, not in the spirit (the intention).

[“Jener,” in Rosenkranz’s text is an error. We must read either “jene,” “this respect,” or “jenes,” “this feeling.” Hartenstein adopts “jenes.”]

[The original sentence is incomplete. I have completed it in what seems the simplest way.]

If we examine accurately the notion of respect for persons as it has been already laid down, we shall perceive that it always rests on the consciousness of a duty which an example shows us, and that respect therefore can never have any but a moral ground, and that it is very good and even, in a psychological point of view, very useful for the knowledge of mankind, that whenever we use this expression we should attend to this secret and marvellous, yet often recurring, regard which men in their judgment pay to the moral law.

This law is in striking contrast with the principle of private happiness which some make the supreme principle of morality. This would be expressed thus: Love thyself above everything, and God and thy neighbour for thine own sake.

[Compare Butler:—“Though we should suppose it impossible for particular affections to be absolutely coincident with the moral principle, and consequently should allow that such creatures . . . would for ever remain defectible; yet their danger of actually deviating from right may be almost infinitely lessened, and they fully fortified against what remains of it—if that may be called danger against which there is an adequate effectual security.”—Analogy, Fitzgerald’s Ed., p. 100.]

[What renders this discussion not irrelevant is the fact that the German language, like the English, possesses but oneword to express ϕιλεɩ̂ν, ἀγαπα̂ν, and ἐρα̂ν. The first, ϕιλεɩ̂ν, expresses the love of affection. The general good-will due from man to man had no name in classical Greek; it is described in one aspect of it by Aristotle as ϕιλία ἄνεν πἀτους καὶ τονˆ στέργειν (Eth. Nic. iv. 6, 5); elsewhere, however, he calls it simply ϕιλία (viii. 11, 7). The verb ἀγαπάω was used by the LXX in the precept quoted in the text, though elsewhere they employed it as = ἐρα̂ν. But in the New Test. the verb, and with it the noun ἀγάπη (which is not found in classical writers), were appropriated to this state of mind. Aristotle, it may be observed, uses ἀγαπάω, of love to one’s own better part (ix. 8, 6). Ἐρα̂ν does not occur in the New Test. at all. Butler’s Sermons on Love of our Neighbour, and Love of God, may be usefully compared with these observations of Kant.]

[Read “denen” not “dem.”]

[See note on Conscience.]

[Reading “aufzugeben.”]

[Vaucanson constructed an automaton flute-player, which imitated accurately the movements and the effects of a genuine performer, and subsequently a mechanical duck which swam, dived, quacked, took barley from the hand, ate, drank, digested, dressed its wings, etc., quite naturally. This was exhibited in 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.]

[Moses Mendelssohn, a distinguished philosopher, grandfather of the musical composer. He is said to have been the prototype of Lessing’s Nathan der Weise.]

[The original is somewhat ambiguous; it has been suggested, that ‘the former’ refers to the Understanding (‘Verstand’ in ‘Verstandesbegriff’). I am satisfied that it refers to ‘Vernunftbegriff,’ for it is not the Understanding, but the Reason that seeks the unconditioned. Compare Kritik der R. V., p. 262 (326). ‘The transcendental concept of the reason always aims at absolute totality in the synthesis of the conditions, and never rests except in the absolutely unconditioned.’ (Meiklejohn, p. 228.)]

[Rosenkranz erroneously reads ‘unbedingt’ ‘unconditioned’; and ‘musste’ for ‘müsste.’]

[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 the meaning intended.]

[See Preface, p. 115, note.]

It seems, nevertheless, impossible for a creature to have the conviction of his unwavering firmness of mind in the progress towards goodness. On this account the Christian religion makes it come only from the same Spirit that works sanctification, that is, this firm purpose, and with it the consciousness of steadfastness in the moral progress. But naturally one who is conscious that he has persevered through a long portion of his life up to the end in the progress to the better, and this from genuine moral motives, may well have the comforting hope, though not the certainty, that even in an existence prolonged beyond this life he will continue steadfast in these principles; and although he is never justified here in his own eyes, nor can ever hope to be so in the increased perfection of his nature, to which he looks forward, together with an increase of duties, nevertheless in this progress which, though it is directed to a goal infinitely remote, yet is in God’s sight regarded as equivalent to possession, he may have a prospect of a blessed future; for this is the 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 contained only in an endless progress and its totality, and consequently is never fully attained by a creature.

[The ὐπομονή of the N. T.]

[The original has “a Supreme Nature.” “Natur,” however, almost invariably means “physical nature”; therefore Hartenstein supplies the words “cause of” before “nature.” More probably “Natur” is a slip for “Ursache,” “cause.”]

It is commonly held that the Christian precept of morality has no advantage in respect of purity over the moral conceptions of the Stoics; the distinction between them is, however, very obvious. The Stoic system made the consciousness of strength of mind the pivot on which all moral dispositions should turn; and although its disciples spoke of duties and even defined them very well, yet they placed the spring and proper determining principle of the will in an elevation of the mind above the lower springs of the senses, which owe their power only to weakness of mind. With them, therefore, virtue was a sort of heroism in the wise man who, raising himself above the animal nature of man, is sufficient for himself, and while he prescribes duties to others is himself raised above them, and is not subject to any temptation to transgress the moral law. All this, however, they could not have done if they had conceived this law in all its purity and strictness, as the precept of the Gospel does. When I give the name idea to a perfection to which nothing adequate can be given in experience, it does not follow that the moral ideas are something transcendent, that is something of which we could not even determine the concept adequately, or of which it is uncertain whether there is any object corresponding to it at all , as is the case with the ideas of speculative reason; on the contrary, being types of practical perfection, they serve as the indispensable rule of conduct and likewise as the standard of comparison. Now if I consider Christian morals on their philosophical side, then compared with the ideas of the Greek schools they would appear as follows: the ideas of the Cynics, the Epicureans the Stoics, and the Christians, are: simplicity of nature, prudence, wisdom, and holiness. In respect of the way of attaining them, the Greek schools were distinguished from one another thus, that the Cynics only required common sense, the others the path of science, but both found the mere use of natural powers sufficient for the purpose. Christian morality, because its precept is framed (as a moral precept must be) so pure and unyielding, takes from man all confidence that he can be fully adequate to it, at least in this life, but again sets it up by enabling us to hope that if we act as well as it is in our power to do, then what is not in our power will come in to our aid from another source, whether we know how this may be or not. Aristotle and Plato differed only as to the origin of our moral conceptions. [See Preface, p. 115, note.]

[The word ‘sanction’ is here used in the technical German sense, which is familiar to students of history in connexion with the ‘Pragmatic Sanction.’]

In order to make these characteristics of these conceptions clear, I add the remark that whilst we ascribe to God various attributes, the quality of which we also find applicable to creatures, only that in Him they are raised to the highest 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 without the addition of greatness, and which are all moral. He is the only holy, the only blessed, the only wise, because these conceptions already imply the absence of limitation. In the order of these attributes He is also the holy lawgiver (and creator), the good governor (and preserver) and the just judge, three attributes which include everything by which God is the object of religion, and in conformity with which the metaphysical perfections are added of themselves in the reason.

[That the ambiguity of the word subject may not mislead the reader, it may be remarked that it is here used in the psychological sense: subjectum legis, not subjectus legi.]

[Absent from the original text.]

[This remarks, as well as the following note, applies to the etymological form of the German word, which is God-learned.] Learning is properly only the whole content of the historical sciences. Consequently it is only the teacher of revealed theology that can be called a learned theologian [God-learned]. If, however, we choose to call a man learned who is in possession of the rational sciences (mathematics and philosophy), although even this would be contrary to the signification of the word (which always counts as learning only that which one must be ‘learned’ [taught], and which, therefore, he cannot discover of himself by reason), even in that case the philosopher would make too poor a figure with his knowledge of God as a positive science to let himself be called on that account a learned man.

But even here we should not be able to allege a requirement of reason, if we had not before our eyes a problematical, but yet inevitable, conception of reason, namely, that of an absolutely necessary being. This conception now seeks to be defined, and this, in addition to the tendency to extend itself, is the objective ground of a requirement of speculative reason, namely, to have a more precise definition of the conception of a necessary being which is to serve as the first cause of other beings, so as to make these latter knowable by some means. Without such antecedent necessary problems 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.’

In the Deutsches Museum, February, 1787, there is a dissertation by a very subtle and clear-headed man, the late Wizenmann, whose early death is to be lamented, in which he disputes 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 of his own brain, would fain conclude that such an object really exists somewhere . I quite agree with him in this, in all cases where the want is founded on inclination, which cannot necessarily postulate the existence of its object even for the man that is affected by it, much less can it contain a demand valid for everyone, and therefore it is merely a subjective ground of the wish. But in the present case we have a want of reason springing from an objective determining principle of the will, namely, the moral law, which necessarily binds every rational being, and therefore justifies him in assuming à priori in nature the conditions proper for it, and makes the latter inseparable from the complete practical use of reason. It is a duty to realize the summum bonum to the utmost of our power, therefore it must be possible, consequently it is unavoidable for every rational being in the world to assume what is necessary for its objective possibility. The assumption is as necessary as the moral law, in connexion with which alone it is valid.

[Read ‘wie’ for ‘die.’]

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 so much on the elevation of soul, which is very fleeting and transitory, as on the subjection of the heart to duty, from which a more enduring impression may be expected, because this implies principle (whereas the former only implies ebullitions). One need only reflect a little and he will always find a debt that he has by some means incurred towards the human race (even if it were only this, that by the inequality of men in the civil constitution he enjoys advantages on account of which others must be the more in want), which will prevent the thought of duty from being repressed by the self-complacent imagination of merit.

[Weisheitslehre, vernacular German for Philosophy. See p. 203.]

[To this definition it has been objected, that “it comes to nothing as soon as we abstract from external conditions of the result of the desire. Yet even to the Idealist the appetitive faculty is something, although to him the external world is nothing.” Answer: Is there not such a thing 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 on outward things, but within the subject himself (making him ill)? A desire being an effort (nisus) to be, by means of one’s ideas, a cause, still, even though the subject perceives the inadequacy of these to produce the desired effect, is always a causality at least within the subject. What causes the mistake here is this: that since the consciousness of our power generally (in the given case) is at the same time a consciousness of our powerlessness in respect to the outer world, the definition is not applicable to the Idealist, although as here we are speaking only of the relation of a cause (the idea) to the effect (feeling), the causality of the idea 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.]

We might define sensibility as the subjective element in our ideas; for it is the understanding that first refers the ideas to an object; i. e. it alone thinks somewhat by means thereof. Now the subjective element of our idea may be of such a kind that it can 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 case intuition, in the latter sensation). In this case sensibility, which is the susceptibility to the idea in question, is Sense. Or again, the subjective element of the idea may be such that it cannot become a piece of knowledge, inasmuch as it contains merely the relation of this idea to the subject, and nothing that is useful for the knowledge of the object; and in this case this susceptibility to the idea is called Feeling, which contains the effect of the idea (whether sensible or intellectual) on the subject, and this belongs to the sensibility, even though the idea itself may belong to the understanding or the reason.

[This important distinction is here explicitly made for the first time. In the earlier treatises, the word “Wille” covers both significations. In writing the “Kritik,” Kant saw that much confusion of thought was traceable to the use of the same word for two very different things, and in that treatise he sometimes uses “Willkühr.” His use of the term is, of course, his own. In the last 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 signification of Kant’s “Willkühr,” I have adopted the compound term “elective will,” reserving “rational will” for “Wille.” Although the distinction has not been fixed in appropriate terms, it has been felt and more or less obscurely indicated by many moralists. Indeed it is implied in S. Paul’s Epistle to the Romans, ch. vii., where, for instance, in v. 15, the subject of θέλω is I as “Wille,” while that of ποιωˆ is I as “Willkühr.” Compare the words of Kant on the corrupt heart coexisting with the good “Wille,” p. 352.]

[“When Philosophy, as containing principles of the rational knowledge of things through concepts (not merely as Logic does, principles of the form of thought in general without distinction of its objects), is divided into theoretical and practical, this is quite right; but, then, the concepts which assign to the principles of this rational knowledge their object must be specifically distinct, otherwise they would not justify a division which always presupposes a contrast of the principles of the rational knowledge belonging to the different parts of a science.

Now there are only two kinds of concepts, and these admit as many distinct principles of possibility of their object, namely, physical concepts 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 concept a negative principle (that of mere contrast); while on the other hand it establishes principles for the determination of the will, which, therefore, are called practical; hence philosophy is rightly divided into two parts, with quite distinct principles—the theoretical, which is natural philosophy, and the practical, which is moral philosophy (for so we name the practical legislation of reason according to the concept of freedom). Hitherto, however, there has prevailed a gross misuse of these expressions in the division of the different principles, and consequently also of philosophy; inasmuch as what is practical according to physical concepts has been assumed to be of the same kind as what is practical according to the concept of freedom; and thus with the same denominations of ‘theoretical’ and ‘practical’ philosophy, a division is made by which nothing is really divided (since both parts might have principles of the same kind).”—Kritik der Urtheilskraft, Einl, p. 8.]

The deduction of the division of a system: that is, the proof of its completeness as well as of its continuity, namely, that the transition from the notion divided to each member of the division in the whole series of subdivisions does not take place per saltum, is one of the most difficult tasks of the constructor of a system. It is even difficult to say what is the ultimate notion of which right and wrong (fas aut nefas) are divisions. It is the act of free choice in general. So teachers of ontology begin with the notions of something and nothing, without being aware that these are already members of a division of a higher notion which is not given, but which, in fact, can only be the notion of an object in general.

[The original has ‘natural.’ The emendation, which is clearly necessary, was suggested to me by Mr. Philip Sandford.]

One who is acquainted with practical philosophy is not, therefore, a practical philosopher. The latter is he who makes the rational end the principle of his actions, while at the same time he joins with this the necessary knowledge which, as it aims at action, must not be spun out into the most subtle threads of metaphysic, unless a legal duty is in question; in which case meum and tuum must be accurately determined in the balance of justice , on the principle of equality of action and reaction, which requires something like mathematical proportion, but not in the case of a mere ethical duty. For in this case the question is not only to know what it is a duty to do (a thing which on account of the ends that all men naturally have can be easily decided), but the chief point is the inner principle 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 of the man who joins to his knowledge this principle of wisdom, that he is a practical philosopher.

[Compare the remarks of Dr. Adams: “The pleasures of self-approbation and esteem which follow virtue certainly arise from a conscious sense of having made virtue and not pleasure our choice; not from preferring one interest or pleasure to another, but from acting according to right without any other consideration whatsoever. It seems essential to this pleasure that no motive of interest have any part in the choice or intention of the agent. And (2) To make this pleasure an object to the mind, the virtue whose principle we are seeking after must be already formed. For, let it be observed, that the pleasures we are speaking of are themselves virtuous pleasures; such as none but virtuous minds are capable of proposing to themselves or of enjoying. To the sensual or voluptuous, the pleasures that arise from denying our appetites or passions have no existence. These cannot, therefore, be the motive to that virtue which is already presupposed. . . . It is the same love of virtue which makes it first the object of our pursuit, and, when acquired, the subject of our triumph and joy. To do a virtuous action for the sake of these virtuous pleasures is to choose 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.]

[The essay referred to is that “On the Radical Evil in Human Nature.”]

Man, however, as at the same time a moral being, when he considers himself objectively, which he is qualified to do by his pure practical reason (i.e. according to humanity in his own person), finds himself holy enough to transgress the law only unwillingly; for there is no man so depraved who in this transgression would not feel a resistance and an abhorrence of himself, so that he must put a force on himself. It is impossible to explain the phenomenon that at this parting of the ways (where the beautiful fable places Hercules between virtue and sensuality) man shows more propensity to obey inclination than the law. For, we can only explain what happens, by tracing it to a cause according to physical laws; but then we should not be able to conceive the elective will as free. Now this mutually opposed self-constraint and the inevitability of it makes us recognize the incomprehensible property of freedom.

The less a man can be physically forced, and the more he can be morally forced (by the mere idea of duty), so much the freer he is. The man, for example, who is of sufficiently firm resolution and strong mind not to give up an enjoyment which he has resolved on, however much loss is shown as resulting therefrom, and who yet desists from his purpose unhesitatingly, though very reluctantly, when he finds that it would cause him to neglect an official duty or a sick father; this man proves his freedom in the highest degree by this very thing that he cannot resist the voice of duty.

[Leonhard Cochius, court preacher, who obtained the prize of the Berlin Academy for his essay, “Über die Neigungen,” Berlin, 1769.]

[“Object,” first ed.]

[Usage gives it a strong meaning, perhaps from euphemism.]

[“Whatever I judge reasonable or unreasonable for another to do for Me: That, by the same judgment, I declare reasonable or unreasonable that I in the like case do for Him.”—Clarke’s Discourse, etc., p. [Editor: illegible number] ed. 1728].

[This agrees with Dr. Adams’ definition of virtue, which, he says, implies trial and conflict. He defines it, “the conformity of imperfect beings to the dictates of reason.” Other English moralists use “virtue” in the sense of Aristotle’s ἀρετή. Hence a difference more verbal than real as to the relation of virtue to self-denial.]

[Kant here and elsewhere uses “Deduction” in a technical legal sense. There is deductio facti, and deductio juris; Kant’s Deduction is exclusively the latter.]

[The supreme principle of jurisprudence is: “Act externally so that the free use of thy elective will may not interfere with the freedom of any man so far as it agrees with universal law.”—Rechtslehre, p. 33.]

So that one might vary two well-known lines of Haller thus:—

[Haller’s lines occur in the poem, “Ueber den Urfprung bes Uebels”—

[On Conscience, compare the note at the end of this Introduction.]

The common classical formulæ of Ethics—medio tutissimus ibis; omne nimium vertitur in vitium; est modus in rebus, &c.; medium tenuere beati: virtus est medium vitiorum et utrinque reductum—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 a vice) is not distinguished from frugality (as a virtue) by merely being the latter pushed too far; but has a quite different principle (maxim), namely, placing the end of economy not in the enjoyment of one’s means, but in the mere possession of them, renouncing enjoyment; just as the vice of prodigality is not to be sought in the excessive enjoyment of one’s means, but in the bad maxim which makes the use of them, without regard to their maintenance, the sole end.

[“The assertion that we should do nothing either too little or too much means nothing, for it is tautological. What is it to do too much? Answer—More than 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 leave it undone)? Answer—It is not right (against duty) to do more or less than is right. If that is the wisdom for which we must go back to the ancients (to Aristotle), as if they 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 (which are contraries). In the case of the man who declares his opinion, all that he says is true, but he does not say all the truth. Now, it is very natural to ask the moral teacher to point out to me this mean. This, however, he cannot do, for both duties have a certain latitude in their application, and the right thing to do can only be decided by the judgment, according to rules of prudence (pragmatical rules), not those of morality (moral rules), that is to say, not as strict duty (officium strictum), but as indeterminate (officium latum). Hence the man who follows the principles of virtue may indeed commit a fault (peccatum) in his practice, in doing more or less than prudence prescribes; but adhering strictly to these principles, he does not commit a vice (vitium), and the verse of Horace—

literally understood, is fundamentally false. But perhaps sapiens here means only a prudent man, who does not form a chimerical notion of virtuous perfection. This perfection being an Ideal, demands approximation to this end, but not the complete attainment of it, which surpasses human powers, and introduces absurdity (chimerical imagination) into its principle. For to be quite too virtuous, that is, to be quite too devoted to duty, would be about the same as to speak of making a circle quite too round, or a straight line quite too straight.”—Tugendlehre, p. 287, note.]

[In a footnote, Kant explains this double personality of a man as both the accuser and the judge, by reference to the homo noumenon, and its specific difference from the rationally endowed homo sensibilis.]

[One of Rousseau’s earliest literary efforts was on this subject, which had been proposed for discussion by the Academy of Dijon. He defended the thesis that the advance in science and arts was not favourable to morals. Kant’s own view 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 hypothesis of a divine education of mankind as a delusion, saying that the human race never made a few steps forward without presently after slipping back with redoubled velocity into its former position. This, says Kant, is like the stone of Sisyphus, and this view makes the earth a sort of purgatory for old and forgotten sins. He proceeds thus: “I shall venture to assume that, as the human race is constantly advancing in respect of culture, as it is designed to do, so also, as regards the moral end of its existence, it is constantly progressing, and this progress is never broken off, although it may be sometimes interrupted. It is not necessary for me to prove this; it is for those who take the opposite view to prove their case,” viz. because it is my duty to strive to promote this improvement (p. 222). “Many proofs, too, may be given that the human race, on the whole, especially in our own, as compared with all preceding times, has made considerable advances morally for the better (temporary checks do not prove anything against this); and that the cry of the continually-increasing degradation of the race arises just from this, that when one stands on a higher step of morality he sees further before him, and his judgment 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 have already ascended in the whole course of the world’s history as known to us” (p. 224).]

That the primary subjective source of the adoption of moral maxims is inscrutable may be seen even from this, that as this adoption is free, its source (the reason why, ex. gr., I have adopted a bad and not rather a good maxim) must not be looked for in any natural impulse, but always again in a maxim; and as this also must have its ground, and maxims are the only determining principles of the free elective will that can or ought to be adduced, we are always driven further back ad infinitum in the series of subjective determining principles, without being able to reach the primary source.

If good = a, its contradictory is the not-good. This is the result either of the mere absence of a principle of good = 0, or of a positive principle of the opposite = - a. In the latter case the not-good may be called the positively bad. (In respect of pleasure and pain there is a mean of this kind, so that pleasure = a, pain = - a, and the state of absence of both is indifference, = 0.) Now if the moral law were not a spring of the elective will in us, then moral good (harmony of the will with the law) would = a, not-good = 0, and the latter would be merely the result of the absence of a moral spring = a + 0. But the law is in us as a spring = a; therefore the want of harmony of the elective will with it (= 0) is only possible as a result of a really 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 a good disposition (inner principle of maxims) by which the morality of the action must be determined. A morally indifferent action (adiaphoron morale) would be an action resulting merely from natural laws, and standing therefore in no relation to the moral law, which is a law of freedom; inasmuch as it is not a deed, and in respect of it neither command nor prohibition, nor even legal permission, has any place or is necessary.

Professor Schiller, in his masterly treatise (Thalia, 1793, pt. 3) on pleasantness [grace] and dignity in morals, finds fault with this way of presenting obligation, as if it implied a Carthusian spirit; but as we are agreed in the most important principles, I cannot admit that there is any disagreement in this, if we could only come to a mutual understanding. I admit that I cannot associate any pleasantness with the conception of duty, just because of its dignity. For it involves 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, and in the present case the latter being within ourselves, a feeling of the sublimity of our own destiny, which attracts us more than any beauty. But virtue, i. e. the firmly-rooted disposition to fulfil our duty punctually, is in its results beneficent also, more than anything in the world that can be done by nature or art; and the noble picture of humanity exhibited in this form admits very well the accompaniments of the Graces, but as long as duty alone is in question, they keep at a respectful distance. If however, we regard the pleasant results which virtue would spread in the world if it found access everywhere, then morally-directed reason draws the sensibility into play (by means of the imagination). It is only after vanquishing monsters that Hercules becomes Musagetes, before which labour those good sisters draw back. These companions of Venus Urania are lewd followers of Venus Dione as soon as they interfere in the business of the determination of duty, and want to supply the springs thereof. If it is now asked, Of what sort is the emotional characteristic, the temperament as it were of virtue: is it spirited and cheerful, or anxiously depressed and dejected? an answer is hardly necessary. The latter slavish spirit can never exist without a secret hatred of the law, and cheerfulness of heart in the performance of one’s duty (not complacency in the recognition of it) is a mark of the genuineness of the virtuous disposition, even in devoutness, which does not consist in the self-tormenting of the penitent sinner (which is very ambiguous, and commonly is only an inward reproach for having offended against the 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 which one is never certain that he has taken a liking to good, that is to say, adopted it into his maxim.

The ancient moral philosophers, who nearly exhausted all that can be said about virtue, have not omitted to consider the two questions above mentioned. The first they expressed thus: Whether virtue must be learned (so that man is by nature indifferent to it and vice)? The second was: Whether there is more than one virtue (in other words, whether it is possible that a man should be partly virtuous and partly vicious)? To both they replied with rigorous decision 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 estimated not by the balance of pure reason (before a Divine tribunal), but by an empirical standard (before a human judge). We shall treat further of this in the sequel.

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 follow that because a being has reason, this includes a faculty of determining the elective will unconditionally by the mere conception of the qualification of its maxims to be universal laws, so as to be of itself practical: at least so far as we can see. The most rational being in the world might still have need of certain springs coming to him from objects of inclination, to determine his elective will; and might apply to these the most rational calculation, both as regards the greatest sum of the springs and also as to the means of attaining the object determined thereby; without every suspecting the possibility of anything like the moral law, issuing its commands absolutely, and which announces itself as a spring, and that the highest. Were this law not given in us, we should not be able to find it out as such by reason or to talk the elective will into it; and yet this law is the only one that makes us conscious of the independence of our elective will on determination by any other springs (our freedom), and at the same time of the imputability of our actions.

Propensity (“Hang”) is properly only the predisposition to the desire of an enjoyment, which when the subject has had experience of it produces an inclination to it. Thus all uncivilized men have a propensity to intoxicating things; for, although many of them are not acquainted with intoxication, so that they cannot have any desire for things that produce it, one need only let them once try such things to produce an almost inextinguishable desire for them. Between propensity and inclination, which presupposes acquaintance with the object, is instinct, which is a felt want to do or enjoy something of which one has as yet no conception (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, for these belong to the feeling of pleasure and displeasure), which are inclinations that exclude self-control.

[Hearne’s Journey from Prince of Wales Fort in Hudson’s Bay to the Northern Ocean in 1769-72. London: 1795.]

As the perpetual war between the Athapescaw and the Dog Rib Indians, which has no other object than slaughter. Bravery in war is the highest virtue of savages, in their opinion. Even in a state of civilization, it is an object of admiration and a ground of the peculiar respect demanded by that profession in which this is the only merit, and this not altogether without good reason. For that a man can have something that he values more than life, and which he can make his object (namely, honour, renouncing all self-interest), proves a certain sublimity in his nature. But we see by the complacency with which conquerors extol their achievements (massacre, unsparing butchery, &c.), that it is only their own superiority and the destruction they can effect without any other object in which they properly take satisfaction.

[Compare Stewart, Active and Moral Powers, bk. I. ch iii, sec. 3, who gives an optimist explanation of this saying.]

If we look at the history of these merely as a phenomenon of the inner nature of man, which is in great part concealed from us, we may become aware of a certain mechanical process of nature directed to ends which are not those of the nations but of Nature. As long as any State has another near it which it can hope to subdue, it endeavours to aggrandize itself by the conquest, striving thus to attain universal monarchy—a constitution in which all freedom would be extinguished, and with it virtue, taste, and sciences (which are its consequences). But this monster (in which all laws gradually lose their force), after it has swallowed up its neighbours, finally dissolves of itself, and by rebellion and discord is divided into several smaller States, which, instead of endeavouring to form a States-union (a republic of free united nations), begin the same game over again, each for itself, so that war (that scourge of the human race) may not be allowed to cease. War, indeed, is not so incurably bad as the deadness of a universal monarchy (or even a union of nations to ensure that despotism shall not be discontinued in any State), yet, as an ancient observed, it makes more bad men than it takes away. [Compare on this subject Kant’s Essay, Zum ewigen Frieden; Werke, vii. Thl., 1 Abth., p. 229; also Das mag in der Theorie, &c., No. 3, ibid. p. 220.]

[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 that he knew the price of each].

The proper proof of this condemnation pronounced by the morally judging reason is not contained in this section, but in the preceding; this contains only the confirmation of it by experience, which, however, could never discover the root of the evil, in the supreme maxim of free elective will in relation to the law, this being an intelligible act, which is antecedent to all experience. From this, that is, from the unity of the supreme maxim, the law to which it refers being one, it may also be seen why, in forming a purely intellectual judgment of men, the principle of exclusion of a mean between good and bad must be assumed; whereas in forming the empirical judgment from sensible acts (actual conduct), the principle may be assumed that there is a mean between these extremes: on one side a negative mean of indifference previous to all cultivation, and on the other 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, and is in the final judgment subject to the former.

The three so-called higher Faculties would explain this inheritance each in its own way, namely, as a hereditary malady, or hereditary guilt, or hereditary sin. 1. The medical faculty would regard hereditary evil as something like the tapeworm, respecting which some naturalists are actually of opinion that, as it is not found in any element outside us nor (of the same kind) in any other animal, it must have been present in our first parents. 2. The legal faculty would regard it as the legitimate consequence of entering on an inheritance left to us by them, but burdened with a heavy crime (for to be born is nothing else but to obtain the use of the goods of earth, so far as they are indispensable to our subsistence). We must therefore pay the debt (expiate), and shall in the end be dispossessed (by death). Right, legally! 3. The theological faculty would view this evil as a personal participation of our first parents 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 heavenly Ruler, and have not loyalty enough to tear ourselves from them, for which we must hereafter share his lot with him.

As long as the moral law is not allowed the predominance in one’s maxims above all other determining principles of the elective will, as the spring sufficient of itself, all profession of respect for it is feigned, and the propensity to this is inward falsehood, that is, a propensity to deceive one’s self to the prejudice of the moral law in interpreting it (iii. 5); on which account the Bible (Christian part) calls the author of evil (residing in ourselves) the liar from the beginning, and thus characterizes man in respect of what appears to be the main principle of evil in him.

[Rom. v. 12; Vulgate. Luther’s version is correct. Jerome also gives the correct interpretation, although he retains the “in quo” of the old version. Probably this was meant by the original translator as a literal rendering of the Greek ἐϕ’ [Editor: illegible character] “in that.”]

[“It is a very common supposition of moral philosophy that it is very easy to explain the existence of moral evil in man, namely, that it arises from the strength of the sensible springs of action on the one hand, and the feebleness of the rational spring (respect for the law) on the other, that is, from weakness. But in that case it should be still easier to explain the moral good in man (in his moral capacity); for one cannot be conceived to be comprehensible without the other. But the faculty of reason to become master over all opposing springs of action by the mere idea of the law is absolutely inexplicable; it is then equally incomprehensible how the sensible springs can become masters of a reason which commands with such authority. For if all the world acted according to the precept of the law, it would be said that everything was going on in the natural order, and it would not occur to anyone to inquire the cause.”—Religion, &c., pp. 67, 68, note.]

These remarks must not be regarded as intended to be an interpretation of Scripture—a thing that lies outside the province of mere reason. We explain the manner in which a moral use may be made of a historical statement without deciding whether this was the meaning of the writer, or whether we only introduce it: provided only that it is true in itself, without needing any historical proof, and that it is at the same time the only way in which we can derive something for our own improvement from a passage of Scripture which would otherwise be only an unprofitable addition to our historical knowledge. We must not without necessity contend about the historical authority of a matter which, whether it be understood in this way or in that, does not help us to become better men , when what does help can and must be known without historical proof. Historical knowledge, which has no such inner reference, that can hold good for every man, belongs to the adiaphora, with respect to which everyone may judge as he finds most edifying for himself.

[In the first edition this appears simply as No. V.]

The tree that is good as to its capacities is not yet so in fact; for if it were so it certainly could not bring forth bad fruit; it is only when the man has adopted into his maxim the spring which is placed in him for the moral law that he is called a good man (the tree is then absolutely a good tree).

Words that admit of two totally different senses often retard conviction for a long time when the principles are perfectly clear. Love in general, and self-love in particular, may be divided into that of good will and that of complacency (benevolentiœ et complacentiœ), and both (as is evident) must be rational. It is natural to adopt the former into one’s maxim (for who would not wish that it should always fare well with himself?). It is rational, inasmuch as in the first place, in respect of the end only that is chosen which is consistent with the greatest and most lasting welfare, and in the next as the most fitting means are chosen for each of these elements of happiness. Reason here occupies the place of a minister to natural inclination, and the maxim which is assumed on that account has no reference whatever to morality. If, however, it is made the unconditional principle of choice, then it is the source of an immeasurably great conflict with morality. Now a rational love of complacency in one’s self may either be understood thus, that we have complacency in the above-mentioned maxims directed to the satisfaction of natural inclinations (so far as that end is attained by following them); and then it is the same thing as complacency towards one’s self; one is pleased with one’s self, as a merchant whose trading speculations succeed, and who congratulates 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 on condition of the subordination of our maxims to the moral law. No man to whom morality is not indifferent can have complacency in himself, or indeed can be free from a bitter dissatisfaction with himself, who is conscious of maxims that do not agree with the moral law within. We might call this rational self-love, which prevents him from mixing with the springs of his will any other causes of satisfaction drawn from the consequences of his actions (under the name of happiness to be procured thereby). Now as the latter indicates unconditional respect for the law, why should a difficulty be put in the way of the clear understanding of the principle, 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 way only so far as he is conscious that his maxim is to make respect for the law the supreme spring of his will)? For us, as beings dependent on objects of the sensibility, happiness is by our [physical] nature the first and unconditional object of our desire. But (if we give the name of nature in general to all that is innate in us, then) as beings endowed with reason and freedom, happiness is by our nature far from being the first or unconditional object of our maxims; this character belongs to worthiness of happiness, that is, the coincidence of all our maxims with the moral law. Herein consists the whole precept of morality, that this is the objective condition under which alone the wish for the former can coincide with the legislation of reason, and the moral character consists in the state of mind which admits only such a conditional wish.

That the conception of freedom of the elective will does not precede the consciousness of the moral law in us, but is only inferred from the determinability of our will by this law, as an unconditional command, anyone may readily be convinced by asking himself whether he is immediately certain of a faculty enabling him by firmness of purpose to overcome every motive to transgression however powerful (Phalaris licet imperet ut sis Falsus, et admoto dictet perjuria tauro). Everyone must confess that he does not know whether 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, and that accordingly his will is free. Those who fullaciously represent this inscrutable property as quite comprehensible create an illusion by the word determinism (the thesis that the elective will is determined by internal sufficient reasons), as if the difficulty consisted in reconciling this with freedom, which no one supposes; the difficulty is, how predeterminism, by which voluntary actions as events have their determining causes in preceding time (which with what it contains is no longer in our power), can be consistent with freedom, by which both the action itself and its opposite must be in the power of the subject at the moment of its taking place; this is what men want to discern and never 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 the contingency of the action (that it is not determined by reasons at all), that is, not in indeterminism (that it must be equally possible for God to do good or evil, if his action is to be called free), but in absolute spontaneity, which alone is endangered by predeterminism, which places the determining principle of the action in preceding time, so that the action is now no longer in my power, but in the hands of nature, and I am irresistibly determined; and since succession in time is not to be conceived in God, this difficulty disappears.

[There is appended in the original a long note (first added in the second edition) on the relation between the preceding general remark and the corresponding remarks appended to the other three sections of the Philosophical Theory of Religion. As these sections are not here translated, the note has been omitted.]

[Rozenkranz, vol. vii., p. 295. This Essay was published in a Berlin periodical in 1797.]

“J. D. Michaelis, in Göttingen, propounded the same strange opinion even before Kant. That Kant is the philosopher here referred to, I have been informed 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 now recollect.—I. Kant.

I do not wish here to press this principle so far as to say that “falsehood is 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 this transgression only to the worthlessness, the reproach of which the liar draws on himself.